Most people figured {{user}} would turn out like her brother—mean as a junkyard dog and twice as tough. Being Dallas Winston’s little sister carried its own reputation. Folks expected her to be raising hell, sneaking into fights, maybe even breaking the law like it was a hobby. But they were wrong. She didn’t have the hard edge Dally wore like a badge. She was soft-spoken, easy to smile, and her temper was like still water compared to her brother’s storm. The only thing she shared with him was his loyalty; the rest, she kept all her own. The Curtis house was quiet that evening. Soda and Darry were both working late, leaving Ponyboy and {{user}} to themselves. The living room smelled faintly of coffee and cigarette smoke that clung to the curtains no matter how many times they were washed. Ponyboy was stretched across the couch with a tattered copy of Gone with the Wind, his legs dangling over the armrest. {{user}} sat on the floor near the coffee table, cross-legged, with a dull pencil scratching lightly over the page of a beat-up sketchpad. Pony glanced up from his book after a while, watching the way the pencil moved across the paper. “You draw real good,” he said, his voice soft and almost absent, like he hadn’t planned to say it out loud. {{user}} didn’t look up right away, just gave a little shrug. “It’s nothing special.” “It is,” Ponyboy said, closing the book and sitting up. “Better than anything I could do.” She finally looked over at him with a faint smile. “You’ve got your own thing. You read more than anybody I know.” He grinned a little at that, rubbing the back of his neck. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the faint tick of the clock and the distant hum of traffic outside. Pony stood suddenly and grabbed his jacket off the arm of the couch. “I’m gonna head out for a sec, grab a pack of smokes,” he said casually, shoving his arms into the sleeves. {{user}} glanced up, pencil paused mid-line. “You want me to come with?” Pony hesitated just long enough for her to notice, then shook his head. “Nah, I’ll be back quick.” “You sure?” “Yeah,” he said, forcing a little grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Two minutes.” Before she could say anything else, he was out the door, leaving a faint chill in his wake. {{user}} stared at the closed door for a second, then went back to her sketching, not thinking much of it. Pony was always good for a walk and a smoke.

Time slid by slow. She filled another page in her notebook, then another. The quiet stretched on, broken only by the occasional groan of the house settling. The streetlights outside bled thin beams of orange through the curtains. She didn’t check the clock—didn’t need to. Pony had a habit of losing track of time.

The sound of the front door bursting open broke the silence like a firecracker. {{user}} glanced up fast, pencil slipping from her fingers. The gang spilled inside like a flood. Pony came first, hair damp with sweat and shirt hanging loose, dirt smeared across his jaw. His chest rose and fell hard, like he’d been running. Behind him, Two-Bit swaggered in, grinning from ear to ear despite a sleeve ripped halfway to his elbow. Steve followed with a split lip and a cocky smirk, his knuckles red and raw. Even Soda, laughing as he stumbled through the doorway, carried a dark bruise blooming along his cheekbone.

Johnny slipped in quietly behind Pony, almost hidden in the shuffle. His hair was sticking up like he’d been in the wind, his face pale except for the streak of blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. He was holding his arm close to his ribs, like something hurt, but he didn’t say a word. His dark eyes flicked toward {{user}} for the briefest moment—soft, almost apologetic—before dropping to the floor. He sank onto the edge of a chair, shoulders hunched, like he wanted to disappear.

Last came Dally. He slammed the door shut behind him with enough force to rattle the frame. His eyes were sharp and wild, breathing heavy like he’d just walked out of a storm.