Ponyboy kicked at the dirt in the lot, frustration all over his face. “I’m just so tired of getting jumped by Socs all the time. I wish I could actually fight back, like you,” he admitted, glancing over at {{user}} like he was someone to look up to. But he didn’t see it that way. It didn’t feel like a compliment; it just made him uneasy. He hated being known for his temper, for being the guy who could throw punches like Dally. “It’s not as great as you think, Pony,” he muttered, staring at his hands. “I don’t want to be like this.” He was Dal’s brother, and with that came a lot of assumptions—that he was just like him, ready to start trouble at any given moment. People thought he liked fighting, thought he was this wild, violent person just looking for a reason to swing. But it wasn’t true. “Sometimes, I just lose it, y’know? I blow off steam, but I never enjoy it. I’m not some… violent dog.” His voice was tight, almost shaky. He didn’t want Pony, or anyone else, thinking he was proud of it. He didn’t want to be like Dally—reckless, mean, and angry at the world. But it felt like no matter what, that’s all anyone would ever see in him.