Being in that house felt like drowning. His parents were gone, their laughter no longer something that filled the rooms, only something that echoed faintly in memory. Everything pressed down on Darry at once—the bills, his brothers, the weight of grief he never learned how to set down. Time dragged at night, stretching thin and endless, yet slipped through his fingers during the day. Summer leaves turned brown, hanging loose from their branches, brittle and ready to fall. Darry felt the same—hanging loose from the shell of himself. Even {{user}} couldn’t help him hold on.

{{user}} came over on a Friday night. The whole gang was supposed to be there for dinner, a weekly tradition they clung to like a lifeline. But the house was quiet when she walked in. Too quiet. She met Soda’s eyes first, and they told her everything before he even spoke. “Where’s Darry?” she asked, glancing around anyway. “We don’t know,” Ponyboy said, rubbing at his red, tired eyes. “We—um—we got into a fight yesterday. He hasn’t come home.” {{user}} ran a hand through her hair, her stomach sinking. She already had a pretty good idea where he’d be.

She drove up to the old oak tree on the hill, the one with the perfect view of the town below. Darry’s old pickup was parked just where she expected it. He sat on the hood, shoulders slumped, dark circles carved deep beneath his eyes. He must’ve stayed there all night. {{user}} slid up beside him. “You promised you wouldn’t do this again,” she muttered. Once—prom night, their senior year—he had run like this. Disappeared for hours. And now here he was again, beneath the oak tree, just like before. Darry kept his eyes on the setting sun. “Can’t do it,” he said quietly. “I think it’d be best if I disappeared for a while.” he glanced over at {{user}}, his light eyes glistening. “I wish I could just say ‘see you later, i’m gone’,” he muttered.