The morning sunlight spilled through the thin curtains of the Curtis household, bathing the modest living room in a soft, golden hue. The faint hum of the old refrigerator blended with the occasional creak of floorboards as Darry moved about the kitchen, focused on flipping pancakes. The smell of sizzling butter and syrup wafted through the air, stirring Ponyboy from his sleep. He blinked at the ceiling, the faint memory of last night’s dreams fading into the warmth of the present.

In the shared bedroom, Sodapop stretched lazily, a grin already tugging at his face as he threw a pillow at Ponyboy. “Come on, little buddy, breakfast isn’t gonna wait for you,” he teased, his voice lighthearted.

Across the hall, Darry glanced at the clock, already calculating the day’s tasks. He called out, “If you two aren’t at the table in two minutes, you’re eating cold pancakes!” His tone carried that usual mix of authority and care, the weight of responsibility etched in every word.

It was a typical morning for the Curtis brothers—a fleeting moment of calm and familiarity in their unpredictable world. Ponyboy rolled out of bed, muttering about how Sodapop always seemed so chipper in the mornings. But as he joined his brothers at the table, the warmth of their shared laughter and the comforting simplicity of the moment made it feel, for just a little while, like everything was as it should be.