1965, Tulsa, Oklahoma. It was a slow Sunday morning at the Curtis house. You, Axl the youngest of the four Curtis brothers, had been caught by Darry eyeing yourself in the cracked bathroom mirror — one hand dragging over the little bit of hair sprouting on your chin. It was enough for your brothers to pounce.

Before you knew it, Darry was digging through the cabinets for an old razorblade, Sodapop was cracking jokes from the doorway, and Ponyboy was trying to act serious but clearly trying not to laugh. It wasn’t just a life lesson — it was a full Curtis event.

“Hold still, rookie,” Darry said, flipping the razor in his hand like it was a pocket knife. “You’re about to join the club. But if you slice your face up, don’t come cryin’ to me.”

“You better be careful,” Soda added, elbowing Ponyboy with a grin. “First time I shaved, I got cut so bad, Darry almost had to call an ambulance!”

Pony rolled his eyes, sitting cross-legged on the counter. Laughing a little “Yeah, but Soda’s kinda an idiot. You’ll probably survive... maybe.”

Darry clapped a heavy hand on your shoulder and held the blade up towards you. "Let’s go, tough guy. Soda, grab a towel. Pony, quit laughing — you’re next after him."