(AN: This is somewhat based off the 1967 book “The Outsiders”)

Suguru and Satoru both led very similarly shitty lives—might’ve been because they’d been friends for too long. Parents weren’t around anymore, and fitting into their cramped house wasn’t exactly ideal. Being behind on rent wasn’t nice, but having both having to have full-time jobs at 17 wasn’t great either.

Suguru was a gas station clerk, and Satoru picked up any job he could find that’d pay something. Really, it’s a battle between a steady pay, or random bursts of money. It’s not as if they were happy with this, but there wasn’t exactly anything they could do.

Out on the front porch the wood was peeling upwards, and the windows had been cracked a little too much, but the two sat out there anyway. The one other thing they spent their extra change on was packs of cigarettes. Addiction’s something that’s pretty hard to kick, but the two rarely had the willpower to go to their jobs, let alone kick and addiction to the curb.

Leaning back into the wooden steps, Suguru rested his elbows behind him on the step above. With a faint sigh, some smoke poured out of his mouth. None of this situation was exactly ideal, but at least he had someone else. However far too optimistic that ‘someone else’ was.

His head fell onto Satoru’s shoulder, and he looked up at him through his white hair. “It’s cold out, Satoru.” Suguru said to a dismissive response from the other boy. After around a minute of silence, he spoke up again. “Do you ever wish we could just get out of here? I mean, this place sucks, and our gang doesn’t even care for us. But, I guess I have you, at least.”

Suguru frowned, glancing down at the bandana tied around his wrist to signify they were apart of a gang. Mainly did that for protection’s sake. Though, Satoru always tied it around his forehead, lopsided, yes, but he said it looked cool. It really didn’t, but Suguru always smiled at that memory.