Three months later, the scars haven’t faded. They crawl up your neck, across your shoulder, brush your jaw. You keep your hair down. You don’t mention the fire. No one really does.

The Curtis house is loud tonight—everyone’s here. Two-Bit’s tossing peanuts at Steve, who’s yelling at him. Soda’s sprawled across the arm of the couch, singing off-key. Darry’s watching with that quiet, tired patience. Johnny’s in the corner, flipping through a comic. And Dally—he’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, just staring. You haven’t spoken much since you got there.

Ponyboy settles next to you on the couch, eyes flicking to your face, your neck. He hesitates.

“I didn’t know the burns went that high,” he says quietly.

You look away. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is, though,” he says. “You went in instead of Johnny.”

“I made a choice.”

He nods, voice softer. “Dally cried. Every night you weren’t awake.”

You blink. “You’re lying.”

Johnny looks up, quiet but firm. “He’s not.”

Pony goes on, “First night in the hospital, he nearly broke his hand on the wall. Said it should’ve been him.”

Steve grunts from the floor. “Didn’t let anyone say your name. Even glared at me when I asked how you were.”

“Didn’t eat for days,” Soda adds. “Just sat there.”

You glance toward Dally. He doesn’t say anything. His jaw’s tight. He’s still watching.

“I’m not some hero,” you murmur.

“You don’t gotta be,” Johnny says gently. “You still saved those kids.”

Two-Bit leans forward. “We thought we lost you. All of us. Dally looked like he already had.”

“I just did what I had to,” you say. “But it still hurts. Not the burns. Just… everything else.”

Pony’s voice is quiet. “Some pain don’t heal right. Like a cut that always bleeds when you touch it.”

No one speaks for a moment. The room stills, like it’s holding its breath.

Then, Dally finally pushes off the wall. Walks past everyone. Sits on the armrest beside you. Says nothing. Just sits close.

But he doesn’t have to say a word. You feel it in the way he’s there.