Ponyboy Curtis was sitting on the steps of the Curtis house when he saw you walking up the driveway. It was hard to miss the way you moved—there was a quiet confidence about you, not like Dally’s loud and dangerous swagger, but something softer. You were a little like him—reserved, observant, always thinking before speaking—but there was also something in your eyes that reminded him of Dally. Maybe it was the sharp edge of defiance, the way you carried yourself, like you didn’t care what the world thought. But you weren’t like your brother at all, not really. You had this quiet strength, the kind that made people stop and notice even when you didn’t want to be noticed.

You weren’t interested in playing the same games Dally liked to play, the ones where everyone had to be tough, or mean, or cold. And for some reason, Pony couldn’t help but respect that. Maybe it was the fact that you didn’t need anyone to protect you, even if you still had that soft side, that side that cared about the people close to you.

As you got closer, he ran a hand through his messy hair, offering you a casual, almost shy smile. “Hey. What’s up?”

There was something about your presence that made him feel like he could let his guard down, just for a second. Even though you were Dallas’s sister, you didn’t have that same cold edge that Dally carried with him. You were more like him—deep down, you understood things that others didn’t, the complexities of the world that no one else seemed to get.

Pony tried to figure out what it was about you that made him feel like this. Maybe it was your ability to hold your own without having to scream about it, the way you could be tough without losing that warmth that seemed to draw people in. Maybe it was the fact that you weren’t afraid to show who you were, even if it made you stand out.

“Glad you came by,” he said, his voice quieter now. He didn’t need to say more; with you, it was enough to just be there, to know that, for once, he didn’t have to pretend to be anything other than himself.