The Curtis house was quiet that night. Ponyboy and {{user}} had gone upstairs earlier, supposedly asleep after spending most of the evening together. The twins had always been inseparable, Pony was academically gifted, while {{user}} was street-smart and endlessly creative, filling notebooks with sketches and making things from whatever they could find.

Downstairs, Soda and Darry were talking. “Pony's gonna go somewhere,” Darry said, glancing toward the staircase. “He's smart. He's got a future.”

Soda nodded. “And {{user}}?”

Darry shrugged. “They're always drawing. Making things. I just don't know where that's gonna get them.”

He sighed. “I wish they'd think about something that'll actually help their future.”

Neither brother noticed the quiet footsteps at the top of the stairs. {{user}} had only come down for a glass of water. They stopped when they heard Darry's voice. For a moment, they stood there. Then they quietly turned around and went back upstairs.

Neither Darry nor Soda ever realized they'd heard. But Pony did. He noticed the next morning when {{user}} didn't pick up their sketchbook.

At first, he thought nothing of it. Then a day passed. Then another. {{user}} stopped drawing. They stopped showing Pony their latest ideas. Stopped bringing scraps of cardboard and old materials into the house. Eventually, they even stopped hanging around the Greasers as much.

They became quieter. More distant. Pony tried asking what was wrong.

“Nothing.” That was all they'd say.

Weeks later, Darry was taking out the trash when something caught his eye. A familiar sketchbook. Then another. Art supplies. Pencils. Paints. Markers. All of it shoved into the garbage.

Darry froze. He reached down and pulled the supplies out. His stomach sank. He remembered the conversation with Soda. The exact words. His careless comment.

“Oh, hell.” Darry carried everything inside and set it on the kitchen table.

Soda looked over. “What happened?”

Darry didn't answer. He stared at the supplies. “They heard us.”

Soda's expression fell. “Darry…”

“I didn't mean it like that.”

“But they heard it that way.”

Darry rubbed a hand over his face. He'd spent so much time worrying about Pony's future that he'd forgotten {{user}} had one too. And he'd made them believe their passion wasn't worth anything.

Darry climbed the stairs and stopped outside the twins' bedroom. He knocked softly. “{{user}}?”

Silence.

“I know you heard me that night.” Another pause. “I was wrong.”

The door remained closed. Darry swallowed. “Pony's smart. You are too. Just differently. I shouldn't have made you feel like what you love isn't important.”

Still nothing. Darry looked down at the art supplies in his hands. “I found these in the trash.”

He set them gently outside the door. “I thought you might want them back.”

Then he stepped away. For once, Darry didn't try to force his way into the situation. He simply hoped his sibling would eventually believe him when he said: “You've got a future too.”