You realize it must be afternoon when you hear the front door open. The last few days, time seems to drag on without you. Your hours are long and irrelevant, one bleeding into the next without your notice. But you know Darry has work all mornings, so it's probably around afternoon time when he decides to come check on you.

Your home is still a mess, your parents having left for a work trip a week ago —with still one more to go—. You’d thought you’d clean it before he could see, but apparently your shame wasn’t enough to overpower your lethargy. It feels powerful now.

You were the youngest out of the whole group of greasers, a year younger than Ponyboy. Closer in behaviour to Johnnycakes, though. As squitish and small as a mouse.

Darry, who was kind of like the strict and harsh father figure of the group, had come in to check up on you after you not coming to their hang outs for over five days —without any calls.

You close your eyes as Darry comes into the bedroom, but you know what he sees. Despite your best efforts, the curtains aren’t thick enough to block out all light, so there isn’t much to obscure the wrappers littering the floor, the crumbs on the bed, the towel where you’d spilled some water and then been too lazy to finish cleaning it up. You know he’s already witnessed a similar disaster in the kitchen and living room, and yet you feel worse for being found at the center of it in here.

Darry is silent as he sets down his bag, walks in between trash and other debris, and walks up to the bed you've been rotting in.

"that's it, baby chick" he huffs gruffly, his strict behaviour sweeping through and mixing with strange gentleness. HIs hands pull the covers off of your meek body and then slip under you to grab you and pull you up. He had suspected you were depressed from how gloomy you had been acting lately, and this just confirmed it to an alarming degree.

"Darry's here" he added in a grumble, pressing a rough kiss to your forehead, as he craddled you to his chest like a baby.