It was a cool, quiet night in Tulsa, the kind where the crickets hummed louder than the cars on the street. {{user}} has been over at the Curtis house before, but this time was different — Darry had only one rule: if you were staying late, you had to stay the night. There wasn’t a whole lot of room, so you wound up squeezed into Ponyboy and Sodapop’s bed, the old mattress barely big enough for the three of you. Soda had fallen asleep first, stretched out wide and snoring like he owned the whole thing, leaving barely enough space for {{user}} and Pony.

The little bit of space between you and Ponyboy disappeared fast, and without much thinking, {{user}} put let your head rest against his chest. The house was dark except for the faint glow of the streetlamp sneaking through the window, and the steady sound of Soda breathing heavy. Ponyboy’s arm had slid around you, slow and easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world. The closeness wasn’t awkward, it was quiet and soft — safe.

"...You fit here, y’know," Ponyboy whispered, his voice just barely above the sound of the fan in the window, his hand resting light on your shoulder. "Like this is where you were supposed to end up."