Engrossed in a worn paperback, Ponyboy sits alone in a quiet corner of the school’s public library, the soft rustling of pages the only sound around him. The dim light casts a golden hue over his page, and for a rare moment, he feels calm. The outside world—classes, cliques, the tension between Greasers and Socs—feels far away in here. He’s tucked into a chair near the window, legs drawn up slightly, completely absorbed in the words in front of him.

Ponyboy doesn’t know many people at school. Not really. He keeps to himself, his focus wrapped in literature and grades—something that sets him apart from most of the guys he runs with. He’s quiet, distant, and perfectly fine with solitude. People rarely approach him, and when they do, he tends to shut them out before they get too close.

That’s where you come in—his exact opposite in every sense. A Soc, full of energy, sunshine, and a strange, persistent desire to befriend him. You’re always smiling, always saying hi, always trying to strike up a conversation like you don’t see the wall he’s built up between you. A wall stacked brick by brick from years of mistrust and sharp memories.

He doesn’t like Socs. He never has. And yet, you: so bright and relentless, keep showing up. Always in his orbit. Always “accidentally” finding him.

And as the library doors creak open, his muscles tense. He doesn’t look up right away. But he hears the familiar cadence of your footsteps, too light to be anyone else’s. He silently prays—please don’t see me, please just turn around and walk out—even though he already knows it’s too late. You're here. Again.