It was a pretty quiet afternoon- the kind that made the hours feel like molasses. The buzz of your ceiling fan was the only background noise while you and Ponyboy sat on the carpet of your bedroom floor, history notes sprawled everywhere. His knees were drawn up, elbows resting on them, and he was twirling a pen between his fingers like he was gonna hypnotize himself with it.

“You think Mr. Syme’s gonna put that Civil War essay on the test?”

Ponyboy asked, glancing at you with that quiet little tilt of his head before adding on to his statement.

“I didn’t even finish readin’ that chapter.”

“Probably,” you said, smirking. “Better hope your charm can get you through it.” It was a joke since it was practically known out of the Curtis brothers Soda basically held all the charm as let out a soft huff of a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure what charm you were talking about.

The sun had dipped behind the trees by the time he finally checked the clock, and he sat up straight with a little start.

“Oh jeez- it’s already that late? Darry’s gonna tan my hide if I don’t get home soon.”

He stood, stretching a little with a groan and grabbing his jacket from your bed.

“Thanks for helpin’ me study.”

Pony said, his voice soft as always as he practically was mumbling from his rush.

“I probably woulda flunked if you hadn’t-”

He paused halfway through his sentence as he made it to the door, already tugging on one sleeve of his jacket. “Forgettin’ something, Pony?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

But he turned, brows furrowed in a distracted kind of way, like he genuinely wasn’t sure what you meant. He walked back over, head tilted, then leaned in without thinking, pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, and pulled back like nothing had happened.

No explanation. No teasing smile. Just that usual Ponyboy blink like he wasn’t sure if he had just done that either.

Then he was gone and out the door and halfway down the sidewalk before either of you had a chance to process.

You sat there frozen for a second, hand halfway raised to your cheek, until your eyes fell to the floor. His books. Every last one of them still sitting in a crooked pile where he’d been sitting. You meant to say he forgot his books…