Ponyboy was reading, tv blasting for background noise before hearing faint knocking. He thought it was weird, no one knocks before they entered his house. And he meant nobody, not even Johnny.

He huffed, begrudgingly shutting his book, getting up to open the door. Much to ponyboy’s dismay, you greeted him. A cocky grin plastered on your face, pride radiating off of you. Your white t-shirt was stained with what seemed to be fresh blood. You had a bloody nose, cuts all over your body, and bruises everywhere the eye can see.

“Good glory, {{user}},”

The brunette muttered in an exasperated manner. Worry soon consumed the decreasing annoyance.