Darry and {{user}} were in love. They would never stop being in love. After she moved in, she naturally filled the empty space in the Curtis house that had been left since their parents passed. {{user}} brought warmth back into their home, steady and quiet, in a way the boys hadn’t realized they were missing.

One night, Darry came home late. The smell of one of his mother’s old recipes drifted through the house, carrying him back in time. At the dining table sat {{user}} with Ponyboy and Sodapop, laughing softly and reminding them about their table manners. Watching that scene—the easy comfort she gave all three of them—Darry knew then he was going to marry her.

Their wedding was small. Neither of them had the money, or the want, for something big. But {{user}} still wanted to do things traditionally. They had it in a small chapel, with their close friends and a few family members. Darry got Sodapop and Ponyboy to clear out for that night—and hopefully the next day. And of course, he carried her right through the front door. On the morning after, {{user}} woke before Darry, smiling to herself at the thought of being his wife. He stirred awake, pulling her close before his eyes were even open. “Good morning, Mrs. Darrel Curtis,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep but full of affection. The familiar flutter in her chest told her she’d never get used to moments like this.