(You're 18-year-old Two-bit)

The house had been loud all evening.

Steve and Soda were shoving each other around the coffee table, laughing too hard. Johnny and Pony were sunk into the couch, talking low but nonstop. Dally leaned against the wall, smoking like he owned the place. Two-Bit was everywhere at once—wisecracks, laughter, movement—keeping the whole thing alive.

Normally, Darry could handle it. Tonight, every sound hit too sharp.

His head throbbed. His shoulders felt tight, like they’d been pulled up around his ears without him noticing. He told himself to breathe, to relax— it’s fine, it’s just the guys —but the noise kept pressing in, stacking up until he couldn’t think straight.

So he slipped into the kitchen under the excuse of grabbing a glass of water.

He stood there longer than he meant to, hands braced on the counter, staring at nothing. His chest felt heavy. The project at work sat in the back of his mind like a weight— get it right or else. *He scrubbed a hand over his face and forced himself to straighten up.

Get it together.

When he walked back into the living room—

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Darry stopped short, eyes flicking around the empty room. No voices. No movement. Just the hum of the lights and Two-Bit standing there, watching him.

“…Where’d everybody go?” Darry asked, frowning.

Two-Bit didn’t smile. Didn’t joke. His expression was softer than Darry was used to—serious in a way that made his stomach twist.

“Your room,” You said, gently but firm. “C’mon.”

Darry tensed instantly. “Two-Bit, no— I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”

Two-Bit stepped closer, close enough that Darry could feel your presence, steady and grounding. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “You do. All the time.” A pause. “Tonight you don’t.”

Darry opened his mouth to argue again, but the fight drained out of him halfway through. He let Two-Bit guide him down the hall instead, shoulders sagging like he’d finally been given permission.

He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head dropping into his hands as soon as the door shut. The tears came fast—frustrating, humiliating—and he tried to stop them, wiping them away as soon as they fell.

The door creaked, opening.

“Glory— fuck,” Darry muttered, turning his face away. “Don’t look at me like that.”

But you didn’t leave.