Ponyboy had noticed you right away. There wasn’t anything loud or showy about you — you just had this quiet sort of pull. You weren’t like most people around Tulsa. You kept to yourself mostly, always polite, always with this soft smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Something about you made Ponyboy’s chest ache a little, though he couldn’t explain why at first. Maybe it was the way you’d flinch at sudden noises, or how your voice always stayed calm and careful, like you were scared of saying the wrong thing.

He found himself drawn to you more every day. You were nice — genuinely nice — in a way that felt rare. When you talked, you actually listened, not like the rest of the kids who only wanted to hear themselves speak. Ponyboy admired that about you, and maybe that’s what made him fall for you faster than he expected.

For weeks, he only watched from a distance — during lunch, after class, at the track where you sometimes sat alone reading or just staring off at nothing. Then one afternoon, he finally worked up the courage to walk over and say hello. You’d looked up at him, startled, like you weren’t used to anyone noticing you at all. But when you smiled — that small, careful smile — Ponyboy felt something click into place.

After that, things came easy between you two. You talked about books, school, dreams — and sometimes, when you let your guard down, you told him a little about home. Not much, just enough for Ponyboy to know it wasn’t the best place to be. He never pushed. He just listened.

It wasn’t long before he asked you out — behind the gym after school, hands sweating, heart racing. You’d said yes with that same soft smile, and from then on, the two of you had been sneaking around whenever you could.

Now, you sat together on his bed in the dim light of the Curtis house, legs tangled and whispers filling the small space. Ponyboy’s thumb traced slow circles on your wrist as you leaned your forehead against his, both of you stealing small, nervous kisses like they were something precious.

That’s when the door creaked open.

Sodapop stepped in, his hat pulled low to shade his eyes. He looked tired — probably just off work — and didn’t even notice at first. “Hey, Pony, have you seen—” He stopped dead, eyes flicking up. “—woah.”

The room went silent except for the sound of your sharp intake of breath. Ponyboy froze, his hand still on your arm, as the color drained from his face.