“Wanna dance?” He asked, eyebrows raised, smirk on his face.
It was the night of the eighth grade dance; which you had no date for. You were going stag, being the loser you were, until your best friend Ponyboy showed up.
“You serious?” You ask.
“C’mon it’d be fun… And hilarious. We’d basically be making fun of all these kids. That’s one of our favorite things to do.” He grins.
“Fine.” You mutter as you grab his hand and lead him out to the dance floor.
You stand in front of him, slightly raising your head to meet his eyes. He smiles.
“We’re going to have to get a little closer to properly make fun of these sex-crazed idiots.” He grins, putting his hands on your waist and pulled you close, bodies pressed against each other.
“That’s better.” He mumbles.
The music starts, him starting to grind on you.
You stand there, completely shocked. Your relationship had never, ever been sexual. You’d always had feeling about him… But you thought nothing would ever happen to between us.
“You gotta do it to…” He whispers in your ear. “I don’t want it to look like I’m assaulting you. Even though I’m having fun…”
“We’ll, you asked for it.” You grinned.
You start moving your hips in synch, locking eyes with him, biting your lip.
You see the smile cross his face, and you start to laugh softly. Just for show, you turn around and start getting low.
“Excuse me, this dancing is starting to get out of hand.” A teacher comes over, trying to wedge between you, but decides it wouldn’t be a good idea.
Ponyboy is trying not to laugh, his face turning red. “I’ll be more… Uh less provocative.” He finally says.
“Just… Take it outside…” The teacher walks away, shaking his head.
It was the night of the eighth grade dance; which you had no date for. You were going stag, being the loser you were, until your best friend Ponyboy showed up.
“You serious?” You ask.
“C’mon it’d be fun… And hilarious. We’d basically be making fun of all these kids. That’s one of our favorite things to do.” He grins.
“Fine.” You mutter as you grab his hand and lead him out to the dance floor.
You stand in front of him, slightly raising your head to meet his eyes. He smiles.
“We’re going to have to get a little closer to properly make fun of these sex-crazed idiots.” He grins, putting his hands on your waist and pulled you close, bodies pressed against each other.
“That’s better.” He mumbles.
The music starts, him starting to grind on you.
You stand there, completely shocked. Your relationship had never, ever been sexual. You’d always had feeling about him… But you thought nothing would ever happen to between us.
“You gotta do it to…” He whispers in your ear. “I don’t want it to look like I’m assaulting you. Even though I’m having fun…”
“We’ll, you asked for it.” You grinned.
You start moving your hips in synch, locking eyes with him, biting your lip.
You see the smile cross his face, and you start to laugh softly. Just for show, you turn around and start getting low.
“Excuse me, this dancing is starting to get out of hand.” A teacher comes over, trying to wedge between you, but decides it wouldn’t be a good idea.
Ponyboy is trying not to laugh, his face turning red. “I’ll be more… Uh less provocative.” He finally says.
“Just… Take it outside…” The teacher walks away, shaking his head.
Ponyboy’s Perspective
“Dad?”
“Yeah, Scar?” I say, looking away from the football game I was watching. I was holding Ella, she was 4 months old now.
“How did you and Mom meet?” The 12 year old asked.
“I bet it was an epic love story.” Eight year old Rhett says sarcastically.
“Was Mommy pretty when you met her?” Charlie, who was five now, asked.
“The prettiest girl I’d ever seen.” I smiled down at him. “Until Scar and Ella came along. Now I know the three prettiest girls in the world. Anyways, there’s not much to tell. I saw her one day, and I fell in love. I thought she didn’t like me…”
“Nah, I like you a lot.” (Y/N) grinned from the doorway.
Seventeen.
Seventeen bottles of beer I have drunk in the past 37 minutes.
Seventeen.
I pick up number eighteen, twist the cap off, and pour it down my throat. It’s tasteless.
I lean my head back against the wall from where I sit on the floor of my basement.
I see a football. Danny’s football. It used to be Danny’s football. Now it’s just some football my son used to hold, used to play with. It probably smelled like him. Part of me wanted to go pick it up, the other part of me didn’t wanted to be reminded of the last time we played football together.
I pick up number nineteen, and out of the corner of my eye see (Y/N)’s old dolls, something we thought we could use for our little girl someday.
But that’s not going to happen.
I know what happened. I saw their mangled, bruised, broken, dead bodies after their accident.
I pick up number twenty.
Oh God how was I going to say this.
The rest of my life depended on this.
She was just perfect. In every way possible. She was beautiful. Kind. Sweet. Funny. Understanding. Just (Y/N).
And I needed to tell her.
Tell her how much I needed her, wanted her, and had to have her. It was a feeling beyond comprehension. It was love.
I needed to tell her I loved her.
So here I am, sitting in the lot, looking at the stars with (Y/N). Doing something I love with the one I love.
I look over at her, her eyes gleaming from the light of the fire.
“(Y/N)?” I ask as I grab her hand.
“Yeah?” She turns to face me.
“I-I think…” I start.
“Just say it,” she smiles.
“I love you.” I blurt out.
She looks surprised for a second. But then she grins.
“I love you too.”
“This was my mom’s,” he mutters. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N), will you marry me?”