THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN YOU // JOHNNYBOY

EIGHTEEN | Don't Feel Too Hot

Ponyboy Curtis
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Contentment / Noun
the state of being contented; satisfaction; ease of mind.

DAY FOUR OF VEGAS

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As my eyes shoot open I am met with an emptyness in my gut, my mind knows something isn't right. Hangover. My head growls in displeasure and my vision is a foggy haze — through this, I feel Johnny's warmth at my side and I start to feel the slightest bit better. Until I do not. I feel liquid meet at the roof of my mouth and I slip out of bed and trek towards the bathroom as quickly as possible, letting the load of vomit out of my system, lurching and gagging as the liquid burns my throat and makes my eyes prickle with wetness. My mouth is stained with the taste and smell of alcohol and I do not like it one bit. I jump up to the sink and drown my mouth in the water drooling from the faucet, trying to ease my mouth of the horrid taste.

I slump onto the side of the tub in the bathroom, wedged next to the toilet, because I just know that the throwing up is not done and that there will be more sooner or later. Until I am interrupted by a quiet knocking at the door. I can tell just by the gentleness of the tapping that it is Johnny.

Johnny is an angel on earth. He is the most calm and gentle being known to man. He is like a baby animal. I adore him with every centimeter, every inch, in my body.

"Ponyboy?" He asks softly through the otherside door, which makes my mind swoon, butterflies ignite like sparks inside me. I almost completely forget about how ill I am because of how captivating, how perfect this boy is. "Yeah?" I grumble out, still sickened by my morning voice. "Are you doing okay? I heard gagging." He admits with a shy tone. "I'm okay. I think I'm just a bit — " I start, but am interrupted by sudden gagging. There's that extra vomiting I mentioned earlier. My throat starts to burn and I crane my neck over the bowl of the toilet, wreching out puke and mush. That alcohol taste and stench intoxicating my mouth is making me want to puke more. Johnny bursts in and slides down next to me. He moves tufts of my bleached hair behind my ear. Beads of sweat drip down my forehead but I think Johnny chooses to not mention it. He shushes me and reassures me it'll be okay. When I'm done letting out more waste, I look up at Johnny with some sort of guilt and prickling wet eyes.

"I'm sorry." I cower as my lip quivers. Johnny looks at me with a loving, sympathetic look. I can't hold back the tears, they burst out of me like sparks. Johnny holds onto me as I cry and ramble. "I'm sorry it's my fault —" "What's your fault?" "Me being sick — I drank too much! I shouldn't have drank at all!" "You just wanted to experiment that's not your fault." Johnny reassures, rubbing circles on my back which gives me shivers.

Johnny stands up, giving me his hand to grab onto. I grab it like I'm a moth against light, and I hold onto it tightly like it's my lifeline. Johnny leads me back to bed and helps me into it. He wraps the heavy, cloud like, blanket around my waist and fluffs the pillows behind me, leaning down to eye-to-eye level to deliver a sympathetic smile as he plants a kiss against my forehead. I try to pull him down to lay with me, craving his warmth on mine, but he pulls away in the opposite direction. "I'm going to get you something to eat." He whispers, pulling away from me. I groan because, in full truth, I'm not hungry at all — but I know if I want this hangover to get any better, I should eat.

Johnny trails back into the room with a plate in one hand a glass in the other. The plate holds a lightly buttered pair of toast and the glass holds water which is filled about an inch from the brim of it. He sets the glass on the bedside table, along with the plate, and then he slides into bed next to me. I try to wrap my arms around his body but he pulls away. "You need to eat." He mutters, pointing around me to the plate and glass on the side table. I roll my eyes towards the table, letting my head droop its way, and then I look back at Johnny as I grab one of the slices of toasted bread and take a crunching bite out of it, placing it back on its respective place. The bread crumbles in my mouth and the butter melts, it all tasting a bit too good for a piece of toast. I don't regret eating it. After I swallow the product, I wrap my arms around Johnny's waist — just how I wanted to. Johnny grabs the TV remote and flicks around the channels on the TV trying to find something for both of us to watch as I fight off this hangover. As the movie Johnny's picks starts to play its opening credits, my mind starts to lull into a peaceful sleep . . .

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Johnny Cade

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Ponyboy snores quietly against my side and it sends butterflies all over. I feel incredibly bad for Ponyboy — he is not feeling good at all. But I know he'll be better in no time, so I'm trying not to stress it — especially since I know that if I show clear distress about this it'll only make Ponyboy more upset. Well, when he's awake atleast. When he's asleep I'm free to express this, so I let out an upset sigh as my lip quivers, but I brush it off like dust on the cupboard. Discarded.

A light tapping comes from the otherside of the door and in comes Soda, fluttering in like a fairy on earth. "Hey!" He greets loudly. But I close that down quickly, shushing him and pointing down to Ponyboy frantically with my arm which is slightly asleep because of Ponyboy's weight which has been on it for the past hour. I put my arm back down to frame Ponyboy's back which faces Soda. "Oops — Sorry . ." Soda hushes, walking towards the bed and sitting at the end of it, his back facing us, but his head turned to make eye contact with my face. "How's he taking it?" He asks, looking down at Pony with a sympathetic stare just like how I did when I first saw him. "It's . ." I start, but pause to ponder around the idea. " . . He's taking it the best he could. It's a bit rough." "Hangovers always are." Soda chuckles, but the laughter is short living, because he stops moments after. "I knew it was gonna be bad the second I saw him slurring and struggling to stand like that. He was having fun, though." He reassures. "Darry's a bit pissed though, right?" I ask. "Definetly. He wont even face me. I mean, if my kid brother gave my other kid brother alcohol I'd be pissed too — but man, that doesn't feel too hot. Being ignored like that." Soda explains, where hes looking is unclear, but his irises bat everywhere around the room and I try to follow them but can't find where he's trying to place his vision.

"Ponyboy's definitely gotta chill on the alcohol next time." Soda laughs. "Definitely." I respond. Ponyboy sleeps beautifully against my waist, and I know he'll be okay. Tomorrow's a new day, anyway.

Words: 1292

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A/N) new fav chapter 😫🤭