「look at the stars」 | Johnnyboy

S e v e n .

"Do you remember what you said, the night of your parents' funeral?" The mention of the day caused an ache to shoot through his chest. He looked around them, unsure of what was going on. They were standing at a bridge, cars swooping by them at an abnormally fast rate. He didn't remember coming here.

"I was pretty out of it." He finally replied, meeting his eyes alas.

"Oh." The words came out hard, Johnny's gaze aimed at the traffic that, surprisingly, hadn't hit either of them yet.

"What'd I say, Johnny?" Ponyboy stepped forward, brows knitted together in confusion.

"Nothing." He looked down quickly, taking a step back. Ponyboy warily glanced at the ledge behind the elder boy. He could fall off at any moment, but he really hoped that wouldn't happen. His hands reached out, desperate for the boy to latch on - he didn't.

"No, what is it? What'd I say?"

"You really don't remember?" There were tears in his eyes. "You don't remember what you said? What we said?"

"No." He was shaking his head hurriedly now, hands trembling as if he were running out of time for something — but out of time for what? "Tell me, I don't remember."

"I guess you'll just have to live not knowing then." And with that, Johnny took another step backwards, legs hitting the cement hard and sending his body over the edge.

"Johnny, wait!" Ponyboy's hands reached farther out, trying to grip onto something - anything - to save him, but to no avail. He rushed to the ledge, eyes wide and hands holding onto it securely as he watched his best friend fall to his death. "No! Somebody help, please!" He looked around frantically; there were people walking on the sidelines, people in cars - yet no one seemed to care. "Please! Please, someone call 911! We have to help him!" But again, nothing.

*

His body shot forward, breathing mangled and heart pounding. It only took a moment to realize that he was in his bed, in his room, and that it was all a dream. He'd had nightmares a lot throughout the past nine months, but most centered around his family - Darry, Sodapop, even his parents from time to time. Though hardly any had ever included his friends. He glanced at his side, where his brother usually slept soundly - they had a decently sized bed, but not too much money. So, as a way of saving, they'd agreed to share. Sodapop wasn't at his side, though.

He felt around the warm surface of the table at his bedside, fingers eventually finding his phone before he clutched the device to his chest. He looked at the time first; eleven p.m. Then, he realized the missed calls. Eight from Curly, four from an unknown number. That was unusual; he talked to Curly here and there, but never at this time of night. And then the questions came - why was he calling so late? Couldn't it have just waited until tomorrow?

With a frustrated sigh, he climbed away from the comfort of his covers and walked toward the window. He figured he must have fallen asleep on the couch, so waking him wasn't an issue. His fingers dialed Curly's number, listening to it ring for an undetermined amount of time before the boy finally answered.

"Goddamn, Pony, where've you been all night?" The words sounded exasperated, breathless, yet relieved at the same time.