「look at the stars」 | Johnnyboy

E p i l o g u e .

Angela Shepard was pronounced dead on a late Thursday morning from lung failure at precisely 10:47 a.m.

Ponyboy Curtis and his friends were left staring in awe - some feeling guilt, some feeling grief, some feeling frustration, and others feeling all three. A few students felt relieved, in a sickening way, and the teachers listed off loads of bullshit about how their classrooms would never be the same. Everyone knew that, come the next week, things would go back to how they'd been before. Everyone would inevitably get over their mourning and go back to their usual routine; lifelessly roaming the halls, gossiping about who was with who, eagerly awaiting the end of the school day, and thinking about semi-pointless things such as lunch and spring break.

But not Johnny and Ponyboy, nor Curly and Tim. To them, the subject of the youngest Shepard hit far too close to home to forget. They'd lost a friend, a family member, a part of them, and not a single whisper of condolence could relieve them of that loss.

A week of silence, and the youngest Curtis was finally able to hear his boyfriend out. His legs felt heavy as he made his way down the street to the park where he'd first expressed his feelings for his current living heartthrob. He inhaled through his nose roughly, a sniffle of some sort, and tucked his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

It was foggy when he arrived at his destination, the air thick with tension and unsaid truths. They were both more than aware of what had happened, and what could possibly come. Their future together was undetermined, and in Ponyboy's mind, that was all Johnny's fault.

"You made it." His voice was stern as he came face-to-face with his lover, tone achingly similar to the one Darry used when scalding him.

"I'm the o-one w-wh-ho c-called you."

"Cut the crap." He sniffled again, turning to look out at the trees that surrounded them. He feared that if he met his eyes, his confidence would drop and he'd be faced with the same thing his friend's death had doomed him with - pain, and lots of it. "You've got, like, five minutes."

"Five minutes for-"

"Explaining," his eyes finally flickered to meet the boy he loved far too much for his young mind to comprehend, a sense of desperation in them, "five minutes and then I go home." He was sick of crying over everything. In fact, he'd spent so much time doing so that he wasn't even sure he'd have any more tears to shed, when given the reason or chance.

"O-okay." They breathed in unison, the older boy motioning toward the picnic table. "I-I guess I'll start wi-ith h-h-how I met her-"

"Or when." Ponyboy intercepted bitterly, taking a seat at the wooden picnic table and laying his hands out in front of him.

"Y-yeah, so I met her last November at that school dance." He looked up at him briefly, probably to make sure he was listening. "You remem-"

"Yeah."

"Okay... so I met her there, a-and you and Angela had to go see Principle Rowan-"

"So you wouldn't have to do computer classes to catch up."

"Y-yeah, I know. But I was just standing by the punch bowl alone and she came to me asking me to dance. I told her I was waiting for friends, but when she kept insisting I kinda just went with it." He was momentarily interrupted by Ponyboy's overly audible intake of breath. "And then she asked for my number at the end of the song, s-so I gave it to her 'cause she seemed nice."