Late Nights (Dallyboy)

Chapter 7

It had been a few days since Dally had been to the Curtis home. This was because of some trouble the greaser had gotten himself into. The trouble being, he was afraid of his feelings and what they were causing.
He'd find himself staring at the youngest of the gang and dreaming of what it would be like to hold his hand. Would it be soft? Would the embrace of their hands be loose, or firm? When Dally noticed these thoughts, he'd try to convince himself it was only because if they were in a situation where they need to run, Dallas would have to grab Pony's hand to run out. Sometimes, when he would be staring for too long, Soda or Johnny would ask what he was looking at. Which, Dallas would fumble and tell them to "fuck off" or "nothing".
One late night, the tough hood awoke. He was startled, feedup, tired of these unknown emotions that would swell in his chest. The dream he woke from still damced in his head, and the blond closed his eyes and scrunched his nose attempting to get rid of it. The image of Ponyboy beaming and snuggling beside him; though, did not leave.
Dally huffed and threw off his sheets. Turing on a light, collecting a pencil and paper, then sitting in back on the bed he thought hard. He wanted to express his feelings and tell Ponyboy of his forbidden thoughts.
Finally, one late night, Dallas Winston wrote a poem. He raked his brain and wrote slowly and carefully so it was legible. He put thought into his words, did Pony always did.
When he was finally done, he folded the paper and put it in his jacket pocket. Maybe he'd return to and deliver it to the boy.