summary: small little one shot of @wildestdreamcatcher and I’s 70s purly au 🥹🥹 pls enjoy
it’s curly being 18 and realizing he messed up by breaking up with ponyboy before he left for college. it’s him noticing ponyboy would’ve taken him with him, and he knows it’s too late now.
it’s curly, being the confused 19 year old he is, moving to california, desperate to get out of tulsa. it’s him finding out about a weekend-long music festival, deciding ‘why not’, and buying a ticket.
it’s curly seeing that familiar auburn hair at the music festival, and thinking to himself ‘what are the odds?’ until he makes contact with the green eyes he knows he’s gotten lost in before.
it’s curly spending the weekend with his ex-boyfriend, huddling for warmth in tents under the moon; dancing together under the sun.
it’s the one polaroid photo they had together, of ponyboy smiling with curly’s hands on his hips, his head poking out from behind ponyboy’s shoulders with an even bigger grin.
it’s the kiss they shared before ponyboy hitched a ride away from the festival, and curly slipping a napkin with an address written on it into his back pocket as they did.
it’s curly returning back to his small apartment, alone, pinning the polaroid onto his fridge.
it’s ponyboy showing up at curly’s doorstep 2 months later with a duffle bag and a muffled apology, soaked to the bone
it’s curly staring at him, eyes wide, as he watches tears mix with the rain on the boy’s face, and his heart dropping as he hears the words ‘i couldn’t do it. i have nowhere to go.’
it’s curly wondering what he means, but ultimately realizing he too wouldn’t want to go back to tulsa. it’s curly reaching his hand out for the duffle bag, his stomach doing flips as ponyboy hands it over. he throws it onto the living room floor. it’s him reaching his hand back out, expecting more.
it’s ponyboy’s heart fluttering as he hesitantly places his hand in curly’s, almost like he’s scared of rejection, even if he knows curly would never reject him.
it’s curly pulling him into the warmth of the apartment and into him, slamming the door behind them. it’s the scratched record (that ponyboy didn’t even notice was playing music) skipping to the next song, a slow melody filling the small home.
“Oh, my love, my darling, I’ve hungered for your touch. A long, lonely time.”
it’s the press of their lips together—the push of pony’s back against the door, and his only thought being ‘i missed this.’ it’s the smile pony can feel against his mouth, knowing curly thought the same.
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