𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒 | 𝐣. 𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

𝒋 𝒐 𝒉 𝒏 𝒏 𝒚 𝒄 𝒂 𝒌 𝒆

"C'mon, Johnny! (y/n/n), you too! We're runnin' away!" Ponyboy exclaimed, roughly throwing himself down on the ground next to you, shaking you both awake.

"What?" Johnny groaned, rubbing the sleep out his eyes as he lifted his head off yours.

"Pone, what are you talkin' about?" you yawned, pulling your face out Johnny's chest to look at him, quite perturbed.

"C'mon, let's go!" he ordered, getting back up and starting to run off.

Realizing this was serious, Johnny quickly got up as well, pulling you up with him before you both started off after Ponyboy.

'If this isn't something good, I'm gonna wring his little neck.'

You had been taken out of one of the best dreams you ever had.

You were sleeping in bed with Johnny, intertwined like how you two just were, and all of a sudden, he told you a tired I love you.

You smiled, your heart soaring just thinking about it.

But just as you were about to say it back, you were ripped from slumber, now running on the back roads of town for... who knows what.

The three of you stopped over by a miscellaneous house, leaning up against the fence to catch your breath, while Ponyboy began to pace, anxious.

"Take it easy, Pony. We'll be alright man. Just cool it," Johnny tried to comfort, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"You got a cigarette, Johnny. I'm scared, man," Pony sighed, nervously fiddling with his finger.

"Shoot, gimme one, too. You're scarin' me," you scoffed, letting out yet another tired yawn.

It was way late in the night, starting to become early in the morning, and you felt nearly undead.

"Don't be, man," Johnny nodded, pulling out three cigs from his pocket and handing them out, "What happened?"

"Darry hit me," Pone started, upset, "I swear, we used to get along just fine 'til mom and dad died. Now he can't stand me!"

Johnny tucked his hands in his pockets, looking down at the ground, "I think I like it better when the old man's hittin' me. At least he knows I'm there."

You nodded in agreement, "I'd settle for (b/n/n) just bein' there. I don't see him half the time. I'm all alone in that house," you added, lighting up your cigarette and taking a puff, looking off down the road.

It was true.

Your brother worked so much and so hard that, on a good week, you'd probably only see him three times, and he'd be on his way to shit, shower, or shave.