You walked into the Curtis house and you saw Ponyboy sitting there leitura his book. "Hey Pony, are you ready to read 'Gone with the wind?' " "Yeah hang on, oi Soda, can you come here for a minute." You and Ponyboy have been friends for a couple days now and he promised he would show you his favorito book, and you never knew he had a brother. "Hey Pony--" Soda walked in with no camisa on, only a towel. His jaw dropped and he blushed. "Hi, I'm Sodapop," "I'm Alex," you couldn't stop looking into his beautiful eyes. "Well Alex, how about I take you to the dingo for a coke?" You nod but then remember that you were really there to get that book. "Oh, pony, I'm sorry, can I please go?" "I ain't your parent, sure you can go and here take the book, you can read it to Soda." Soda took your hand and began leading you out the door. "Hey sodapop!" pónei, pônei yelled, "you know you only got a towel on?" Soda blushed and gave you a quick kiss then ran to go get cloths.
Ponyboy’s Perspective
“Dad?”
“Yeah, Scar?” I say, looking away from the football game I was watching. I was holding Ella, she was 4 months old now.
“How did you and Mom meet?” The 12 ano old asked.
“I bet it was an epic amor story.” Eight ano old Rhett says sarcastically.
“Was Mommy pretty when you met her?” Charlie, who was five now, asked.
“The prettiest girl I’d ever seen.” I smiled down at him. “Until Scar and Ella came along. Now I know the three prettiest girls in the world. Anyways, there’s not much to tell. I saw her one day, and I fell in love. I thought she didn’t like me…”
“Nah, I like you a lot.” (Y/N) grinned from the doorway.
Seventeen.
Seventeen bottles of cerveja I have drunk in the past 37 minutes.
Seventeen.
I pick up number eighteen, twist the boné, cap off, and pour it down my throat. It’s tasteless.
I lean my head back against the mural from where I sit on the floor of my basement.
I see a football. Danny’s football. It used to be Danny’s football. Now it’s just some football my son used to hold, used to play with. It probably smelled like him. Part of me wanted to go pick it up, the other part of me didn’t wanted to be reminded of the last time we played football together.
I pick up number nineteen, and out of the corner of my eye see (Y/N)’s old dolls, something we thought we could use for our little girl someday.
But that’s not going to happen.
I know what happened. I saw their mangled, bruised, broken, dead bodies after their accident.
I pick up number twenty.
Oh God how was I going to say this.
The rest of my life depended on this.
She was just perfect. In every way possible. She was beautiful. Kind. Sweet. Funny. Understanding. Just (Y/N).
And I needed to tell her.
Tell her how much I needed her, wanted her, and had to have her. It was a feeling beyond comprehension. It was love.
I needed to tell her I loved her.
So here I am, sitting in the lot, looking at the stars with (Y/N). Doing something I amor with the one I love.
I look over at her, her eyes gleaming from the light of the fire.
“(Y/N)?” I ask as I grab her hand.
“Yeah?” She turns to face me.
“I-I think…” I start.
“Just say it,” she smiles.
“I amor you.” I blurt out.
She looks surprised for a second. But then she grins.
“I amor you too.”
“This was my mom’s,” he mutters. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N), will you marry me?”