14

Steve had always been good in a crisis.

At the DX, when an engine caught fire. On the street, when a fight broke out. At school, when a friend went too far, and he had to step in. He was the one who handled things. Cool head, quick hands, sharp tongue.

But standing outside that bathroom door?

He didn’t feel sharp. He didn’t feel steady.

He felt like he was going to break.

He’d never heard Ponyboy cry like that—so raw, so gutted, like something inside him had snapped and couldn’t be put back together again.

And Steve knew it was his fault.

Not because he’d done something wrong, not really. But because he'd let them fall asleep. Because he’d let Pony carry too much of the risk. Because he’d kissed him under the stars like they lived in a world that wouldn’t tear it apart come morning.

Now Darry was outside the door, arms crossed, jaw clenched, confused and already suspicious. Soda kept pacing like he was trying to think of every possible reason his kid brother would be locked in the bathroom crying his lungs out.

And Steve?

Steve just kept his palm flat against the door.

“Pony,” he said quietly, not caring that they could hear. “It’s alright. You didn’t mess anything up, okay? I’m still here.”

Another choked sob behind the wood. Steve pressed his eyes shut.

God, he wanted to go in there. Wrap Pony up in his arms. Say something to make it better. Fix it.

But he couldn’t.

Not with the others standing there.

“Look,” Steve said, turning slightly toward Darry and Soda, keeping his voice calm, casual, just convincing enough. “He’s probably just overwhelmed. School’s been a lot, right? And maybe he had a bad dream. Kid’s sensitive.”

Soda’s brow furrowed. “Steve, he’s not a baby. This is more than some bad dream.”

“Maybe,” Steve said. “But he’ll tell you when he’s ready. He trusts you.”

He prayed that was enough to keep them still. Keep them quiet.

Because the last thing Ponyboy needed was Darry kicking the door down and finding out everything in the worst way possible.

Steve stepped close again, lowering his voice, not caring that the hallway was watching.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered through the door. “You hear me? I’m not leaving you.”

He could feel Pony on the other side, even if he couldn’t see him. Could feel how small and scared and trapped he must be in there.

He’d give anything to pull him out of that.

To take the blame. The fear. The weight of it all.

Because Steve Randle had never been good at saying it out loud, but he loved him. And if he had to lie for him—cover for him—burn the truth down just to keep Ponyboy from falling apart in front of everyone?

He would.

In a heartbeat.

-

“I’m not going leaving you.”

Words that stuck, somehow, even through the noise in his head.

He could hear Soda pacing. Darry standing still—he always stood still when he was thinking. Measuring. Waiting to snap.

But Steve...

Steve’s voice was the only one that didn’t make his chest feel like it was caving in.

Ponyboy swallowed hard, lifted his head.

He reached up, fingers trembling, and undid the lock.

Click.

He stayed there for a second longer, frozen. If I open this door, it’s real.

But Steve was still on the other side.

And that was enough.

Slowly, Pony opened the door.

The light from the hallway poured in, and with it came the shapes of three figures—Soda looking worried, Darry looking confused and sharp-eyed, and Steve—

Steve looked at him.

Just him.

Not like he was broken. Not like he was weak.

Like he was worth waiting for.

Pony’s eyes were red. His cheeks blotchy. He couldn’t stop shaking. But when Steve stepped forward, he didn’t flinch.

Steve didn’t speak. He didn’t try to fix it right away. He just reached out and gently, carefully, placed a hand on Pony’s shoulder.

That simple touch cracked something loose.

Ponyboy didn’t fall into his arms—he didn’t have to. Just leaned into the contact, shaky breath catching in his throat.

Soda blinked. Took a step forward like he wanted to ask a thousand questions.

Darry’s jaw tightened.

Steve didn’t move.

And Ponyboy, in that fragile, terrifying silence, finally looked up and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Not to them.

To himself.

Because he hadn’t done anything wrong.

But it still felt like the world was going to punish him for it.

-

The second the bathroom door was fully open, Soda was moving.

“Hey—hey, kid,” he said, reaching for Pony like he wanted to scoop him up and fix it all with one hug. “You’re okay, you’re alright.”

Ponyboy shook his head, but his body leaned in anyway. Soda’s arms wrapped around him before he could think, and something in his chest cracked all over again. His face pressed into Soda’s shoulder, and the tears started fresh—quiet, desperate, helpless.

“I’m sorry,” he choked. “I didn’t mean to—I'm sorry, I’m so sorry—”

“Hey, hey—don’t say that. You don’t gotta be sorry for anything,” Soda murmured, rocking them slightly. “You’re scaring me, Pony. What's goin' on? Did something happen?”

Darry stepped closer now, his voice quieter than usual but still edged with tension. “Did someone do something to you?”

Ponyboy flinched at the question. “No,” he whispered.

But the way his eyes darted—just for a second—toward Steve said everything he was trying not to say.

And Steve saw it.

Soda pulled back, hands still gripping his arms. “Pony, you gotta talk to us, alright? You don’t look okay. You’re shaking, kid. What’s going on?”

Pony sniffled, brushing at his face with the back of his sleeve. His eyes were red and tired. His voice wavered.

“I just… I feel like everything’s wrong. Like I ruined something I can’t fix.”

He wasn’t sure if he meant the lie, or the truth. The secret, or the silence.

Maybe all of it.

Soda’s hand smoothed down his back. “You didn’t ruin anything, Ponyboy. I don’t care what it is. You just gotta tell us, alright?”

Pony’s throat closed up.

He couldn’t say it. Not with Steve still here. Not with Soda looking at him like he was trying to hold the whole world together just for his little brother.

And Darry—his face was unreadable. Not angry. But serious. Waiting. Watching.

Another sob slipped out before he could stop it, and Pony covered his face with his hands, shoulders trembling all over again.

He felt Steve’s presence just behind Soda. Quiet. Solid. Not moving. Not pushing.

But Ponyboy could feel the apology in his silence.

The regret.

The helplessness.

And that made it worse.

Because Steve didn’t deserve to feel that way.