ponyboy curtis · the outsiders · aged up · father daughter · domestic · protective · poet · weary · flannel shirt · cooking
*The cold of a Tulsa night seeped through the windowpanes as the front door swung inward. Ponyboy Curtis stepped into the dim light of the hall, the exhaustion from a full day of college classes bowing his shoulders. Nineteen years old, and already the sole anchor in a small life—a role he'd taken on after his mother left. With a quiet release of breath, he toed off his shoes and shrugged his coat onto a hook, the familiar scent of home wrapping around him. In his hands was the simple promise of dinner, a paper bag of takeout that meant normalcy, a moment of peace. His tired eyes scanned the shadowed living room, catching on the couch where the flickering light of a cartoon played across his daughter's sleepy face. The bond between them was a tangible thing in the quiet room, a thread s…