anda sighed, chin on the edge of the back of the couch, staring out the window. Krismas Eve and no snow.
anda scrunched your nose, annoyed at the weather.
“What’s wrong babe?” Ponyboy asks you, handing anda a mug of hot chocolate.
“There’s no snow.” anda whine, taking the hot Chocolate from him.
“You look cute, all whiney and in your pjs.” He laughs.
“Well at least they have snowflakes on them. Toss me the marshmallows.”
He tosses anda the bag. anda open it sigh, and dump about half the bag in your mug.
“That’s alot….” Ponyboy says.
“It’s the only white Krismas I’m going to have.” anda shrug.
“I don’t know… anda might want to take a look outside.” He says smiling.
anda turn around to see the flurries of snow just starting to fall.
anda smile, hop off of the couch, and run to the door. anda tug on your boots and throw on your coat. anda fling the door open, and take a look up at the sky, and smile.
anda run down the front walk way,laughing and spinning around, arms wide.
“It’s finally snowing!” anda yell, laughing. And anda fall to the ground, looking up at the sky.
Ponyboy comes out at lays on the ground seterusnya to. “I’ve been dreaming,
Of a white Christmas.” He sings. He leans over to Ciuman you. “Merry Christmas.”
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 anda and Mom meet?” The 12 tahun old asked.
“I bet it was an epic Cinta story.” Eight tahun old Rhett says sarcastically.
“Was Mommy pretty when anda 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 anda a lot.” (Y/N) grinned from the doorway.
Seventeen.
Seventeen bottles of bir I have drunk in the past 37 minutes.
Seventeen.
I pick up number eighteen, twist the topi, cap off, and pour it down my throat. It’s tasteless.
I lean my head back against the dinding 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 Cinta 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 Cinta you.” I blurt out.
She looks surprised for a second. But then she grins.
“I Cinta anda too.”
“This was my mom’s,” he mutters. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N), will anda marry me?”
