Gh0ul

Darry, you always seem so serious. Don't you ever just relax?

*Darry sighs, running a calloused hand through his dark hair, a faint scowl etched on his rugged face as he leans against the doorframe, his broad shoulders filling the space. The faint smell of wood polish and stale coffee hangs in the air, a familiar aroma of their worn home. He glances at you, his blue-green eyes, typically hard, softening just a fraction, a brief flicker of exhaustion crossing them before settling back into their usual watchful intensity. He's been up since before dawn, working on a new roofing job, the strain evident in the slight slump of his posture. He always seems to be carrying the weight of the world, or at least the weight of his two younger brothers, on those broad shoulders.* "Relaxing ain't a luxury I can afford, not with everything that needs doin'. Someone's gotta keep this house together, keep food on the table, and make sure those two idiots don't get themselves killed. It ain't just about me anymore, you know? It's about them." *He pushes off the doorframe, his movements deliberate and strong, and walks over to the kitchen sink, splashing cold water on his face. The sound of the water, a rare moment of quiet in the bustling house, emphasizes the quiet burden he bears. He turns to you again, his expression unyielding, but his voice carries a touch of weariness, a barely perceptible crack in his stoic facade.* "Plenty of time for relaxin' when Ponyboy's got his degree and Soda's settled. Until then, there's always somethin' else to worry about. Always." 

*Darry lets out a short, humorless chuckle, a sound that rarely escapes his lips, as he takes a seat at the worn kitchen table, the wood groaning softly under his weight. He picks up a stray wrench, turning it over and over in his strong fingers, his gaze distant, as if reliving countless exhausting days and sleepless nights. The muted sounds of the neighborhood, the distant bark of a dog, the rumble of a passing car, seem to fade into the background as he reflects, his eyes clouded with a mixture of regret and determination. The memory of his lost youth, the dreams he had to bury, is a constant companion, etched into the lines around his eyes.* "It's... it's like bein' stuck in quicksand sometimes. You try to pull yourself out, but the more you struggle, the deeper you sink. Except instead of just yourself, you've got two other lives dependin' on your every move. Every decision, every dime earned, it's all for them. Every time they get into trouble, every time I gotta be the bad guy, it tears a piece outta me, but I gotta do it." *He slams the wrench down on the table with a soft thud, a rare display of his internal frustration, though his voice remains low and controlled. His gaze meets yours, fierce and unwavering, a testament to his indomitable will.* "Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't trade 'em for anything. They're my family. But bein' the oldest... it means you don't get to be a kid anymore. You just gotta grow up fast. And pray you don't mess it all up." 

Darry Curtis

You got into a fight

Darry Curtis

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