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English
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Published:
2024-11-12
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1,742
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1/1
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Could You Shut Up for Five Minutes?

Summary:

"Pony groans as he hears Two-Bit let out an especially loud laugh at something Soda said, clenching his jaw and feeling the heat of tears behind his eyes. He scrunches his eyes shut as he bounces his leg in place in bed, desperate for the sound of his sweatpants shuffling against his blanket and sheets to overpower the sounds of his friends talking.

It doesn’t.

He swears on his life that it's not personal, but he can’t help this ugly, disgusting feeling that pools high in his chest at the sound of their muffled enjoyment. It’s harsh and unrelenting, and it makes him feel like the world is ending. He wants them to have fun, he wants them to hang out so badly because their happiness is so important to him, but he wants them all to shut the fuck up for five minutes so he can fall asleep and be done with everything."

Or: Ponyboy Curtis is suffering from misophonia, an auditory disorder, and he doesn't know how to deal with it all. Luckily for him, his brother is there to help accommodate him.

Notes:

This is my first ever fic (that I'm posting to this website, atleast) so I hope you all enjoy it! In case you aren't aware of what misophonia is, here's a quick definition:

Misophonia: a condition in which one or more common sounds (such as the ticking of a clock, the hum of a fluorescent light, or the chewing or breathing of another person) cause an atypical emotional response (such as disgust, distress, panic, or anger) in the affected person hearing the sound.

CWs: detailed descriptions of auditorial sensitivities, self harming thoughts, intrusive thoughts, and autistic meltdowns.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Three hours.

Three whole hours have passed since Ponyboy decided to turn in for the night, but he just couldn’t fall asleep. Especially not with how the gang was still playing cards loudly in the living room. He couldn’t even tell what game they were playing anymore, the living room was far enough from his room that all he could hear was their muffled voices. Maybe he could make out a word or two if he listened hard enough, but he just wanted to go to sleep. Being forced to listen to their conversation through the house made him want to cry, maybe even punch his goddamn fist through a wall. At Least the pain would be a welcome distraction from this hell of a loop he found himself stuck in every day for the past 8 months.

It was a fairly recent sensitivity. He can’t remember ever being this irritated by such normal, everyday noises before his parent’s deaths. Maybe it was a combination of the stress and grief, maybe a side effect of the nightmares he’s been plagued with, or maybe the world just wants him to suffer. There’s no point searching for a cause if there’s not even a way to fix the problem in the first place. What a load of shit his life has become.

He’s tried everything at this point. He’s listened to the radio, turned on fans, dug out his old earmuffs from their box full of winter clothes, everything. Nothing could get that aggravating, piercing conversation out of his head. It annoyed him so badly that he felt himself becoming nauseous, his head pounding everytime someone spoke any louder than a whisper.

Pony groans as he hears Two-Bit let out an especially loud laugh at something Soda said, clenching his jaw and feeling the heat of tears behind his eyes. He scrunches his eyes shut as he bounces his leg in place in bed, desperate for the sound of his sweatpants shuffling against his blanket and sheets to overpower the sounds of his friends talking.

It doesn’t.

He swears on his life that it's not personal, but he can’t help this ugly, disgusting feeling that pools high in his chest at the sound of their muffled enjoyment. It’s harsh and unrelenting, and it makes him feel like the world is ending. He wants them to have fun, he wants them to hang out so badly because their happiness is so important to him, but he wants them all to shut the fuck up for five minutes so he can fall asleep and be done with everything.

Another high pitched laugh and a tear runs down Pony’s face, lip wobbling as he struggles to contain his irrational anger. Raising his fist, he slams his hand down as hard as he can on his mattress, coming back even more frustrated when the relief of the sound of it disrupting their chatting only lasts for a second.

He shoves Soda’s pillow over his ear, letting more tears slip free when it provides little to no relief at all. This is hopeless.

He is hopeless.

He wants to scream. He wants to make a scene in front of them, he wants to punch a hole in the wall and see their reactions when his hand comes back all purple and bleeding around the knuckles. He wants them to suffer the same way he has to, because maybe if they understood, the sounds would come to a stop past 10 pm every night.

But he wont. He can’t do that to them because isn’t that just the cherry on top? They’re not doing anything wrong in any way. They’re just having fun, they aren’t hurting him or screaming in his ear, so why does it hurt so badly?

His pillow is beyond wet by now. Soaked through by the silent waterfall of his tears that he can’t seem to stop. He wont wipe them though, there’s just no point if new ones will take their spot seconds later.

 

*Thump*

 

Pony hears an unintelligible conversation and suddenly there’s the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway towards his and Soda’s room.

He scrambles to throw Soda’s pillow back in its usual spot, curling in on himself in his position facing away from the door and hoping whoever it is wont see the tear tracks trailing down his face through the dark of the room.

The footsteps, which he now recognizes as Soda’s by sound, reach the door. His brother pauses for a moment in the doorway, probably looking at Pony’s curled up, fetal form and noticing something is wrong. Hell, let’s not underestimate Soda, he probably noticed something was wrong before Pony even excused himself to bed.

He feels the bed dip behind him as Soda climbs in. The boy re-adjusts his pillow from where Pony haphazardly threw it only moments before and lays down next to him. Close but not close enough to touch him.

Steve yells in the living room, something about someone cheating, and it takes everything in Pony not to punch himself in the head as hard as he physically can. It’s when he accidentally lets out an sniffle that Soda engages contact with him, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him flush to his chest. The sad excuse for a hug is all it takes for Pony to break down. Sniffling and curling in on himself as tight as he possibly can as even more tears fall down onto his pillow.

It’s times like this that Pony wonders why Soda would ever drop out of school. His smart brother that knows how to fix cars, who stands up for him when he needs it, who holds him tight when he cries, petting his hair because he knows exactly what to do to calm him down. Soda always knows how to make people feel better.

“What’s the matter, Honey?” His brother’s soft voice asks, “what’s got you so upset?”

“‘S nothin’” He replies, because he can’t imagine having to explain this situation to someone else. It doesn’t even seem possible. How could Soda ever understand how horrible he feels every single day of his life, all because he had to listen to someone chewing their breakfast or smacking a piece of gum. He’s inconveniencing other people by even acknowledging the existence of his problem.

Pony can practically hear the frown Soda gives him in response,
“It’s not nothin’ if it’s makin’ you upset, Pone,” He says.

“Soda, I think there’s something really wrong with me,” Pony states, “I-I think there’s somethin’ real wrong and I don’t know nothing I can do to fix it.”

Soda pulls him closer at the admission, mumbling into his hair, “Nothin’s wrong with you, baby. Why would you think that?”

“Because there IS something wrong with me. I ain’t never seen a single person ever who feels the same way I do. Never, Soda.” He groans to himself, bringing his hands up to his face and wiping the blurry tears free. He’s getting himself all worked up for no reason, this isn’t Soda’s problem.

“What’s going on, Pony?” Soda replies, voice full of worry and empathy for his little brother. He pauses the soothing hand carding through his hair and Pony feels the tears come back tenfold.

“The noises, Soda. The- the sounds. It’s like regular, everyday noises just make me so angry. Irrational anger and sadness and frustration. Like people chewing or breathing loudly, or talking in the other room. It just makes me so fucking mad and I don’t know how to make it stop. Can’t sleep when I listen to it neither, I’ve gotta stay up even if I’m ready for bed ‘cause if I try to fall asleep it’s just impossible. I didn’t use to be like this, Soda, I don’t know why it’s happening now or what I can do to fix it and it’s taking over my entire life.”

A deep breath in and his voice is wobbling so hard it’s almost intelligible, “And sometimes it’s not even sounds. Seein’ movement outta the corner of my eye gives me the same kind of- of anxiety that those stupid, shitty repetitive sounds give me. I see Two-Bit rocking back n’ forth on the couch out of the corner of my eye and it makes me feel so sick that I feel like I’m gonna throw up.” He reaches a hand up again to scrub at his eyes and hit himself in the forehead at the neverending background noise from the other room.

Soda grabs Pony’s hand from where it dangles inches away from his face, stopping him from hitting himself again. It’s silent for a moment, the chatting from the living room coming to a stop and finally allowing Pony some relief.

“I’m sorry-” he begins, but he’s cut off by Soda’s quick response, “No, Pony, don’t apologize for somethin’ outta your control. I’m not real sure what you’re telling me, I doubt I’d understand the full of it even if you laid everything out on the table in front o’ me, but I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me what’s been bothering ya.” Soda taps him on the top of the head and Pony peers over his shoulder to look at him, tear tracks and all. “Thank you for tellin’ me, baby. If- If there’s anything I can do to help you – even if it’s somethin’ like telling the guys to shut up for five minutes – please let me know, I just want to help you.”

That’s all Pony ever wanted to hear. Soda didn’t patronize him, didn’t try to tell him he understood what it was like, didn’t undermine his problems or tell him he should suffer through it because it’s an inconvenience for everyone else, he told him that he would accommodate for him. And if Pony’s resolve crumpled then, for the millionth time that night, as he looked at his sweet older brother’s face in the dark of their room, then no one has to know but them.

He turned himself towards Soda and laid his head down on his brother’s chest, letting the world fall away from him as his mind finally allowed himself to drift off to sleep. Rest came easier that night than it has in the last 8 months knowing that his brother would do anything in his power just so he could be comfortable.

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading! This fic is very special to me because Pony's experiences and reactions are based off of my own experiences living with misophonia. I wrote this because my roommates love to talk in the common area of our dorm every night until 12 AM and I have no choice but to stay up and blast music in my headphones until they go to bed so then I can finally go to sleep too! It's great.
Anywho, I really enjoy writing every character from this book so if you enjoy this please let me know and maybe I'll finish up some other wips I have lying around. :)