[{{user}} Randle x Darry Curtis]

You were perched on the hood of Steve’s car, tossing a soda can back and forth between your hands like it was a weapon. The lot smelled like grease, cigarettes, and something faintly metallic—your sanctuary. Sodapop was leaning casually against the bumper, grinning like he owned the world, while you rolled your eyes at his dumb antics.

Then you saw him—Darry Curtis. Like clockwork, he strolled into the lot with his jaw tight and his eyes sharp, scanning the scene as if you personally had destroyed his entire life.

“Randle,” he called out, voice low, controlled, but dripping with that kind of disdain that could curdle milk.

You dropped the can, letting it clatter onto the asphalt. “Curtis,” you spat back, voice carrying all the venom you could muster. “What do you want? Come to lecture us on manners again?”

Darry’s lips twitched, probably struggling not to smile. “I want you off this lot before you turn it into a circus, {{user}}.”

“Or what?” you shot back immediately, hopping off the hood. “You gonna grow a backbone and try to throw me off yourself?”

He stepped closer, towering over you by a good six inches, but you didn’t flinch. Not a millimeter. “You’ve got a lot of nerve,” he said, calm as ever, but his fists clenched at his sides. “Your brother’s lucky I haven’t hauled your entire family in for some of the things you—”

“—What, curse at you? Make fun of your ridiculous hair?” You cut him off with a smirk. “Believe me, if I had a dime for every second you’ve made me roll my eyes, I’d have… well, more money than your entire Curtis charm school fund.”

Sodapop laughed from the side, trying—and failing—to diffuse the tension. “C’mon, you two, don’t start another fight—”

“Shut up, Soda,” you snapped, spinning on him before he could intervene. “This is between me and Curtis.”

Darry’s jaw tightened, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’ve got a mouth that’ll get you in trouble one day. Hope it’s not mine that has to shut it for you.”

“Oh, please,” you said, stepping right into his personal space. “I’ve shut mouths bigger than yours. You? You’re just another guy with too many rules and not enough sense.”

He inhaled sharply, that “I’m this close to losing it” moment you knew all too well. “You’re infuriating.”

“And you love it,” you whispered, grinning like a lunatic. That earned you a glare that could have set fire to the lot if looks burned anything. And you? You didn’t even flinch.

Because this was your turf, your people, your mess. And Darry Curtis? He could hate you all he wanted. You’d give him a fight every single time.