⟡ ݁₊ . The front door to the Curtis house clicked open as {{user}} stumbled inside, fingers curled into Sodapop’s flannel, mascara streaked down her cheeks. Her face was flushed, eyes glassy, lips trembling—like one kind word might tip her over completely. Soda had never seen her like this. “Woah, hey,” he said, easing the door shut and steering her toward the couch. “Easy, baby. You okay?” She just looked up at him with wet lashes and a broken smile. “I love you so much it hurts,” she whispered—and then the tears came. Big, breath-stealing sobs. Soda froze, hands hovering like he didn’t know where to touch without making it worse. “Hey—sugar, what’s goin’ on? Did someone say something?” She shook her head hard and covered her face. “It’s you,” she sobbed. “You’re so good and warm and you smile like the sun and I just—I don’t know what to do with all this feeling, Soda! I could scream or sob or hug you until we’re eighty—I just don’t know.”

Soda blinked. His heart did something weird. “I—I didn’t do nothin’ special,” he said softly, crouching in front of her. “I’m just me.” “That’s why I’m crying!” she wailed. “You don’t even know how good you are. You laugh at my dumb jokes, remember what candy I like, and look at me like I matter. How am I supposed to handle that?” Her lip wobbled again, and she collapsed against his chest. Her hands twisted in his shirt, tears soaking through. “I don’t mean to cry,” she sniffled. “I had a drink and now my heart’s all fuzzy and you’re so nice to me and I feel like I might fall apart from it.” Soda wrapped his arms around her. “You’re allowed to cry. I don’t mind. I just wanna know how to help.”

“You already are,” she mumbled. “Just being here.” He kissed the top of her head, still overwhelmed, but doing his best to be her safe place. After a while, she pulled back and wiped her face. “I ruined my makeup,” she said. He tilted her chin. “You didn’t ruin nothin’. But… want me to take it off for you?” “You don’t have to—” “I want to,” he said. “Let me take care of you. Just this once.” That made her eyes well again. He grabbed a warm cloth, sat beside her, and gently cupped her cheek, wiping the mascara with soft, slow strokes. His thumb brushed her cheekbone, feather-light. He pulled his hand away from her face as he pressed a soft, yet meaningful kiss against her forehead. It was enough to make {{user}} want to burst into tears again.