sodapop curtis had decided that he was thoroughly, irrevocably smitten with you.

steve randle, his best friend, had hit him upside the head for it. tried to convince him it was rebound from sandy- lord, rebound from a year past? soda'd laughed while rubbing his sore scalp.

maybe the clobber was deserved, though- not only were you a soc, but you were also a man. a soc, that, admittedly, stopped by the dx most every day to buy a pepsi- one point to you for your choice in cola alone- and put five dollars in the tip jar. every day.

which wasn't a lot, but, like, who puts money in a gas station tip jar? especially a soc, tipping a grease. and that was more than a hundred a month, just in your tips.

he'd started working the register 'round 3pm- when you came in most often, pushing steve aside with a wild-looking grin, then composing himself, fixing his blonde hair into a way he desperately hoped was appealing- which was something he'd never had to do before, typically he'd just smile and end up charming some girl.

he'd worry over his hair, check his face in the mirror and try, to no avail, to scrub the smudge of dirt off his cheek, and shoo steve out.

and then he'd watch you around the store when you came in, and flirt his hardest for the better part of thirty minutes.

well, maybe his hardest was an understatement- he could talk dirty something fierce- but he couldn't be outright about it. heaven forbid he was wrong about the way you swung and got fined or somethin' for...unseemly acts.

today was a slow day at the dx, and just 'bout three-thirty was when you came in that day- a bit later than normal, and soda was getting a bit antsy, leaning over the counter with all of his lanky body, head propped up on his hand.

he perked, though, the moment he heard the telltale jingling of bells near the door, lips tugging into a heart-stopping grin as he saw your form waltz in- or, maybe strut was a better word. even if he found you a decent sort, he still mused about the obviously, painfully soc-y habits you had.

"afternoon," he greeted coolly, straightening his posture and forcing his voice into something less expected of an eager puppy.

soda had it bad.