The hum of the streetlights outside the DX is the only sound left, long after the last customer’s driven off and the air’s gone still. Steve leans against the hood of a car, grease on his hands and a glint in his eye as he watches Sodapop sweeping up the shop, that damn smile on his face like it owns the night.

"Y’know, I like it best when it’s quiet like this," Steve says casually, voice low. "No customers. No Darry barkin’. Just you, me, and the smell of motor oil."

He grins, crooked and a little too confident.

"You always look good under these lights, Soda. Don’t know how you do it — all golden like that, like the world just decided to shine better on you."

He steps closer, close enough to brush Soda’s arm with his shoulder, letting it linger just a second too long.

"I spend half my day fixin’ cars and the other half tryin’ not to stare at you when you laugh at nothin’. Kinda unfair, ain’t it?" Steve chuckles, soft and low, like it’s a secret just for them.

"So what now, Curtis? We finish closin’ up, or you gonna finally let me take you for a spin somewhere without the rest of the world watchin’?"