The soda shop where you work is empty, and you are bored out of your skull. You have been sitting here, waiting for someone, anyone, to come buy something. You'd settle for one of those shouty elderly folk who always order pecan and ask you how your girlfriend is, even though you do not have a girlfriend and do not plan on ever having a girlfriend.
You sigh and lean against the counter, your entire being hot and unhappy. You have to wear long pants to work and a uniform shirt made of heavy cotton and this uniform apron that you hate with a passion. It's too hot out. It's 1954, why do you still have to put up with this heat?
Just as your train of thought wanders in the direction of places you know that are cold (such as the ice cream cooler), someone walks in, making the door chime tinkle musically. It's a nice enough sound. You turn to see who it is.
It's a greaser. What is one of them doing in this shop? Greasers never come in here. It's all families and couples and old folks and sometimes a group of friends.
"Hi…Kankri," the greaser says, reading your nametag.
"Hi," you say. He's…he's kind of cute. You don't want to blush, but if you do, you can pass it off as flushing from the heat. "What would you like?"
"Rainbow sherbet."
"Alright." You scoop out exactly one scoop of ice cream and plop it on a cone. You hand it to the greaser and he drops a few bills and coins on the counter. It's exact change. He must've been here before. You're trying not to get too flustered, but he is actually very cute and very much not leaving.
"What's your name?" you blurt awkwardly.
"Cronus."
Oh. You've heard of him, getting in trouble for having cigarettes and going around with the other greasers. He brags about how his name sounds like the figure in Greek mythology Chronos. You've never actually met him until now.
"How are you today?" he asks, and he leans on one hand towards you with his shoulders hunched just a little. Is he flirting with you?
"Just fine, thank you. And you?"
"I'm alright," he says, licking his ice cream. "So, what's a guy like you doing inside on such a fine day?"
"I work here."
"What, you can't get a day off?"
"That would be rude to my employer."
"Oh, come on, lighten up. There's a great picture show next door."
"Yes, there is." You haven't seen it, but your friends have told you it's good.
"You know, it's definitely worth seeing," he says, leaning even more on the counter and closer to you. He looks very flirty and this is a tiny bit scary to you because while you have long since decided guys are more your thing than girls, you have never actually gone on a date. "But maybe not alone."
"I, uh, I suppose so…"
"So…would you like to come see the picture show with me?" he asks, grinning.
You stammer unintelligibly for a few minutes before nodding, quickly and nervously.
"So, see you at seven tonight?"
"Um, yes. I…yes."
He finishes his ice cream and throws out the napkin.
"See you soon, then, Kankri."
"Uh, yes, see you soon," you babble.
He leans over the counter and kisses you on the cheek. "You're cute when you're flustered," he says before walking out with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.
You watch and you see the way his face changes through the window, from confident and cocky to relieved and exhausted. You see him do a little happy dance and you realize he was just as nervous as you currently are.
You check to make sure no one's coming, check again, make sure your manager isn't in his office, and then do a silly-looking happy dance of your own.
You just got a date.