Chapter Text
Steve Harrington sits in a small plastic chair at a table in the back room of a tiny mall ice cream shop in Hawkins, Indiana, in late June 1985. As a 19-year-old, slinging ice cream at the new Starcourt Mall for a living wasn’t his first choice for a career, but hey, if it means Steve can afford to move outta his parent’s house before the new school year, he’ll take what he can get. Not that he’s planning on going back to school.
Steve’s father, who is away more often than not on “business trips” with his wife, has threatened to cut him off for good more than once, and Steve doesn’t really feel like getting his ass thrown out on the street with nothing but the clothes on his back when his father finally decides to make good on his promise. It’s not like he has some big dream job he’s missing out on. He barely passed senior year, and he knows he’s not college material, no matter how many times his mom used to suggest community classes (she and his father are ashamed of him, she only did that to try to make him amount to something). But this? Wearing a sailor getup and dealing with middle schoolers with sticky hands? He can’t help but wonder when exactly it all started to feel so… useless.
He catches his reflection in the scratched metal napkin dispenser across from him: the rumpled uniform, hair a little deflated, dark circles just starting to form under his eyes.
“King Steve,” he whispers with a humorless smile, the words tasting stale as they leave his mouth. What a joke. He sighs, drags a hand down his face, and glances at the clock. Two more hours ‘til closing.
His parents are still out of town, but who knows when he will need to pack his things and go on his merry way? Better safe than sorry, is what he thinks. Scoops Ahoy had been a weird kind of blessing, a brief pause in the endless loop of crap life keeps throwing at him. So really, he couldn’t justify complaining. Not out loud, anyway. So, three bucks an hour is what Steve gets.
But now, as he hears the insistent ding of the annoying bell from the counter outside of the break room and his coworker, Robin’s, voice shout out, “Hey dingus! Your children are here!” he pushes himself up to open the window to peek out into the parlor and thinks it might be worth it to be homeless after all.
Looking at the bored face of a 14-year-old Mike Wheeler, Steve leans on the counter and says annoyedly, “Again? Seriously?”
He could honestly get fired for letting them go see endless movies for free, but he really can’t say no. They know how to get under his skin, especially Max. Plus, they’ve all been through hell and back, so really, is it that big a deal?
Mike just looks at him and rings the bell again, as if Steve hadn’t gotten the message the first hundred times. Reluctantly, he lets Max, Lucas, Will, and the little shit that Mike is into the back and through the door that connects the hallway from the Scoops to the mall theater with a hurried, “Come on, come on,” waving his hand to usher the last kid forward.
With his hand still on the door and the children walking swiftly away from him, Steve shouts, “I swear, if anybody hears about this—”
“We’re dead!” the group of young teenagers interrupt him and finish his sentence, not even bothering to look back at him. Steve stands with his hand on his hip and the other jutted out, contemplating his life choices, and resolutely turns back to enter the sickly sugar-smelling ice cream parlor with a long sigh, letting the door slam behind him.
He goes back out to the front of the shop, deciding his break is over anyway. He takes a couple orders and scoops his life away for about five minutes before he hears a distant whir. Just as he's finishing up a sundae with too much whipped cream, a low mechanical hum breaks through the buzz of lights. It grows louder for a second, then cuts off abruptly. The lights overhead flicker once, twice, and then everything goes dark.
The neon glow of the Scoops Ahoy sign dies with a sad, electric sigh, leaving only the emergency lights humming to life in soft red. Steve freezes with the scooper still in hand, chocolate slowly melting onto his wrist.
Steve says, “That’s weird,” very intelligently, just to annoy Robin, but she ignores him, instead looking around with a confused and slightly concerned look on her face.
He moves to the light switch just a few feet behind him and starts flipping it on and off repeatedly. Robin glares at him exasperatedly and says, “That isn’t gonna work, dingus.”
Steve tilts his face to at the ceiling and then back down at her face, stubbornly telling her, “Oh really?” and starts flipping it even more aggressively than before. He purses his lips with the effort, inclining his chin up in a mocking way toward Robin. For a good fifteen seconds, he flips the switch, not knowing that for miles, the power all over the small town of Hawkins has gone out as well, not just at the mall.
Steve flips the switch on one last time and the power in the little ice cream shop is restored, clearly by some dumb stroke of luck that it matched up perfectly with his determined flipping.
He looks at Robin with a smug expression and lifts the hand the doesn’t have a waffle cone in it with a shrug, saying, “Let there be light.”
He said it in his most snarky voice, convinced it will annoy the shit out of the girl, and is given a small sarcastic, agitated smile from her as a comeback as he turns back to finish getting the customers their diabetes on a cone.
As Steve works, the power outage stays on his mind. What could have made a brand-new mall lose power so easily? As he finishes the order, he thinks back to a couple years ago when lights started flickering. In November of 1983, his life took an abnormal turn as he fought alongside Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers to fight a monster he knew nothing about, forever changing the way he thought about the world. Then, just last year, he joined up with Dustin Henderson, a nerdy 13-year-old boy to fight more monsters from the alternate dimension— “Demodogs,” Dustin called them—with a new member of the party, Maxine Mayfield. Once again, putting his life on the line for the little shits.
And even if he didn’t fully grasp everything (the Upside Down, psychic powers, creepy secret labs), he got the basics, and it had forced him to admit that life was a lot bigger, and way stranger, than he’d ever thought. So, when the lights go out in a place like Starcourt, it doesn’t feel like a random blackout.
It hadn’t been all bad though, because out of the whole world-ending catastrophe last time, he actually ended up with a friend. Dustin had stuck by him throughout the remainder of the school year, encouraging Steve on his way to high school graduation.
As a result, Dustin sort of looks up to Steve now, but he’s not really sure why. Maybe it’s because his dad was never around and he’s only ever lived with his mom. Or maybe it’s because Steve had taken more than a few punches from Billy Hargrove—Max’s older brother, who’d been itching for an excuse to beat the living shit out of him since the start of the year. It could also be the fact that Steve willingly ventured into the tunnels of the Upside Down with the kids to set it on fire, throwing himself into danger with that familiar, self-sacrificing mindset.
Whatever the reason, Dustin sees him as something close to a big brother. Flawed, stubborn, kind of dumb sometimes, but brave in a way. He has never said as much, but Steve knows. Why else would he hang out with him so much?
With a jolt of shock at his happiness at thinking of Dustin, he remembers that the kid is supposed to be coming back from some genius summer camp tomorrow. Camp Know Where, if Steve’s many concussions haven’t finally gotten to his memory. He knows that the other kids are planning a surprise welcome home thing at Dustin’s house and feels regretful he can’t join because he’s working again. That thought immediately makes him frown, because he shouldn’t be wanting to hang out with a bunch of fourteen-year-olds, right? On the other hand, he also misses Dustin, if he’s being honest. The kid’s been away for a whole month, leaving Steve with the company of only Robin and the others.
It isn’t that bad, but he would like another adult to talk to, even if the “adult” in question is really just another kid. Dustin alarms Steve with how much he acts like a grown-up around him though, so it really doesn’t matter all that much to Steve.
Twenty minutes to closing (why is the shop even open, it’s nighttime for God’s sake. Who needs ice cream at night?), Steve notices the lack of customers in the shop. There are none in fact, and Steve looks up and out of the parlor to another store in the mall, the newly decorated music store. It is then that he sees a tall curly haired man in it, browsing through the selections with a slow stride, taking in the amount of records and cassettes for sale. Steve is suddenly struck by a realization.
That’s Eddie Munson.
Steve remembers him vaguely, just in flickers. A few years back, he used to see that curly mop bobbing through the hallways, always trailing late to class or holding court in the cafeteria with his Hellfire Club crew. Eddie had this theatrical energy, like he was constantly mid-goddamn-monologue, and he made even skipping a test look like a dramatic show. Their paths never really crossed. Eddie was loud in ways Steve wasn't. He wore denim vests with patches Steve couldn’t begin to decipher. But still, there was something magnetic about him. Not in a popular kind of way, but in a you-can’t-help-but-notice kind of way.
Steve remembers overhearing the teachers talk about him. Bright, but a pain. Mostly, the student population called him a freak. But Steve always thought it was more like Eddie just didn’t care what anyone thought. Well, not back then, Steve had been a complete asshole and thought that he was a freak too.
And now, there he is: years later, silhouetted in the glow of the record store lights, looking completely at home among the vinyl. The same hair, the same style. Steve can’t help but watch him for a second.
He’s wearing a pair of black ripped jeans, a red flannel shirt tied around his waist, and a sleeveless W.A.S.P. tank top that fits loose around the shoulders, leaving his tattooed arms exposed. His hair is also pulled up into a loose ponytail, the locks curling around his neck unintentionally. The only strange thing about the grunge outfit is the white Reebok sneakers, but even then, they complement the outfit somehow. Steve also sees a silver colored ball chain hanging around his neck and disappearing into the tank top, hiding whatever is on the end of his necklace. A glint of silver from the man’s fingers draw Steve’s attention, and he sees that Eddie is wearing many rings on them. The sight of him is hypnotizing. Steve finally snaps out of it when Robin shouts at him to tell him that it’s almost closing time.
He turns away from the sight of the music store and says to Robin with a distracted, “Yeah sure, okay.”
He realizes that she’s still in the back, so he can’t see her, and vice versa. After a pause in which Steve tries to gather his thoughts, he glances toward the other side again and nearly jumps out of his skin. The music store is completely empty.
In less than a minute, Eddie had slipped out and vanished into the mall crowd, leaving no trace. Steve blinks, caught off guard by how fast he disappeared. His eyes are wide, and he silently thanks whatever's up there that his jaw didn’t hit the floor.
Robin comes up behind him and says, “Let’s close up. Some of us actually have a curfew, you know.”
She looks at him with a scoff when she sees the expression on his face and says, “What happened to you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Oh shit, did you actually?”
Steve looks away from the other end of the mall and gives her a “let’s be real” face, sarcasm dripping from his facial features.
“Yes Robin, I saw a ghost. Strangely, it looked kinda like a white sheet with cutouts for eyes.” He thinks that after all he’s been through, he really shouldn’t have been too surprised if he had actually seen a ghost. This thought must have shown, because she squints her eyes, narrowing her gaze.
“Well, now you’re actually starting to freak me out, Harrington. You looked totally serious, like you were reminiscing about PTSD or war trauma or something.”
Steve stares, and seems to snap out of it, saying offhandedly, “Yeah, yeah, Buckley. Let’s just close up, I’m dying for a shower. This constant sugar smell is driving me insane.”
Robin slaps his arm, but not too hard, another scoff coming from her mouth and muttering, “Like I want to hear about your nightly escapades in the shower, dingus.”
Steve grins, laughing slightly under his breath. She really isn’t all that bad, Robin. Still not remotely his type, but she is funny and ends up making him chuckle even when he’s half dead, like right now.
They spend the next fifteen minutes cleaning up and closing, making sure the metal gate at the front of the store is locked securely and the lights inside are turned off.
An announcement comes from the PA overhead, reporting the mall to now be closed and telling the remaining stragglers to make their way to the closest exit.
“Bye, Harrington. See you tomorrow, I guess.”
Robin jogs away from him, her little backpack with her helmet inside bouncing slightly and he catches a glimpse of the bright bandages on her knees as she turns. He has never seen her ride, but tonight he is especially concerned for her as to how she’s going to get home in the dark. He shakes his head at that, continuing away from her to the opposite parking lot where he parked his BMW before work. Why should he care about how she gets home? He considers the fact that it’s probably his “babysitter instinct”, as Dustin likes to call it.
But Steve doesn’t really see her as a kid. Apparently, she just got done with her junior year at Hawkins High, where he only graduated from last month. He doesn’t think that means she’s anywhere close to an adult though, and is confused about what category it puts her in.
His blue Adidas sneakers smack rhythmically against the tile as he weaves through the almost empty mall corridors toward the parking lot. The glass double doors sigh shut behind him as he steps out into the thick summer night. When his eyes land on the burgundy Bimmer parked a few spots down, he quickens his pace, eager to get there. The heavy, humid air slips through his hair and skims along his bare arms and legs, a clammy breeze that somehow feels like freedom.
He reaches into the pocket of his stupid sailor uniform for his keys while still walking and hears a car engine starting in the distance.
Steve pauses and looks ahead past his own car to see none other than Eddie Munson for the second time today. The lights in his beat-up dark blue Chevrolet are on, giving Steve a perfect look inside. Eddie seems to be getting ready to pull out of the parking lot, a cigarette in his mouth with smoke winding around the air and leaning back with his eyes closed against the seat. Suddenly, as if he knows he’s being watched, he looks up and catches Steve stopped in the middle of the lot, staring.
Eddie doesn’t flinch, just raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable under the faint glow of the dashboard lights. The smoke curls upward, haloing his face in a way that makes him look more like a phantom than a guy who just bought records across the mall. For a split second, neither of them moves. Then Steve, still clutching his keys, shifts awkwardly and offers a small nod, casual, like he hadn’t just been caught standing there staring like a total weirdo.
Eddie tips his chin in return, something like a half-smile ghosting across his face. With a two-fingered salute, Eddie just turns up the music in the van and starts backing up his car. The rumble of the engine grows louder, tires crunching gently over the pavement as he rolls past. Steve watches the tail lights fade into the night, only blinking when they disappear behind a row of bushes near the lot’s exit.
He exhales a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and finally turns toward his own car.
He opens the driver’s side door, slides into the seat, and lets his forehead rest briefly against the steering wheel. For a second, he just breathes slowly, heavy, like his body’s finally catching up to how drained he feels. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he starts the engine, the new Tears for Fears cassette already queued up and ready to go. As the opening notes of “Head Over Heels” fill the cabin, he pulls out of the lot and heads toward his parents’ house in Loch Nora. His voice instinctively picks up the melody, humming along under his breath.
“Something happens and I’m head over heels
I never find out ‘til I’m head over heels…”
The song spills through the speakers, steady and familiar, as Steve taps the wheel in time with the beat. There’s something about the lyrics that sit a little too close to home, like they’re pulling thoughts straight from the back of his head. The tunes are the kind of company that don’t ask questions or expect answers.
He doesn’t say it out loud (because he knows it’s corny), but when those chords hit just right, it feels like the songs see him more clearly than most people do. He doesn’t think about Nancy Wheeler. He can’t afford to.
“Something happens and I'm head over heels
Ah, don't take my heart, don't break my heart
Don't, don't, don't throw it away…”
When Steve pulls up to the oversized house in his too-fancy neighborhood his parents picked out for the status symbol, the engine’s barely off before he’s dragging himself out of the car, leaving his Scoops Ahoy hat in the passenger seat. He’s beyond exhausted: limbs heavy, head buzzing with leftover adrenaline. He wasn’t exaggerating when he told Robin he needed a shower. He feels like he’s coated in a fine layer of sugar and sweat, and it’s been bugging him since his shift ended.
He stumbles through the front door, toeing off his sneakers and letting them land wherever. His keys get tossed haphazardly onto his bed, clattering on the blankets. After a quick rinse in the shower, he slips into a pair of soft gray sweatpants and an old Hawkins Phys Ed shirt with the collar frayed and sleeves loose. He is actually glad that he’s so tired; normally the trauma catches up with him at night and doesn’t let him sleep. However, if he finds himself too tired to walk, he usually is passed out just as soon as he makes it to his bed.
He collapses onto his king-size mattress, hair still damp, the pillow cool beneath his cheek. He barely manages to glance over to his nightside stand to make sure his nail-covered bat is still where he left it before sleep starts pulling him under.
The last thing he thinks about isn’t monsters or malls or what fresh hell tomorrow might bring. It’s Eddie, standing in the glow of the record store, framed by rows of vinyl. He thinks about the long, loose brown curls in that ponytail and scattered tattoos on his arms and wonders why seeing him again brought him so much nostalgia. And why he reacted that way.
Steve’s eyes fall shut for the last time, light and hot steam from the bathroom trailing into his room through the cracked doorway and illuminating his dark bedroom slightly, casting his hair and skin in a warm fluorescent glow.
Eddie doesn’t even know what he’s doing here. The mall is so not a place for him, it’ll probably just attract more assholes to call him a freak. Nevertheless, he heard there is a pretty good record store, and he wants to pick up some new albums.
He makes his way through the halls, gaining strange looks from the people who he passes by. He ignores the glares like he always does and makes his way to the intended target, which is right across from an open ice cream parlor called Scoops Ahoy. He scoffs. It’s 9 o’clock at night, why is the shop even open? Who needs ice cream at night?
Eddie barely glances at it, not even looking inside and letting his eyes linger only long enough to read the name above the door. He looks toward the record store then and keeps his strides long. He doesn’t have much time; the mall closes in about twenty minutes. When he makes it to the store, he sees an elderly man standing at the counter when he walks in.
“Hey, son. Take a look around, see if you would like to get anything. We close in about ten minutes, but I can definitely help you check out before we do.”
Eddie is totally taken aback by how nice the man is and figures he doesn’t know anything about Eddie. Perks of being old, he guesses. He smiles.
“Hey thanks, man. I’ll let ‘ya know if I need something.”
He then walks to the right side of the store to the rock section and immediately starts running his hands on the vinyl’s, the plastic covering on them scratching his hands slightly. He lifts them up one at a time and looks at them, wondering which to get so he can hook it up to his record player when he gets home.
A sudden sensation hits the back of his neck like a static charge. That eerie prickle, you know, the one that creeps in when you’re almost certain someone’s watching, but can’t quite prove it? Yeah, that one.
He stiffens instinctively but keeps his eyes trained on the shelf in front of him, fingers trailing along the edges of a record sleeve he’s not really seeing. Whatever it is, he doesn’t want to give himself away. Doesn't want to look too curious. So, he keeps browsing, hands steady, even as the feeling lingers for what feels like forever. Two whole minutes, maybe more. Still, he doesn’t look up.
Then, a voice slices through the thick quiet of the evening crowd, a girl across the way shouting to her coworker that it’s nearly closing time. Eddie lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and takes the moment as his excuse to look. He glances up, casually, like it’s nothing.
But his eyes catch on the ice cream parlor. And on him.
There’s a guy behind the counter, back turned, posture relaxed but distracted, broad muscular shoulders slightly hunched, like he’s somewhere else entirely. He’s wearing a blue-and-white sailor getup, complete with a goofy little hat, and even from this distance, Eddie can see thick, soft-looking hair curling out from underneath. Eddie suddenly sees himself running his fingers through that hair, his other hand trailing over the man’s waist—
That’s enough. He’s gotta get out.
Without another glance, Eddie turns on his heel, tossing a quick goodbye over his shoulder to the elderly manager behind the counter. Then he jogs out of the store, empty-handed and flustered, wondering why the hell he suddenly feels like he’s the one who’s been caught staring. Where the fuck did that particular vision come from?
Get out get out get out. His mind repeats a simple mantra, over and over until he reaches the sticky air of the night outside. He stops, sitting down on the curb before the parking lot and rests his head in his arms, his legs propped beneath him where he sits.
Eddie doesn’t know why he had such a visceral reaction to seeing a random guy. It’s not like he hasn’t been around attractive people before. He’s usually better at masking it. Keeping things quiet. Controlled. He didn’t even see the dude’s face, for God’s sake. Now, he’s a total mess on the curb outside of Starcourt mall. What in the world is going on?
Son of a bitch.
Eddie feels like this could only happen in movies; the wild panic and fast beating of his heart alerting him to try and slow down. He drags a hand through his hair, already pulled half loose from its ponytail, and stares out at the parking lot like it might have answers. His knee bounces involuntarily. It’s not like he hasn’t had crushes before, but they were fleeting, manageable things. He’s even had a few moments that felt dangerous in a fun way. But this? This felt… targeted. Like some universal joke was being played at his expense.
He tries to shake it off. It doesn't mean anything. Just some guy in a dumb uniform with good hair. Big deal.
And yet.
Eddie leans his elbows on his knees and exhales hard, the kind of breath that feels like trying to wring something out of your chest. His heart is still pounding and his hands won’t stay still. He’s not sure what’s worse: that he’s reacting this strongly, or that he kind of wants to go back in there.
Just to see if the guy turns around.
It’s absolute bullshit.
This is so stupid.
Eddie doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting on the concrete, long enough for the feeling in his legs to go weird and tingly. When he finally stands and starts toward the parking lot, hands shoved in his pockets and brain still a little scrambled, the sharp clack-clack-clack of a bike chain being pushed catches his attention.
He turns.
Robin Buckley.
Pushing a beat-up ten-speed with a crooked handlebar and her usual expression of determined exasperation. She hasn’t seen him yet, too busy adjusting the strap on her backpack and muttering something under her breath. Wow, he hasn’t seen her outside of school probably ever—
And suddenly, it clicks. Uniform. The same style as one the guy at the parlor was wearing, a little different though. The goofy sailor outfit, now slightly wrinkled under her windbreaker. Of course. Scoops Ahoy.
Eddie blinks once, then twice. Oh.
He clears his throat and raises his hand in an awkward half-wave. “Uh… Buckley?”
Robin startles, skidding to a halt mid-stride. “Munson?” Her brows knit together, like he’s the last person she expected to see outside of a mall.
Eddie shrugs, trying for nonchalance. “Didn’t peg you as the ice cream-scooping type.”
She eyes him, suspicious, like he’s just accused her of a federal crime. “Didn’t peg you as the mall-lurking type.”
“Touché,” Eddie says with a grin, but his brain’s already ten steps ahead, piecing things together. So she works here, too. Huh.
“Ice cream scooping builds character,” she deadpans, hoisting the bike upright and kicking the stand down with the tired grace of someone who’s done it a hundred times this week. “And comes with a free headache and a polyester uniform that smells like dairy trauma.”
Eddie chuckles, genuinely. “Sounds like a dream gig. Perks and everything.”
Robin snorts under her breath, her eyes briefly scanning him like she’s still trying to figure out why he’s talking to her at all. “You’re weirdly chill for someone who used to pretend I didn’t exist in school.”
He winces a little, scratching behind his ear. “Yeah. I was kind of an idiot back then.”
“You’re still kind of an idiot,” she shoots back automatically, but there’s zero bite in it—just familiarity. “Just one I don’t actively hate now. At least you didn’t go out of your way to make me feel like I didn’t matter.”
Eddie blinks. That… actually means something. More than he expected. This whole thing, talking to her without an agenda, without feeling like he has to prove something... is weirdly easy. Disarming, even.
“Well, I mean this,” he says slowly, like the words might evaporate if he doesn’t pin them down. “You’re... fun to talk to. Not a lot of people are.”
Robin slants a look at him, half amused, half surprised. “Don’t get soft on me, Munson. I already hit my quota of sincerity for the week.”
There’s a pause. Not awkward, just long enough to feel like something shifts between them. Then she tilts her head slightly. “You doing anything tomorrow?”
Eddie blinks. “Uh, probably pretending I have plans. Why?”
She shrugs, tugging at the strap on her bag. “Come by Scoops. I’m working open to close. Could use someone to distract me from ice cream horrors. Might as well be you.”
He lets out a laugh before he can stop it. “Is that a formal invitation to loiter?”
Robin nods with mock solemnity. “An elite pass. Wear something tragic. It’ll make Steve twitch.”
Steve? Eddie rolls the name around in his brain like a loose marble. Familiar, but unplaceable. Maybe her boss? Band kid? No—Robin would've rather eaten glass than hung with marching band.
The name lingers in that foggy, high school hallway way. Vaguely popular. Vaguely… pretty? He can almost conjure the outline of a face, just out of reach. Still, something about the casual way Robin said it makes Eddie’s curiosity flicker.
If this Steve guy is twitch-worthy material, he’s either important or very, very mockable. Either way? Eddie’s in.
He tells her as much, and the soft smile that flickers across her face makes the invitation feel… kind of like a win.
“Cool,” she says, backing away slowly. “Shift starts at eight, but I don’t really expect you to want to come then. Just show up whenever you feel like it.”
Eddie watches her hop on the bike and pedal off into the parking lot, her silhouette disappearing into the low orange haze of the streetlights. He stands there a beat longer, the corners of his mouth tugging up in spite of himself.
Okay. Tomorrow might be interesting after all.
After the short but very interesting conversation with the ever amazing Robin, he loops back around and starts walking towards his van again, hoping to get home so he can crash on his bed, maybe smoke a joint, especially since he walked out of the mall without buying any new music. Eddie loops the keyring twice around his finger as he walks.
By the time he reaches his van, the sky has dipped into full dusk, the parking lot mostly cleared out. He unlocks the door with a groan of hinges and swings himself inside, the familiar creak of the seat grounding him. The lights flick on with a dim buzz, washing the cab in that tired orange tone that makes everything look like an old photograph.
He pulls a cigarette from the box tucked under the visor, lighting it with practiced ease. The first drag quiets the leftover nervous energy coiling in his chest. He sinks back against the seat, exhales, and lets his eyes close for a breath.
Then, there’s that damn feeling again. He’s being watched.
Eddie cracks one eye open, glances to the side.
There, standing frozen in the middle of the lot like he forgot how walking works, is Steve Harrington.
Steve.
Fucking.
Harrington.
King of Hawkins High. It is then that Eddie registers the uniform for the second time in five minutes. Scoops Ahoy.
Fuck.
His fluffy hair peeking out from that ridiculous hat, brown eyes, wide and just a little too deer-in-headlights for someone who definitely initiated the staring contest.
Eddie doesn’t flinch. He’s too tired to flinch. Instead, he meets Steve’s gaze dead-on, a curl of smoke winding up from his lips. One eyebrow lifts, slow and deliberate.
And Harrington, bless his baffled soul, actually nods. Like this is normal. Like Eddie isn’t just a freak he had to put up with at school.
Eddie gives him the smallest of salutes—two fingers at the temple—and turns the volume dial a notch louder, “Holy Diver” by Dio spilling through the speakers. He shifts into reverse, lets the tires hum softly over the pavement as he pulls away, and doesn’t check the mirror.
But even as the mall fades behind him and the blur of neon settles into rearview ghosts, he can’t shake the image of Steve standing there, caught in the glow like someone out of a fever dream.
It’s official. Hawkins has gotten pretty fucking weird.
When Steve wakes up the next morning, it’s to the sudden realization that his alarm clock hasn’t gone off yet. No wonder he slept for so long. He picks up the wrist watch on his nightside stand and immediately jolts awake. He forgot to reset the alarm after the outage last night and now his shift at the mall starts in only twenty minutes.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit shit shit.
He rolls over in bed, the blankets tangling in his legs and he sits up at breakneck speed, falling off of the mattress.
He picks up the Scoops Ahoy uniform from the floor of his room where he discarded it last night, smells it, deems it acceptable, and throws it on over his body after taking off the clothes he slept in.
He stomps down the stairs to the kitchen to make himself some coffee, cursing when he decides he doesn’t have time. Damn. Caffeine might be the only thing keeping him alive at the moment, but it’s a risk he’s willing to take if he doesn’t lose his job.
Steve finds his shoes thrown haphazardly on the floor next to the front door, hopping on one foot at a time to slip them on.
He catches a glimpse of his face in the mirror near the door and grimaces at the sight. His face is a little bit squished from sleeping directly on it all night and his hair is… somewhat satisfactory, even if the bangs hang a little lower around his face than he would like. It doesn’t look bad, necessarily—
Wait. Where are his keys?
Steve runs back up the stairs and crashes into his door, landing inside his bedroom and rummaging chaotically through his bed sheets. He finds them, the familiar jingle being met with the fabric of his pocket. He sprints back down the stairs and out of the house, quickly locking the door behind him.
He speeds towards the mall and gets out of his Bimmer, picking up his embroidered Scoops Ahoy hat and getting out. Steve looks at his watch again. Dammit, he’s only got five minutes before his shift starts.
Steve runs through the mall and to the Scoops, bumping into people, being squeezed between them and saying, “Excuse me—sorry—oof,” more times than he cares to admit.
When he finally reaches the little ice cream parlor, he sees the two people he would rather not see at the moment:
1. Robin Buckley, and
2. Eddie Munson.
For the third fucking time in two days. He stops dead in his tracks, four steps from the inside of the shop. Robin must have heard his heavy breathing or noisy running, because from her spot behind the counter, she looks over Eddie’s shoulder and her eyes widen.
“Wow Harrington, you look like you just got ran over by a bus. I thought you weren’t even gonna show up today! I guess even I can get proven wrong sometimes.”
At that, Eddie turns around so fast that Steve is sure he probably gave himself whiplash. Eddie’s gaze lands on him, and for a moment, there’s a flash of recognition…. surprise? Amusement? It’s something Steve can’t quite read, but it makes his stomach twist all the same.
Steve takes a breath, trying not to look as winded as he feels, and wipes a bit of sweat off his temple with the collar of his uniform. His heart’s still racing, but now it’s less from the run and more from the situation he just walked into.
“Jesus,” Eddie mutters under his breath, barely audible over the chatter of mallgoers and the low hum of the emergency lights. “Is this guy haunting me now?”
Robin smirks, clearly catching that last bit, and leans her elbows onto the counter like she’s settling in to enjoy the show. “You two keep bumping into each other like it's fate or something.”
Steve is taken aback by the fact that Eddie had told her of the short run-in they had had last night. When did her shift even start? Doesn’t she have something better to do in the mornings? And, for another thing, since when were Robin and Eddie even friends? Steve shoots her a glare as he finally steps inside, the air-conditioned chill of the parlor hitting his sweat-sticky skin like a slap. He tries to avoid Eddie’s eyes, but it’s impossible: not when Eddie’s just standing there like he belongs, leaning on the opposite end of counter as Robin, arms crossed, eyebrow raised, that same smug look that says “what, me?”
It’s barely 9:30 a.m., and Steve’s already bracing for whatever else the day’s gonna throw at him.
Steve steps up to the counter, forcing on what he hopes passes for an unimpressed look, though he’s pretty sure the flushed cheeks and hair plastered to his forehead aren’t doing him any favors. He shifts his weight, eyes darting between Robin’s barely contained grin and Eddie’s infuriatingly casual posture. Today, Eddie is wearing a black Members Only style jacket (even though it’s summer, what the hell is he doing?) and is also wearing his ripped black jeans from the day before paired with a shirt underneath that says Metallica. His hair is now pulled into a messy high bun, and Steve doesn’t know why, but as soon as he registers that fact, he’s pretty sure he can’t breathe.
“I thought this place had a no loitering policy,” he says, faintly recovering, jerking his chin toward Eddie, crossing his arms as well.
Eddie, unfazed, shrugs with a lazy smirk. “Well, sweet Robin here gave me a formal pass,” he says, holding up the half-eaten cup of U.S.S. Butterscotch in his hand like it’s evidence.
Robin snorts and claps a hand over her mouth, but not before the sound escapes. “God, I wish I could get rid of both of you,” she mutters.
“Ohh stop, you love us and you know it, Buckley.” Eddie looks like he’s going to explode from joy, the teasing coming to him like second-nature.
Steve groans, running a hand down his face. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that. Both of you. Just—no.”
Robin starts humming the Jaws theme under her breath like she’s circling prey, and Eddie lifts his spoon in a mock salute, leaning on the counter with all the grace of someone who has zero intention of leaving. Steve rolls his eyes, even though the weight behind it is starting to fade.
He takes a breath, steadying himself for the shift ahead, but as he moves toward the freezer, he catches Eddie miming something ridiculous out of the corner of his eye, maybe pretending to polish the countertop like it’s an antique guitar. Whatever it is, it’s completely unnecessary. And stupid. And kind of hilarious.
But the corners of his mouth betray him, twitching upward before he can stop them. Damn it. He doesn’t want to be having fun, but he sort of, maybe, kinda is. That’s the problem with this stupid job, and with those two idiots standing behind the counter like they own the place. It’s supposed to be humiliating. But somehow, with them, it’s not as bad as it should be.
Eddie catches the small grin, of course, and gives him a mock bow. “I live to serve thee, King Steve,” he says, then flicks a little melted ice cream off his spoon.
Steve pauses at that. Why is Eddie calling him that? He hasn’t been called that by anyone in months. The last time he can remember someone calling him “King Steve” is when Billy was trying to rile him up, saying that he’d been waiting for that particular persona of Steve to show itself.
Robin leans over again, voice low but teasing so Eddie won’t hear: “You’re weirdly, like, totally red.”
“Shut up.”
Robin smirks yet again and stands up straight, throwing her hands up in a defensive way. She lets it go, not saying another word, for which Steve is grateful.
Steve just sighs, grabs the backup apron, and mutters, “This day is cursed.” But there’s no heat behind it; just that reluctantly amused tone.
“Soooooo, Steve. Why did you come in approximately two seconds before you shift started?” Robin asks, a mischievous undertone to her voice.
Steve shrugs, muttering something vague about how his alarm didn’t go off this morning.
“Oh, ‘cause of the power outage, right? Yeah, my mom had to basically drag me out of bed. I got here at eight.”
Well, that answers Steve’s earlier question. She really doesn’t have anywhere else to be. He honestly doesn’t know how she is so energized right now; she’s practically bouncing off the walls.
Eddie coughs, clearly finding it amusing that Steve overslept. Steve raises his eyebrows and glares at him. Despite the two of them not even talking before now, they all sort of descend into an easy flow of conversation.
“Something funny, Munson?”
Eddie waves his hand dismissively, saying, “Oh, no, not at all. We all need our beauty sleep after all.”
He winks at Robin, who giggles and shoves his arm lightly. Eddie then looks at Steve again, letting his gaze run up and down the wrinkled uniform Steve is wearing.
Holy shit. What is going on here?
If Steve were the type of person to make assumptions, he would say that Eddie was checking him out just now. But he’s not. And why would he? Eddie is a dude for God’s sake.
Steve shakes his head, resigning himself to just listen to their playful banter for the time being. He keeps himself busy by helping the customers, and Robin does occasionally help with the ice cream slinging, surprisingly. Steve really needs to stop using that word. He just needs to get used to everything about these past couple days being surprising at this point.
For the rest of the day, Eddie keeps Robin company. He’s just… hanging around. Robin even lets him come into the back room during her breaks, which Steve finds a little suspicious, if he’s telling the truth. Is there something going on between them? He can’t really figure out why, but that thought makes his stomach twist, and not in a good way. Sometimes, Steve catches a word of two from their never-ending conversation, the sarcastic lilt of Eddie’s voice becoming very familiar to him.
When a duo of pretty girls saunter into the little shop, Robin says to Eddie, “Oh! Oh! Quickly! Get the board over there! This is going to be amazing, just watch.”
Steve groans internally, knowing exactly what board she’s talking about. Robin has taken it upon herself to record the amount of times she counts as a win he has with any girl who comes into the parlor, and he’s pretty sure that under the “You Rule” category, he has exactly zero tally marks.
He busies himself with getting their orders, saying to the nearest girl, “Alrighty. One scoop of chocolate, that’s a buck-twenty-five.” He puts on his most charming smile and hands her the cone. “Anything else?”
She doesn’t answer, and the girl behind her just licks her ice cream, not making eye contact.
The girl wearing a Purdue t-shirt just gives him the cash and smiles, actually looking into his face.
He takes this as his chance to talk to her about something other than ice cream and says, “Ooh, Purdue. Fancy.”
She smiles even wider, telling him, “Yeah, I’m excited.”
Both girls chuckle. Now they aren’t looking at him. Damn.
“Yeah, you know, I considered it, Purdue, but then I was like, y’know what?” He lets his face drop into a serious expression, “I really think I need some real-life experience, you know, before I hit college, see what it feels like. Kinda like uh, I don’t know, see what it’s like to earn a working man’s wage, you know? Uh…”
The register starts beeping long and loud in front of him as he’s counting up her change and he says, “Oh, I’m sorry,” a bit more quietly/frantically. He knows he’s rambling now, but he can’t stop it. It’s like the flood gates of his own personal hell are bursting forth and he doesn’t know how to stop it.
He just decides to keep going with the whole college conversation and continues, “I think that’s, like, really important.”
The Purdue girl just smiles awkwardly and as if to just shut him up, says, “Yeah, totally.”
Steve keeps going.
“Yeah, anyways, this was, like, so fun. We should kinda like, I don’t know, maybe hang out this weekend or—”
As he’s handing her back her change, he accidentally drops some and the coins make dull clattering sounds as they hit the floor.
“—Oh, sorry about that. Uh… I don’t know, maybe next weekend or—”
She cuts him off, saying, “Yeah, I’m busy.” She lets out a breathy awkward little chuckle and continues to put her change into her purse, her friend behind her that hasn’t said a word the whole encounter just nodding her head patronizingly, agreeing with Purdue Girl.
He tries to keep the disappointment off of his face, and since it’s all gone to shit anyway, he just keeps running his fat mouth.
“Oh, that’s cool. I’m—I’m working here next weekend so…” he points to the ground as if to gesture to the store, “the following weekend’s better for me.”
“Uh, no. I’m sorry. I can’t.” All while keeping a little smile on her face and chuckling, she says, “Okay, thanks—"
He interrupts her quickly, saying, “I… This is… my first day here.” They both just keep chuckling, now walking away from him.
As soon as they leave, Steve sighs long, the agonizing reality of what he just did creeping in. He closes his eyes, knowing he’s gonna get it from Robin, and now from Eddie as well.
As if on cue, Robin’s annoying voice rings out from the window in the back room, the slide of the board meeting his ears as he turns around to face them both, Eddie hovering, hanging out at Robin’s shoulder.
“And another one bites the dust.” She reaches over, letting the board be shown to the entirety of the small store, which reads on one side “You Rule” and the other “You Suck”, and adding a sixth tally to the You Suck side.
“You are oh-for-six, Popeye.”
Eddie just grins, somewhat sympathetically, tilting his head to the side like a puppy. Which somehow makes Steve feel a little better. He tries to save the situation.
“Yeah. Yeah, I can count.” Steve says.
She looks bank down at the board as if to confirm the fact before she utters the data, saying, “You know that means you suck.”
She puts more emphasis on the last word, irritating Steve to no end.
“Yep, I can read, too.”
“Since when?”
Eddie bites back a laugh, clearly enjoying the show far too much. He picks up the dry erase marker Robin just used and spins it between his fingers like a drumstick, then without asking, adds a tiny doodle beneath Steve’s growing tally of shame. It’s a quick, sloppy sketch of a melting ice cream cone with X’s for eyes.
“There,” he says proudly, capping the marker with a little snap. “Visual aid. In case the numbers didn’t drive it home.”
Steve narrows his eyes. “You want a cone to the face?”
Eddie grins. “Depends. You giving away free samples now, Harrington?”
Robin snorts so hard Steve can practically see the metaphorical snot dripping from her nose. Eddie just leans his elbows on the counter like he’s settling in for a matinee performance, chin propped in both hands, completely unbothered.
“Man, this is better than cable,” he murmurs, mostly to himself, eyes twinkling like he’s waiting for Steve to dig himself a deeper hole.
Steve walks over and continues talking to them through the window.
“It’s this stupid hat. I’m telling you; it is totally blowing my best feature.”
Robin settles with an almost bored look on her face, saying sarcastically, “Yeah, company policy is a real drag.”
Steve looks down, running over the whole encounter with the two girls from before again, making himself cringe. Why the actual hell did he think that was gonna work?
Robin seems to sober up a little, trying to give him advice by saying, “You know, it’s a crazy idea, but have you considered… telling the truth?”
Steve looks at her dubiously, jumping at her with, “Oh, you mean, that I couldn’t even get into Tech and my douchebag dad’s trying to teach me a lesson, I make three bucks an hour, and I have no future? That truth?”
Eddie raises both eyebrows, leaning in and staring at Steve with a slightly stunned look on his features. “Damn, Harrington. You really just unloaded the whole trauma dump in the middle of the food court, huh?”
He holds up a mock microphone made from a rolled-up napkin and adds, “And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the sound of Steve's last shred of confidence flatlining.”
Robin groans. “Can you not encourage this level of self-pity?”
Eddie holds up his hands in surrender, but the grin stays. “Hey, sorry Birdie, I’m just here for the free entertainment.” He taps the counter with a finger, eyes flicking between the two of them. “But for what it’s worth? The hat’s tragic. You look like a patriotic gnome. Might be blocking your charisma flow.”
Steve stares at him, confusion rippling from his hunched-over frame. “Charisma flow?”
Eddie nods solemnly. “Yep. Hat’s like a dam. Gotta let the charm breathe, man.”
Robin seems to come to herself and points behind Steve, a smile lighting up her face and says, “Hey, twelve o’clock.”
Steve quickly looks behind him to see more girls coming in, looking around and chewing bubblegum. The girl in front looks uninterested and skeptical, but she is really pretty.
“Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Okay… Uh… I’m going in, okay?” Steve tries to summon all the confidence he can, “And you know what?” He snatches the Scoops Ahoy hat from his head and tosses it out of sight, not really caring where it ends up. “Screw company policy.”
“Oh my God, you’re a whole new man,” Robin says while shaking her head back and forth like she can’t believe he did that.
Steve says playfully, “Right? Oohhh,” and wiggles his shoulders from side to side in a little dance. Robin chuckles fondly and Eddie just nods and grins encouragingly from behind her, lifting both his hands up and giving him a double thumbs-up. He holds it a beat too long—just enough for it to border on ridiculous—before dropping his hands back to the counter.
And in that flicker between expressions, Steve catches something he wasn’t meant to see. The grin fades, not entirely, but enough. Just the tiniest dip around the corners of Eddie’s mouth, a shadow behind the eyes that slips out before the mask slides back into place.
It’s gone so fast, Steve almost wonders if he imagined it.
Eddie casually leans back again, arms folding as he watches Steve turn toward the girls, a teasing tilt still on his face. Then, as Steve turns to make his approach, Eddie straightens up and casually plucks a stray sprinkle from the counter, examining it like it’s the most fascinating object in the universe. He flicks it away, leans back against the window frame, and settles in, arms folded, ankle hooked over the opposite foot, ready to witness whatever chaos Steve is about to unleash.
Because, if nothing else, Eddie Munson is a sucker for a good show.
Steve gets ready and turns around, shouting, “Ahoy ladies! Didn’t see you there.”
The girl at the front gasps loudly, probably because he shouted, and just chews her gum more viciously.
“Would you guys like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain… I’m Steve Harrington.”
He knows he’s laying it on a little thick, but he doesn’t care at this point. He’s just trying to make Eddie and Robin laugh in the back.
The girl in front of him says, “Oh, God,” because she probably can’t believe what she just witnessed.
“Can I get you guys a taste of Cherries Jubilee? No? Anybody? Banana Boat? Four people, four spoons? Share it in the booth? Anybody? It's hot out there.”
He bites his lip, cringing just a little at the words coming out of his own mouth, but the moment he hears Eddie’s cackling laugh from the window behind him, sharp and unfiltered, something settles in his chest.
Yeah, okay, that was humiliating. But it worked.
His face is red, sure, but not from embarrassment, not entirely. That laugh—Eddie’s laugh—makes the rest of it worth it.
Even with the girls staring at him like he’d grown a second head, he finds himself grinning, pride slipping through the cracks.
He’ll take the weird looks, the eye rolls, all of it, if it means he would get to hear that sound again. And it doesn’t even matter if Dustin never came to see him today. Steve has a great time with Eddie and Robin for the rest of his shift.
Silently, Robin just adds another tally mark onto the You Suck side, smiling to herself.
Eddie wakes up the following morning after his chat with Robin to the sun blinding him through the window in his room. He had totally forgotten to close the window after letting the smoke from his blunt trail out, falling asleep with the window open. He props himself up on his elbows, stomach down on the mattress. Eddie runs his hands up and down his face, rubbing the sleep off of his features.
The memory of Robin’s invitation drifts in as Eddie stirs, dragging him out of sleep with a jolt of something between excitement and nerves. He pushes himself upright, blankets sliding down around his waist, exposing the black tank top that's ridden up a little over his stomach.
He sits on the edge of the bed, bare feet brushing the cool floor, and glances at the clock on his dresser. 8:20 AM, on the dot. He knows Robin’s probably already manning the counter, bored out of her mind and waiting for some kind of distraction.
“Now or never,” he mumbles to himself, standing with a stretch that sends a chorus of satisfying cracks up his spine. As he gets up, the pajama pants hanging low on his hips, he stumbles toward the closet, grabbing the first clean outfit that doesn’t smell like it’s been through a landfill.
He pauses afterward, planted in the middle of his room, arms overhead as he yawns. The messy bun he put up the night before is still hanging in there, and when he catches sight of it in the mirror, he decides—yeah, it works. Lazy, but untidy in an attractive way. Good enough.
Shuffling into the kitchen, Eddie moves on autopilot toward the coffee maker. The trailer is too quiet. Wayne still isn’t back from the night shift at the plant.
That’s when Eddie spots the note taped to the fridge, scrawled in his uncle’s blocky handwriting:
Ed,
Be back around 9. Don’t get into any trouble; no parties.
Take care of yourself,
Wayne
“Parties at 8:59, got it,” Eddie mutters with a small smirk, tapping his finger against the sticky note, setting the coffee to brew. He knows his uncle means 9 a.m., but he’s alone and doesn’t care if he makes stupid comments to himself, no one else is around to hear them.
By the time he’s downed the scalding-hot drink, there’s a little more purpose in his step. He shrugs on the first jacket he finds and heads out the door, heart just a little faster than it should be.
He’s going to see Steve again today.
And maybe this time, he’ll keep it together. Maybe.
When he reaches Starcourt Mall, Eddie makes a beeline for Scoops Ahoy. It’s 8:40 when he catches sight of Robin inside, already behind the counter in full uniform. She brightens when she sees him and waves him in like she’s been expecting him all morning. He steps through the door with a smirk and a lazy salute. “Even though it’s, like, the butt crack of dawn, I should totally hook myself up with some ice cream. Prime method for achieving sugar-fueled enlightenment. Highly underrated.”
Robin snorts at the stupidity of his comment, scooping a napkin off the counter and flicking it at him. “You don’t even work here.”
Eddie just grins wider. “Doesn’t mean I can’t boost morale.”
Despite Eddie’s remark, she decides to get his some of the frozen treat, assuring him that she can eat as much as she wants as an employee and it won’t come out of her paycheck. Eddie and Robin sit chatting for at least thirty minutes before Eddie decides to tell her about his interaction with Steve the night before. She had told him that Steve was coming in for his shift at 9:30, so they had time to talk a little in private before he shows up.
“Whoa, seriously? He just stood there, like a total idiot?”
“Well—I didn’t say that” Eddie rolls his eyes. She interrupts him with an offhanded “could’ve fooled me” and Eddie scoffs, a light smile playing on his lips.
“So, what happened then? Did you guys end up talking at all?”
“No, I remember just lighting up my cigarette and I was like, ‘Oh shit, I feel like I’m being watched’ so I looked around and there he was. I saw both of you in here last night too, I was across there in the music store. Stealth level ten, by the way. You had no idea I was there.” He points to the other store without looking, Robin’s eyes flashing with recognition as she nods. “Problem was, I didn’t know it was him; his back was turned. Who knew, King Steve working a minimum wage job at a mall scooping ice cream? Definitely not me.”
He snorts and leans in a little, as if letting Robin in on a secret. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the whole sailor getup?" Eddie pops an invisible collar and shoots her a wink. “Honestly, it’s kind of the best thing I’ve seen in weeks.”
Eddie can’t really figure out why but just knows he can trust her with this. They’ve never really talked, especially not out of school, but he always got a certain… feeling from her. He’s pretty sure the fact of his attraction to men isn’t a total secret to the town, but it’s never actually been confirmed. All the same, he plays if off as a joke to soften the blow if she ends up not being comfortable with it.
She softens instantly, understanding painting her features. Not the awkward kind of realization, but the kind that says yeah, I get you. She leans on the counter, chin in hand, and for a second, Eddie’s sure she’s about to tease him. But instead, she just lets the silence settle, giving him the space to breathe through the vulnerability without making it weird.
"Eddie, I think we’re in the same boat. Not about Steve—I mean, God no. I barely liked him in high school. He was a total dick." She pauses, eyes flicking to his, then away again. "But… you get what I’m trying to say, right?” She shrugs, casual on the outside, but her voice softens at the edges. "It’s not like I had some grand coming-out moment either. Just sort of… figured it out while pretending I hadn’t. Until I couldn’t anymore."
He nods. The air around them is so comforting, and Eddie feels seen in ways he hasn’t for a long time. Robin’s smile is sweet and supportive, exactly what they both need.
“You’ve got good taste,” she says lightly, but there’s a lilt in her voice, something just shy of caution.
Eddie raises an eyebrow. “But?”
“Just... be careful around him, okay? He’s figuring stuff out. In his own head.. And he’s not always great at reading signs that aren’t screaming neon. For all I know, he’s probably straight as a ruler.”
It’s not a warning exactly, more like a nudge. A reminder that however easy Steve might be on the eyes, he’s still a bit of a mess behind them.
Eddie nods slowly, dragging his finger along a stripe in the counter laminate. “Yeah. I kinda figured.”
“I’m only telling you this because I care about you. I want you to know what you’re getting into before he goes and does something to hurt you.”
There’s no judgment in her tone. Just quiet encouragement. And maybe that’s what strikes Eddie the most, how easy it is to talk to her, how naturally she met him right where he was without making him spell anything out.
He grins again, this time with a little less defensiveness. “Still, can’t say the uniform’s not doing him favors.”
Robin snorts. “Just don’t swoon. You’ll never live it down.”
Eddie smiles, a real one, that little flicker of warmth still buzzing under his ribs. Maybe trusting her wasn’t such a wild move after all.
They keep talking for about twenty minutes, the sudden realization creeping into Eddie that Steve should be getting here soon.
Sure enough, when Robin looks over Eddie’s shoulder and quips, “Wow Harrington, you look like you just got ran over by a bus. I thought you weren’t even gonna show up today! I guess even I can get proven wrong sometimes,” Eddie turns around so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. And then—bam—there’s Steve. Eyes half-lidded with sleep, blinking at him like he’s not entirely convinced this isn’t a dream. Steve’s face, slightly squished from sleep… it’s adorable. No, seriously, it’s criminally adorable. Eddie has never in his life seen anything as devastatingly cute as Steve Harrington in this state: the rumpled sailor outfit, the hair trailing into his eyes, the hat held slack in his hand… Eddie might explode. Maybe a little dramatic.
It takes a second, but Eddie clocks the look in Steve’s eyes, a breathless pause. Definitely from running, which is obviously what he’s been doing. The surprise that’s half-recognition and half what the hell is he doing here?
Eddie smirks, the beginning of a comment already forming in his head when he catches the way Steve’s eyes dart across the shop—like he’s assessing whether this is a dream or a social ambush. His collar’s pulled up as he wipes sweat from his temple, chest rising like he’d sprinted through the mall just to arrive a minute before his shift (which he probably did).
Eddie murmurs under his breath, “Jesus. Is this guy haunting me now?” but wanting to say something completely different.
Robin hears. Of course she hears. She leans her elbows on the counter, looking entirely too pleased. “You two keep bumping into each other like it's fate or something,” she says, grinning like a cat with a secret. Eddie doesn’t respond. Just shrugs and looks back at Steve, who’s finally walked in, arms crossed, head high, trying and failing to look unimpressed. He looks like a mess, but the kind of mess Eddie wouldn’t mind seeing more of.
Stop it, Eddie, his subconscious screams at him.
And when Steve looks at Eddie, whose arms are folded, a half-eaten cup of U.S.S. Butterscotch in hand, posted up behind the counter like he belongs there, there’s a flicker behind his eyes. Like annoyance but confused by something warmer underneath.
Steve jerks his chin toward him. “I thought this place had a no loitering policy.”
Eddie grins, raising his cup like it’s a badge. “Well, sweet Robin here gave me a formal pass.”
Robin nearly chokes trying not to laugh. “God, I wish I could get rid of both of you,” she mutters, rubbing her temples.
“Ohh stop, you love us and you know it, Buckley.” Eddie teases.
Steve groans and runs a hand down his face like he’s aged five years in five minutes. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that. Both of you. Just—no.”
Robin starts humming the Jaws theme under her breath, probably hoping to summon chaos, and Eddie adds to the performance by mock-polishing the counter like it’s a cursed relic he’s been hired to protect.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees it. Steve’s lips twitching. The guy’s fighting a smile. He doesn’t win.
Eddie bows dramatically. “I live to serve thee, King Steve.”
That lands harder than he meant it to. The words hang a second too long in the air. Steve freezes, like the name caught him off guard. The guy probably hasn’t heard it in a while.
Robin leans toward Steve, voice a little too loud for subtlety, like she’s convinced Eddie can’t hear her. “You’re weirdly, like, totally red.”
Steve huffs. “Shut up.”
Eddie watches, amused, as Steve grabs his apron with a muttered, “This day is cursed.” He says it like he’s trying to mean it but he’s already lost the battle.
Robin turns on Steve the second he’s in uniform. “Soooooo, Steve. Why did you come in approximately two seconds before your shift started?”
Steve offers some vague excuse about alarms and Eddie coughs, not even trying to hide his grin.
“Something funny, Munson?” Steve asks.
“Oh, no, not at all,” Eddie says innocently. “We all need our beauty sleep, after all.”
He shoots Robin a wink, who giggles and shoves his arm, grinning like she knows exactly where his thoughts are drifting.
Eddie doesn’t even pretend to be subtle about it. His gaze slides back to Steve, slow and deliberate, dragging down the length of him like he’s studying a painting he’s not quite ready to stop looking at.
The wrinkled uniform clings in all the wrong—and therefore completely right—places. The collar frames his neck like a dare. His hair, flattened in some parts and starting to curl from the heat and sweat in others, makes Eddie want to reach out and see if it feels as soft as it looks.
And the worst part? Steve has the audacity to stretch. Just a lazy roll of the shoulders, like he’s got no idea what he’s doing, like he’s not slowly unspooling every thought Eddie’s managed to hold onto since walking in.
He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek and tears his eyes away, barely. His fingers twitch.
Robin catches the look and arches a brow like she’s already preparing a comment she’ll save for later—maybe. If she’s feeling merciful.
Eddie knows Steve sees the once-over. Knows it lands, hard. And Steve blinks like maybe he didn’t expect to be seen, let alone noticed.
Eddie keeps himself casual after that, anchored at the counter while Robin works and Steve tries very hard to pretend that he’s not rattled.
They slip into something weirdly easy. Banter comes naturally, like they’ve all done this a hundred times before. Robin lets Eddie wander into the back with her during breaks, and every now and then, Eddie catches Steve eyeing them with that quiet, unreadable stare.
Does Steve think there something going on between him and Robin? Eddie can’t tell if it’s suspicion or something else, and frankly, it’s not his job to untangle whatever weird dynamic they have. But still, the thought needles him.
Eventually, two pretty girls step into the shop and Robin lights up with mischief.
“Oh! Oh! Quickly! Get the board over there! This is going to be amazing, just watch.”
Eddie obeys, grabbing her tally board and settling in to observe the slow-motion trainwreck.
Steve puts on his customer service smile and starts his routine. It’s painful to watch.
Eddie sips his melted ice cream with a front-row seat, barely holding in his laughter as Steve drops coins on the floor and stumbles through awkward pickup attempts like it’s his first day on earth.
When Steve mutters that it’s his “first day here,” Eddie nearly chokes on his spoon.
The girls walk away and the silence that follows is brutal. Steve just stands there for a moment, his whole face screaming regret.
As if summoned by cosmic humiliation, Robin’s voice cuts through the air from the back window with perfect, theatrical timing. Eddie’s already leaning there, comfortably posted up at her shoulder with his chin resting on folded arms, when she slides the tally board into view.
“And another one bites the dust,” she says with gleeful venom, tallying a sixth shameful mark on the You Suck side of the board. “You are oh-for-six, Popeye.”
Eddie glances at Steve, who looks about two seconds from combusting on the spot. He offers a soft, crooked smile. Tilts his head like a puppy trying to figure out why its owner keeps walking into glass doors.
“Yeah. Yeah, I can count,” Steve mutters, attempting recovery.
Robin peers at the board with mock concentration. “You know that means you suck.”
She lands the word like it deserves its own paragraph. Eddie bites the inside of his cheek.
“Yep, I can read, too,” Steve replies.
Robin doesn’t skip a beat. “Since when?”
Eddie plucks the dry erase marker from her hand and twirls it like a drumstick, then, just because it feels right, adds a small doodle under Steve’s sad stack of tallies: a melting ice cream cone, complete with X’s for eyes and a cartoonishly dramatic frown.
“There,” Eddie says, clicking the cap back on with flair. “Visual aid. In case the numbers didn’t drive it home.”
Steve narrows his eyes. “You want a cone to the face?”
“Depends. You giving away free samples now, Harrington?”
That gets Robin snorting, one of those full-body, can’t-control-it reactions that Eddie lives for.
“Man, this is better than cable,” he mutters. He means it, too, Steve in flustered-mode is like a guilty pleasure rom-com come to life. He knows his eyes probably show how starstruck he is, but he doesn’t really care at the moment.
Steve tries to regain ground, gesturing at the ridiculous hat smothering his hair. “It’s this stupid hat. I’m telling you; it is totally blowing my best feature.”
Robin shoots back, deadpan: “Yeah, company policy’s a real drag.”
Eddie watches Steve deflate slightly, embarrassment sagging his shoulders. Whatever happened with those girls clearly got under his skin. Eddie tilts his head again, his smirk fading slowly until it’s completely gone.
Robin softens, too. “You know, it’s a crazy idea, but have you considered… telling the truth?”
Steve’s sarcasm snaps back out like a reflex. “Oh, you mean, that I couldn’t even get into Tech and my douchebag dad’s trying to teach me a lesson, I make three bucks an hour, and I have no future? That truth?”
Eddie actually reels back a little, eyebrows high. “Damn, Harrington. You really just unloaded the whole trauma dump in the middle of the food court, huh?”
He grabs a napkin, rolls it tight like a microphone, and leans forward theatrically. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the sound of Steve’s last shred of confidence flatlining.”
Robin groans. “Can you not encourage this level of self-pity?”
Eddie holds up his hands, expression innocent. “Hey, I’m just here for the free entertainment.” He taps the counter with a finger, eyes flicking between the two of them. “But for what it’s worth? The hat’s tragic. You look like a patriotic gnome. Might be blocking your charisma flow.”
Steve glares at him. “Charisma flow?”
Eddie nods, serious as ever. “Yep. Hat’s like a dam. Gotta let the charm breathe, man.”
Robin suddenly perks up and points. “Hey, twelve o’clock.”
Eddie looks up as well. A group of girls are strolling in, bubblegum popping, already looking unimpressed.
“Oh, shit. Oh, shit,” Steve mutters. Then louder: “Okay… Uh… I’m going in, okay? And you know what?” Just like that, he rips the Scoops hat off like it personally offended his ancestors. “Screw company policy.”
Eddie almost slow-claps. Robin just shakes her head sarcastically. “Oh my God, you’re a whole new man.”
Steve grins. “Right? Oohhh,” he says, doing a ridiculous little shoulder shimmy.
Eddie lifts both hands and gives him an exaggerated double thumbs-up. He holds the pose until it goes from encouraging to absurd, then drops his hands and leans back, but not before his grin slips, just for a second.
It’s not much. Just a flicker of… something. Longing? Resignation? He swallows it down and props himself against the window frame, legs crossed, pretending like he didn’t even feel it.
He can see in Steve’s eyes that he saw Eddie’s face but doesn’t fully know the meaning of the expression behind it. Steve doesn’t ask about it, he just lingers there for a beat too long, like he’s filing it away for later. Noticing, but not pushing. Eddie lets out a quiet breath and looks away first.
He busies himself by picking a rogue sprinkle off the counter and flicking it like a coin, then glances up just in time to hear Steve shouting, “Ahoy ladies! Didn’t see you there!”
Steve keeps going with the bit, laying it on thick: the sailing metaphors, the over-the-top charm, the ice cream flavors turned into desperate pleas. It’s a slow-motion car crash, but somehow... completely endearing. Eddie can’t take it anymore and he laughs, more like a cackle, and knows he’s in deep shit.
And yeah, it’s ridiculous. But the moment Eddie laughs, really laughs, something shifts in the air. He watches Steve grin at the sound like he’s been trying to earn it all morning. Eddie can’t help but feel like Steve had done it for him.
God, he's in so much fucking trouble.
He leans back into the frame, still laughing, reaching around his stomach because he’s laughing so hard it’s starting to hurt.
From the corner of his eye, he sees Robin silently reach for the marker and add one more tally to the “You Suck” column, smiling to herself as she does.
Eddie says nothing. He just watches Steve and it’s as if Steve knows what he’s doing to Eddie.