Chapter Text
early summer of ‘85 (pre-starcourt fire)
“Have you ever been in love?”
Steve’s glad he can’t see Robin—glad she can’t see him. The way his face flushes as his tired brain conjures up images of a mess of curls and long fingers donned with silver rings and ripped jeans hiding linework tattoos. Steve’s glad his best friend can’t see him because a) even if they haven’t declared their best friendship, he knows she’d be able to see right through him and b) he doesn’t think he can get the lie out if her big eyes are on him.
He scoffs. “Yep. Nancy Wheeler. First semester senior year.” Steve mock shoots himself in the heart and blows out air between his busted lips, trying to simulate a gunshot. It falls flat in the space of the bathroom until Robin audibly rolls her eyes. You know, if that’s possible. Steve thinks it is with her.
“Oh my god. She’s such a priss.”
“Turns out…not really.”
“Are you still in love with Nancy?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I guess because I found someone who’s a little bit better for me.” He scoffs again. “It’s crazy. Ever since Dustin got home, he’s been telling me I have to find my Suzie.”
And as Steve explains who Suzie is to a very confused Robin, he realizes that while he’s speaking the truth about falling for someone he never spoke to in school, it also sounds like he’s talking about Robin. Except now he’s digging a hole and he can’t seem to get himself out because after he keeps fucking digging, Robin slides under the bathroom stall and crowds into his.
“Steve.”
“Uh, yeah?”
“The girl that you like? Do you even know her? Like…if you did, do you think you’d even want to be her friend?”
She keeps talking. His eyes blow wide. Panic grips Steve because he can’t figure out what the hell Robin is on about with Tammy Thompson…also, a familiar fear is back. Robin keeps talking about the girl but if she knew…God. If she knew that Steve wasn’t talking about a girl at all, Robin would probably run screaming for the hills. Which is why the next words out of her mouth has Steve pausing, calculating, thinking. So. Hard.
“Steve.” Her voice is quiet, like she’s afraid if they talk too loud, her secret will be released into the world and he will use it against her.
Oh. Oh. He says as much, then adds, “Holy shit”
“Yeah. Holy shit.” Robin looks like she might puke.
“Well that makes things easier.”
He rubs a hand over his battered face.
“What?” Robin eyes him. “How hard did you get hit in the head, dingus?”
Quietly, Steve asks, “Is it okay to like both? You know, girls and guys?”
It’s not exactly how he imagined coming out to Robin—like, he didn’t want to ask because he really doesn’t care if it’s “okay” or not. But it does the trick because Robin’s brows pinch together and she whispers, “Yeah, yeah of course it is Steve.”
Then she’s laughing so hard and loud that Steve wonders if he broke her and he's grinning like an idiot. And if he didn’t already consider Robin Buckley his best friend, he sure as hell does now.
late summer of ‘85 (post-starcourt fire)
Family Video’s door chime rings out across the store, pulling Steve away from listening, intently, to Robin’s tirade about why they should rewatch Mansion of the Living Dead (“Come on Steve. How can you say no to Lina Romey? You know she’s, like, a babe. Don’t even try to deny it. Even that pretty, silly head of yours can admit she’s fine.”) again. And he can—admit that Romey is hot as hell, that is—but so is the tall, pale skinned, curly haired, metalhead being dragged into the store behind Gareth and Jeff.
If Robin notices the way Steve perks up as Eddie Munson sweeps into the store with boisterous laughter and mock indignation, she doesn't say. Steve stands from where he leans against the counter and watches as Gareth and Jeff beeline it to the wall of horror films. Eddie lingers, trailing long, ring-clad fingers over the VHS tapes lining the self-standing shelves. After a few seconds of Steve’s very obvious staring, Eddie’s big brown eyes find him over the shelf he stands behind. Steve flushes and gives an awkward tilt of his lips before laying it on thick with a shy little wave—two fingers flicked in a way he hopes says, hey, Eddie, nice to see you instead of—
“King Steve. Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
Steve splutters and by the time he collects himself enough to make eye contact again, Eddie has vacated his spot. Spinning, Steve finds he’s joined his friends and is opening his arms wide to hug Robin—she’d snuck out from behind the counter without Steve noticing. He watches with rapt attention as Robin strikes up a conversation with the three guys, laughing as she jerks a thumb over her shoulder.
Eddie’s eyes flash to Steve’s face and the latter swears there’s a ghost of a smile on the metalhead’s lips. Steve quickly turns away, fumbling to find something to do with his hands. After a brief war with the Eddie-shaped-brain-fog taking up residence in his head, Steve eventually starts dealing with the VHS return pile. He’s used to the motions, of course: open case, check tape is inside, pop tape into VHS player, make sure it’s rewound, rewind if not, place it back in case, check in, repeat. Over and over and over. It’s mind-numbing enough that Steve can eavesdrop without making it obvious while also making sure he does his job.
Bits and pieces of Robin’s conversation with Eddie’s little group make its way to Steve. He hears enough to put together that Eddie is returning to high school again and while he’s playing it off like it’s no big deal, there’s something in his voice that makes Steve believe otherwise.
Not that he knows Eddie well enough to judge his tone…but it feels familiar. Like Eddie is saving face for the sake of everyone else. And Steve is no stranger to that. Hell, he does it all the goddamn time with the kids. So, naturally, it’s like second-nature to be able to tell that’s exactly what Eddie is do—
“King Steve. Harrington, do I need to wear a jester suit to get your attention? Hello?” Eddie snaps his fingers in front of Steve’s face, just close enough to be annoying but far enough away to not be rude.
“Oh, shit, sorry, man.” Steve reaches for the tapes Eddie has stacked up on the counter—all horror, to the surprise of absolutely no one—and starts ringing them up. “Is your account under your uncle’s? Wayne, right?”
Steve looks up when Eddie doesn’t answer and is met with the metalhead’s tilted head and doe-eyes.
“Uh, it is Wayne, right?”
Eddie seems to shake himself, blinking a few times before nodding quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, man. Wayne.”
Steve smiles and slides the tapes back over the counter, fingers lingering a little too long until Eddie reaches out to take them. “You’re all set. Have a good one, Eddie.”
If Steve thought those brown eyes were already doe-like, it has nothing on the way they widen when Eddie’s name falls from the reformed-jock’s lips. With a tight nod and a whirl of hair, Eddie Munson disappears out the door, leaving Steve in his wake and wondering what the hell he did wrong.