Chapter Text
The hurried frenzy of summer had given way to the restlessness of fall, and after the Russians left, Starcourt Mall had officially become the most boring place on Earth. Steve didn’t want to admit it, but he actually kinda missed the interdimensional monster threat. It was more interesting than ice cream, at least.
According to the papers, the mall had been making enough money to warrant reopening, even after being blown up half to hell. Same with Scoops Ahoy, apparently, because Steve’s salary increased so much that not returning to work would probably have been some kind of national crime. Robin still worked there, which was nice, but once school started, her hours decreased, and with her being in band and everything, Steve sometimes felt like he’d been stranded. As the months rolled by, he started to covet the hours she was there, not that he’d ever admit it, of course, which meant that today, was one of the good ones
“Steve!” Robin called from behind the counter, “break times over, buddy, I’m getting swamped out here!”
He finished off the rest of his half-melted slushy and stood. “Coming!” he yelled.
Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Steve stared down at the hat which sat menacingly on the break room table. It was judging him, he could feel it, the big white AHOY painted on the brim. He pressed it down over his hair. Screw it.
He met Robin on the other side of the counter. She was grinning at him, for some reason, and when he looked out at the line of people, he noticed about four twenty-year-old girls had come into the shop. Two blonds and a redhead standing together in line—cheerleader types—he realized, and a brunette further in back, facing away. Steve couldn’t see her very well from where he was standing, but she seemed to be wearing black jeans and a leather jacket, which was just like, wow, intriguing to say the least.
“Go get ‘em buster. Now it’s my turn to hide away from the world," Robin clapped him on the back, “ Lookin’ good, by the way. That hat really brings out your eyes.”
Steve gave her a dirty look. "I’ll be sure to mention it when I score a date with one of these suckers.”
“Your first mistake is calling girls ‘suckers,’ but it’s your loss,” she said noisily, ducking into the break room. “Oh, and don’t forget,” she called back, “We’re out of chocolate!”
Right. Of course. He made a mental note to deny people access to the chocolate flavor and turned to the line. He tried not to grimace. Ok, Steve. Game face, buddy.
The line went pretty quickly after that. He tried to talk to the first group of girls but, hey, whaddya know, two of them had boyfriends and the last gave him such a horrible death stare, he started sweating. Robin was right. He really was an idiot.
He'd also apparently lost sight of the last girl because when it was time for her to be served, she had seemingly disappeared. Had she left? He looked around, then noticed someone kneeling in front of the ice cream case and peering intently inside. He tried to look over the counter. What was she doing down there?
The person suddenly leaped to their feet, slamming their hands onto the counter. Steve nearly jumped.
"I’ll have the chocolate!”
Steve felt his eyes widen. Long brown hair, dark eyes, and yeah—that was definitely NOT a girl standing in front of him. Shit.
“Uh,” he said dumbly, his brain processing the guy’s words way slower than he was used to. “Okay,” he faltered, “lemme—lemme just get you that.”
A knowing grin spread across his face as Steve scrounged around for the ice cream scoop. The guy had bangs that framed his face nicely, and wide, inviting eyes that watched him with interest. He wore rings on basically all his fingers, a leather jacket, and some kind of chain necklace that bounced against his collarbone. He looked like a punk rocker. The dude should have been on the cover of a Circus magazine, not standing in some shitty mall ice cream shop. His eyes met Steve’s and Steve felt his heart begin to race. He really needed to stop staring now.
He yanked open the glass case, intent on just scooping the guy’s ice cream and getting him out of here when his eyes fell on the empty container. Right. They were out of chocolate. Looking back up, it was obvious the guy was laughing at him. God damn it.
He slammed the case closed and leaned forward over the counter, staring the guy down. “If you did that just to piss me off—it worked.”
“Just wanted to see your reaction,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender, his eyes twinkling, “no harm, no foul.”
“Oh yeah? And how ‘bout my wounded pride. What about that?”
The guy tilted his head back, still laughing. “I’m sure you’ll manage.” He gave Steve a once over, “In that uniform, how could you not?”
“Ah, you got me,” Steve rolled his eyes, “Now can I get you something, or are you just gonna stand there all day and stare? I can promise that's not going to be very interesting.”
"It might be," he said, grinning at Steve, "I’ve never seen you here before. Are you new?”
He frowned. Apparently, the guy was here to chat, not order, which was strange considering how long the line had just been.
“Uh, no, but I used to work weekends.” What day was it again? Right, a Tuesday. “My schedule changed,” he added.
“Ah, I see. Things are starting to make sense. Still… it’s a shame we haven’t met ‘till now.” The guy held out a hand for him to shake. “I’m Eddie. Eddie Munson. I work over there at Camelot.”
He nodded across the store and out towards the rest of the mall where Steve could see a neon sign lighting up the store entryway. Of course. Camelot Music. The record store. Things were starting to click together in his brain. No wonder the guy dressed like a rocker.
“I’m Steve,” he replied, shaking Eddie’s hand, “Harrington.”
At that, a strange look passed over Eddie's face. “Harrington. As in King Steve… King of Hawkins High?” He drew away from the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “Damn, alright. I didn’t recognize you.”
Steve gave an internal jolt at the name. Two years ago, he would have probably loved to be recognized like that but now—he wasn’t so sure. He’d at least been passively trying to leave high school behind. Maybe he hadn't been trying hard enough recently.
“Yeah, that’s me,” he acknowledged, finally. He registered the look in Eddie’s eyes, “They still talk about me or something?”
“A bit. Yeah. You’re kind of like a legend, dude.” A brief smile came over Eddie’s lips and he drummed his fingers against the side of his arm. “You’ve got quite a few fans, actually. I even trust a couple of 'em.”
Now, what the hell did that mean? Steve wasn’t sure. And in fact, now that they were on the subject of high school, the name Eddie Munson sounded pretty familiar too. He had kinda stopped paying attention to rumors his last year, but the name Munson definitely rang a bell. Munson was supposedly, well, “freak Munson” who got held back two grades. Apparently, Steve wasn't the only one with a reputation.
He looked at the guy in front of him, thinking. Long hair, leather jacket, jean vest, yeah sure, that wasn’t typical, but there was also something intriguing about him. Like the way he carried himself, leaning back slightly on his heels, or that blinding smile he’d just been wearing. Steve had a hard time classifying him as “freak.” It just didn’t quite fit. Not that anyone knew what the hell they were talking about in high school, anyway.
Eddie eyed him cautiously. “So… Harrington. What are you doing working at an ice cream store? Sorry, I just woulda figured—" he trailed off, "You know what, never mind.”
Steve felt a brief smile touch his lips. That was a fair question, honestly. “If you’d told me this two years ago. I probably wouldn’t have believed you," he said, "But—you know—ice cream’s not so bad. It pays well, plus, it gives me something to do while I try to figure out what the hell else I'm gonna do with my life. And I get to wear this ugly hat.” He waved begrudgingly towards his head and Steve saw Eddie's face fall back into a grin.
“Ya know, I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” he chuckled. “But you could do without the hat, Harrington.”
Steve stared at him a second, then exclaimed, “Thank you!” way too loud. “They keep telling me it’s company policy but it ruins my best attribute!”
"And what's that supposed to be?"
"My hair. Obviously."
Eddie snorted, "That's your best attribute!? Harrington. Trust me. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
Steve looked at him. He was—was he blushing? What the hell? “Uh, right. Thanks?” Smooth Steve. Real Smooth.
The line of people in the store had grown, and Eddie looked behind him, seeming to notice. “So you’re out of my chocolate,” he faced Steve. “But the real question is, are you out of the cotton candy? If I had to describe it, I'd say... it's kind of a cerulean blue.”
Steve looked at him, incredulously. “I don’t think I’ve heard anyone call it that. But yeah, we have it. You sure you actually want to eat that shit, though? I’ve been told it tastes like the back of a shoe.”
“It was probably I who made that assessment,” Eddie said, dramatically. He licked his lips, “There’s just something about bad ice cream. I can’t get enough of it.”
Steve shook his head. Who the hell was this guy? “You know Munson, we actually just opened a really big container. It’s your lucky day.” Steve reached over and grabbed an ice cream scooper, flipping it over in his hand, before dipping it down into the ice cream. “In fact, there’s literally no way we’re going to sell it all at this rate. You may have to come back.”
Eddie was watching him as he stood back up. “I might just do that, Harrington,” he said, taking his ice cream in one hand. “Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes, after all.”
He asked for change, which Steve provided, before sticking a spoon into the blue mess of his ice cream and shoveling it into his mouth. He nodded approvingly, “Perfect. Terrible as always.”
A strange sense of excitement passed over Steve as he watched Eddie lick the spoon clean. “Happy to help."
Eddie smirked and waggled his fingers in makeshift goodbye. His rings caught in the light. “Good to meet you, Harrington,” he said. “And who knows? Maybe I’ll see you around.” His tongue was blue.
He ducked around the crowd of people and out of the ice cream shop, disappearing around a corner. Steve stared for a bit longer then ran a hand over his eyes. Eddie Munson, huh. He was certainly—well, Eddie Munson was certainly quite something.
Unfortunately for Steve, Eddie Munson was enough of a “something” to keep him occupied for the next few days. The conversation rattled around in his brain and during shifts at the ice cream shop, he kept subconsciously looking out for a flash of brown hair or the sight of a leather jacket. It was stupid, Steve knew, but he had invited him back. Maybe he’d show up.
He even asked Robin about Eddie once, and she’d given him a strange look and said that—yeah—she knew Eddie, he was in her grade, apparently. Then she asked what he’d done that was enough to warrant his attention. He explained they’d met briefly and he'd just gotten curious. Robin pointed out that he didn’t get curious very often—unless it was about girls— so she said maybe she’d talk to Eddie about it next time they spoke. For some reason, Steve really didn’t want her to do that, so he changed the subject pretty quickly and hadn’t brought it up since. Still, every day before work, he would peer inside Camelot Music, and see if he could catch a glimpse of long curly hair. He was never that lucky.
Saturday finally rolled around and it was Steve’s last shift for the week. Robin wasn’t there, so everything about the day had dragged. He busied himself by listening to the radio and thinking that maybe, later tonight, he’d sneak back into the high school and swim a few laps in their pool. Aside from waking up every day at four in the goddamn morning, he kinda missed swim team. Besides, who knew, maybe a couple of laps would clear his head.
Everything She Wants started blasting on the speakers and Steve found himself thoroughly distracted. He was scooping ice cream on autopilot at this point, filling up bowl after bowl as the line of people in front of him grew shorter.
“Hi, welcome to Scoops Ahoy,” he said for the thousandth time, “What can I get…” he looked up and trailed off. Oh. Wow. He was here. So much for hypervigilance—Eddie Munson had completely snuck up on him.
“How goes it, Harrington?” Eddie said with a grin. He looked pretty good. He had on mostly black, a tank top under a ragged leather coat, with a red belt snaked around his waist, holding up his jeans. He wore a pleased expression, and his eyes gleamed as they met Steve’s.
He was still in shock. “Eddie Munson. You’re back.”
Eddie’s eyes widened. He leaned forward on the counter, hands pressed heavily against the glass. “Well, color me impressed. Steve Harrington actually remembered my name. I can’t believe it.”
He raised an eyebrow and took in Eddie’s form. Dark eyes, messy brown hair, a lively, open face. As if he could forget.
“You’re selling yourself short, here, Munson. How could I possibly not remember the one person who actually enjoyed the cotton candy shit. I thought it was inedible.”
Eddie smirked and drummed his fingertips across the countertop, “Laying it on a bit thick, dontcha think, Harrington?” Steve’s eyebrows creased. What did he mean by that?
Eddie glanced over his shoulder to look at the line behind him, which consisted of just a single family who were still milling around—not having decided on what to order yet. He turned back, seeming to make up his mind. “So you do still work weekends, huh? This is my lunch break and I just… had to know.”
That was weird. When Steve had checked the record store earlier that morning, he hadn’t seen him. Maybe they opened later than Scoops? “Uh-huh,” he put his hands on his hips, “You work at Camelot, I remember.”
Eddie’s eyes got large, “Well, now you’ve got my attention, Harrington. You remember my name and now, my place of work. I guess those rumors about you really were true. You’re quite the man.” He genuinely looked shocked.
“Kinda hard to forget that the guy who dresses like AC/DC, actually does, in fact, work at the record store.” he leaned back, crinkling his nose slightly, “Or maybe I’m just crazy.” In all honesty, he was jealous. If he didn’t have to wear this damn sailor's uniform all the time, maybe Steve would have a functioning love life.
He looked back at Eddie and noticed his eyes were wandering all over him. His cheeks start to heat up. “I was really going for more Metallica with the leather jacket and everything but—you know AC/DC?”
Was that so shocking? Steve knew bands. Some of them, at least. “Yeah, sure, I know them. They did—uh—that one song.” He cringed, what was it called again?
“Uh-huh,” He could see that Eddie was trying not to laugh, the edges of his eyelids crinkling pleasantly.
“No, go ahead,” Steve told him, “In fact, you could probably tell me this was AC/DC right now and I’d believe you.” He pointed at the radio to indicate the song that had come on after Wham. “People tell me it all the time—I’m a lost cause.”
Eddie snickered, “I hardly know you, so I wouldn’t go that far yet,” Steve raised an eyebrow, “Yet,” he repeated, “But like, seeing as I work in a record store, I feel like it’s my sworn duty to tell you that AC/DC sounds pretty much nothing like Tina Turner.”
“Right,” Steve said, sheepishly, “Shoulda known.”
Suddenly, Eddie leaned forward over the counter and got way closer than he was expecting. Like, right in his face. His hair was everywhere and he smelled like, well, he smelled like men’s hair products, which wasn’t bad by any means, just unexpected. He breathed in, and yeah, actually, it smelled kinda nice.
“Listen,” Eddie was speaking to him, he realized, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I work literally right over there, so if you ever wanna come by and get educated, I work Monday through Thursday and on weekends when I’m filling in an extra shift,” He leaned back. Steve found himself a little disappointed, “Always happy to lend a hand to an aspiring music connoisseur.”
“That’s—that’s actually real generous of you, Munson,” he said, genuinely, “But fair warning, there is a very good chance you’ll be disappointed.”
“I welcome the challenge. You should come by.” He flicked his eyes to Steve’s, then looked away, “That is,” he creased his eyebrows together, “if you want to, obviously.”
“Sure. I’ve got literally nothing to lose.” Besides, actually being invited into Camelot meant that he would have to do a lot less sneaking around looking for Eddie. He could actually see him again and in a place other than Steve’s work. It was a miracle.
Steve glanced up. The people behind Eddie seemed to have figured out what they wanted, and for a second, Steve was almost tempted to ask Eddie to stay so they could keep talking—but with a sinking feeling, he remembered it was Eddie’s lunch break. He probably wouldn’t have long anyway.
Eddie interrupted his thoughts. “Look, Harrington. I’m gonna—I’m gonna go. But seriously, don’t forget I’m literally right over there so... yeah.” He pushed himself off the counter with both hands and backed away. “I’ll catch you later.”
“Wait, but—“ Steve started, raising a hand as if to catch him but Eddie was faster. He darted out of the store, a flash of curly hair and leather, and disappeared before he could finish. He dropped his hand back to his side. “You didn’t order anything."
The family had taken Eddie’s place in line and one of the kids was looking up at Steve expectantly. He sighed and resigned himself to his fate.
“Hi! Welcome to Scoops Ahoy! What can I get you?”
Long hours of work did weird things to Steve. Lunch had long since passed and now the second conversation with Eddie had started to eat away at his brain along with the first. Eddie hadn’t meant today when he suggested that he come over to Camelot. Surely not. However, Steve told himself, maybe, it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.
He knew it was a bad idea. He wasn’t even sure what it was that made Eddie so damn… interesting, but he was literally dying to find out. And if that meant going over to Camelot today, even just to check, he was gonna do it.
Unfortunately, as much as he wanted to just forget about work and give up and go find Eddie, he was on closing shift, which meant he’d be working late with the additional task of having to clean and reorganize the shop for whoever came in tomorrow. Still, Eddie might also be closing, which meant that if he finished up soon enough, he could make it over there before Eddie left for the day.
Steve made up his mind. He watched the hours tick by on the little sailor-themed clock in the corner and found he had never scooped ice cream with this much determination in his life. People tried to engage him in conversation, even a couple of girls, but he just half smiled and shoved ice cream into their hands without so much as a hello. He had a destination to be at in… 4 hours… and damn it, he was gonna be on time. The clock kept ticking in the corner: two hours… one hour… 30 minutes… fifteen… at fifteen minutes he started scooping ice cream so fast, he actually dropped someone’s, which made the wait longer as he had to clean up, but when he looked back at the clock it was five minutes till closing and Steve decided he’d had enough. He flipped the sign CLOSED and sighed, leaning back against the doorway, surveying the shop. This wouldn’t take long. He rubbed his hands together. Time to clean.
Steve was out the door in ten minutes with his heart pounding so fast he could feel it. He looked around, most of the mall lights were off, but a few employees still milled around, shutting shop. He shrugged to himself. There was a chance.
He sped-walked across the mall balcony with his sights set on the neon Camelot sign glowing faintly in the distance. When he got close, he noticed most of the store was dark, a single light left on in the back. He peered in through the glass. He could hardly see anything, it was so dark, but it looked pretty motionless inside. He frowned. Maybe he was too late. Steve felt his stomach drop in disappointment.
When someone tapped him on the shoulder, he leaped out of his skin.
He whirled on his attacker, hands clenching into fists, but when he saw who it was, he nearly snuck to the floor. Eddie. Goddamn Eddie Munson. Eddie raised his arms in surrender.
“Dude!” Steve exclaimed, pent-up adrenaline leaving his system in a rush. He lowered his hands, “Way to give someone a heart attack.”
“It’s my specialty, what can I say?” Eddie’s hands were still raised, “But, shit, man. You nearly punched me.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, “I’m just—“ He thought for a second. How the hell was he supposed to explain that just a few months ago he’d been fighting off literal monsters from another dimension. “Just not used to being snuck up on,” he said, finally.
“I can see that,” Eddie lowered his hands “You were staring pretty intensely into that window, just now. Lookin’ for someone?”
Standing here in front of him, Steve suddenly felt kinda stupid. What was his plan, exactly? The mall was basically closed. No way was Eddie going to show him around a pitch-black record store. He probably just wanted to go home, for god's sake.
“I’ll be honest, I was looking for you. You said you were gonna show me around, but now I realize, the store’s closed, and I’m just being an idiot.”
“Yeah, I didn’t exactly mean today, Harrington,” Of course, he didn’t, Steve thought. “But I’m flattered.” Of course, he is. Eddie put a hand to his chest, “Really. You’ve made my day. I was just leaving but I realized I forgot all my stuff, so I’m headed back inside. Maybe I can find you something to listen to while I’m at it.
Steve looked at him. “You sure you don’t care?”
“As if I could possibly refuse your company.” He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a key, which he jangled in Steve’s face before inserting it into the door and turning. The record store opened and Eddie ushered him inside, opening his arms wide. “Welcome to my castle, Harrington.”
The glass must have been tinted because once he was inside, he was able to make out most of the interior. There were rows and rows of shelves all stacked to the brim with vinyl, showing off displays with records from various bands. Posters lined the walls, and he was embarrassed to admit, he could only recognize about half of them. He looked closer and noticed that some of the artists wore similar clothes to Eddie. No wonder he worked here. Steve looked down sheepishly at his own uniform, which he still hadn’t taken off. God, he looked stupid. He should have changed or something.
“Oh, goddamn it!” Eddie was saying loudly and Steve turned to watch him throw his hands up in the air. “This again? That’s three times this week!”
He stormed over to one side of the store where the cassette tapes were stored. Well, supposed to be stored at least, because basically none of them were on the shelf. Instead, they lay scattered in a messy pile on the floor, in complete disarray, and Eddie was staring at them miserably. “How could this happen to me,” he muttered under his breath.
Steve walked over so he could join him next to the pile. There were a lot of cassettes on the ground, he noticed. More than he’d first realized. “Not supposed to look like that?” he asked, humorously.
“I reorganized this yesterday,” Eddie said, twisting his hands into his pants, “Yes-ter-day. And now they’re back on the floor. I got in trouble for it like a week ago, but why the hell would I want to make more work for myself?” He looked at Steve “You think someone is fucking with me?”
Steve shrugged, “I don’t know, dude, I kinda feel like this is a weird way to prank someone.” He leaned down and picked up one of the cassettes, “Here, you want help?”
“You don’t have to do that,” Eddie told him, “But, lucky me, I’m gonna have to fix this so my boss doesn’t strangle me in the morning.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, “I can’t believe I was actually planning on getting home early and studying for English. Looks like I'm gonna be kissing that hard-earned C goodbye.”
“Well, I can't do anything about that. But I can help you." Steve flipped over the cassette he’d already picked up and showed it to Eddie. “Look, I’ve already started. Def Leppard… Pyromania,” he read, “Where does this go?”
Eddie gave him a funny look, and Steve thought—well—hoped, it was one of appreciation. Getting on the guy’s good side was one step closer to his master plan: figuring out why Eddie Munson was so… hard to forget.
“It goes on the top shelf,” Eddie said finally and took the cassette. After a second, he muttered, “You know, you’re not what I expected. Like, not at all.”
“Oh yeah?” Steve replied. “Good. I like to keep people guessing.”
Eddie snorted out a laugh. “Right. You’re also an idiot.”
“You know, my friend tells me that all the time. More than is probably healthy, actually." He looked over at Eddie, who seemed to have calmed down slightly, and smiled, “You calling me a friend, Munson?”
He raised an eyebrow and turned back to Steve. “Awfully direct, dontcha think, Harrington?” The teasing tone from earlier picking back up in his voice. “No wonder you have the girls swooning.” He kicked the pile of cassettes a bit with his foot, “But if you really wanna stay, and I mean actually want to, not out of some ‘King Steve’ obligation…maybe I’ll think about it.”
Steve grinned. “Munson,” he said and squatted down, “Now it’s a challenge.” Steve grabbed another tape, “Let’s see here. Bad Company, 1975, Straight Shooter,” he held it up so Eddie could see. “What about this one?”
Eddie looked at him for a second then shook his head. “You wanna stay…your loss,” he said, dropping onto the floor next to Steve. “I’ll sort stuff into genres, you alphabetize—seeing as I doubt you know what you’re doing. Sound good?”
Steve wasn’t even offended. “I’m your man." Eddie ducked his head and laughed.
“Whatever you say, Harrington.”
It went pretty fast, after that. Eddie got up and turned on some lights, which cast the store in a haunting orange glow. Steve alphabetized and Eddie sorted. Eddie was sitting quite close to him, Steve noticed, and in the silence of the empty mall, he found himself watching Eddie more than he was watching the tapes. He kept biting his lip, which was distracting and playing with the rings on his fingers. A couple of times, Eddie noticed he was staring and their eyes met. Steve ducked to avoid the gaze.
A few minutes in and Eddie stood up again. He started pacing around. “There’s no one else here,” he announced, “I don’t see why the hell we can’t play some music.” He looked back at Steve, “Suggestions, Harrington?”
Oh, no. The dreaded question. “Would it be cliche for me to say I’m fine with whatever?”
“Very cliche,” Eddie grinned at him, “But if you’re not sure, I’m not one to pressure. How about, hm, how about we let the fates decide, shall we?”
He leaned down and scooped up some of the unsorted tapes around Steve. Kneeling, he held them out. His hair was falling down around his shoulders—his angular face striking in the warm half-light of the store.
“Eyes closed. And no peeking. I can tell.”
“Aw, come on,” Steve said, trying very hard not to stare at the necklace which fell below Eddie’s shirt collar. “This a test or something?”
Eddie bounced eagerly on his knees. “It’s kismet.” Steve had no idea what that meant.
He gave Eddie one last look, then shut his eyes, holding out a hand. He could feel Eddie move his hands forward until the tapes he was holding were right under Steve’s. “Now choose, Harrington,” he said, dramatically, “Trust your instincts.”
This was getting ridiculous. Steve grabbed the nearest tape and opened his eyes. He flipped it over. “Led Zeppelin. I’ve never listened to them.”
Eddie actually reeled back. “You’ve never listened to Led Zeppelin?”
He cringed. “Uh, I mean, maybe? They’re pretty famous, right? I’m sure I've heard them at some point.”
Eddie laughed. “Thank god you’re here, Harrington, because I’m about to change your life." He said it with such conviction that Steve almost believed him. Maybe Led Zeppelin was worth the hype.
He went around the counter and carried a cassette player back to Steve. “You have chosen Physical Graffiti to be your first,” he said, sitting down and placing the cassette gingerly inside, “It’s kind of a long album and if we don’t finish, I actually own it so—” Eddie glanced at him then looked away, “You can borrow mine if you want.”
Steve stared at him. He felt like Eddie offering to loan him something—music no less—was kind of a big deal. He tried to stop a smile from taking over his face but it was too late. “That’d be great.”
“Sweet." Steve could tell Eddie had gotten kind of antsy and he mashed the play button down on the cassette player, hard. The music started and he leaned back, sighing. “Much better.”
They got back to sorting tapes and with the music blasting, Steve found himself getting less distracted by Eddie and more distracted by… whatever the hell Led Zeppelin was doing. It was pretty good, he had to admit, and although he didn’t normally listen to this type of music, there was something in the way they played that he could appreciate. He started tapping his heel to the beat and Eddie grinned at him. Alright, he liked Led Zeppelin now.
They only got through about half the album before finishing up with the tapes, but Steve wasn’t worried. Borrowing something from Eddie meant seeing him again, once to borrow it, and once again to return it. That was two separate, pre-planned visits. He was feeling pretty good.
“And thus, it was done,” Eddie said, standing up to survey the work. Steve joined him. The whole shelf had been refilled and reorganized—the shiny new cassettes gleaming in their proper place.
Eddie put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. He almost jumped, a chill passing through him. “I really oughta thank you," Eddie said, "Just me and this woulda taken all night.”
“Don’t mention it. Loan me that Led Zeppelin tape and we’ll call it even.”
“So you did like them.” Eddie removed his hand and looked at Steve warmly, “I knew I had a good feeling about you.”
“Still haven’t decided,” he replied. “But yeah, they’re growing on me.” So was Eddie. Eddie was definitely growing on him.
He grabbed his stuff from the Camelot break room, and the two left together, Steve walking Eddie back out through the deserted mall. When they reached the parking lot, Eddie got the door for him, which was kind of embarrassing, and led him over to a battered old van which he patted fondly.
“This is me,” he said, chuckling. “A beauty, isn't she?”
Steve raised an eyebrow. The van looked kinda beat-up. “It’s not bad.” He wondered how old it was.
Eddie stepped back over to Steve, invading his personal space just a little. “I know you said I didn’t have to thank you,” he said, earnestly, “But, seriously, thank you. I think you saved my life.”
“My pleasure, man. Anytime.”
Eddie looked away and smiled at the ground. “You oughta be careful about that generosity, Harrington. Somebody might take advantage of you.”
He shrugged. “As long as it's you, I’m fine with it, honestly. You're surprisingly pretty cool, Munson.”
Eddie coughed and stepped away from him, planting both palms on the side of his van as if for support. A cool breeze blew through the air, and suddenly, Steve shivered. “I’ll get you that Led Zeppelin tape,” Eddie looked up, “You workin’ next week?”
“Tuesday. You?”
Eddie kicked his toe into the pavement. “Yeah,” he smiled.
There was a weird tension in the air and Steve felt a bit odd, as if suddenly... seeing Eddie existing outside the mall was the weirdest thing to happen to him all week. He wrapped his arms around himself. The November night was cold.
Eddie drummed his fingers nervously into the side of his van, “Alrighty then," he said, "I'd say our business is concluded. Is this goodbye?”
Steve blinked, “Yeah. I guess it is. Be seeing you, Munson.”
“Farewell, Harrington.” Eddie flashed him a quick, awkward smile, "See ya Tuesday." He yanked open the door to his van and climbed inside.
Steve stood there for a second, before shaking his head and pulling his car keys from his pocket. He walked over to his car and glanced back towards the van. Eddie had stuck his head out and was waving at him. A gust of wind caught his hair. He looked almost angelic.
Steve grinned and waved back. Satisfied, Eddie pulled his head back inside. Steve watched the van lumber away and slumped back against his car. Tuesday it was.