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Ice cream was not always part of your weekly routine. In fact, you tried your best to not indulge in sweet foods too often (even though your refrigerator has seen your face at 3AM better than anyone else in your house), but you found yourself, every Wednesday, coming to the little ice cream shop in the corner of Starcourt Mall to order yourself a cup of the sugary treat—not ever daring to admit that, in all honesty, you were there for a different kind of treat.
Around Hawkins High, you would see his face nearly all the time. You both had similar classes and it wasn’t like you could exactly escape the name Steve Harrington when all the girls would get together and talk about the students, but if anyone were to ask if he and you were friends, you would say no, no way. Even now, though you hardly spoke in school—only a few times during class or if you happened to be paired up for an assignment. So, yeah, even now the two of you never really hang out, and you would point your nose to the sky in saying that he’s not as attractive as everyone thinks he is.
But something changed. He changed. From that douchebag popular kid you remember who sucked ass at playing basketball, he turned into a semi-serious—dare you even say it—sweetheart, who earned three bucks an hour at Scoops Ahoy and sacrificed some of that profit to heartedly look after the kids in town whom he became close with since you had seen him last, or any of them, really. There was often a time when you would be at the counter, order halfway spoken, when a line of children would push past the employee door and Steve would follow after them with a sigh, shouting at them that ‘this is the last time!’ even though it never would be, and always apologizing to you that you were so rudely interrupted by the young group.
It never bothered you, and you actually enjoyed being there during those moments because you could see that Steve cared about them a lot, even if he would talk badly of them at the cash register under his breath. It was the type of comment an older sibling would make, so you would just nod your head and carry on with your order, even if Steve already knew what you would say. It was easy for him to catch on, he once told you, as you always order the same thing—cookies ’n cream with extra chocolate chips—though he would always try and twist your arm to try something different. But, as you will never admit, it wasn’t the ice cream you were here for, so the same thing was always just fine and dandy in your eyes.
Surprisingly it was fairly quiet at the shop today, even out in the mall, so you hadn’t need to line up before you saw that handsome face of his smiling at you all bright and friendly. Gosh, you wish it didn’t give you butterflies as much as it did. Even with the quiet, it was obvious he wasn’t having a very good day, shown in the way he slouches against the counter to greet you.
“Ahoy there,” his voice hollers, but his eyes blink at you tiredly. “You’re here pretty early. Couldn’t wait to see me, eh?”
Pointing a comical glare at him, you shrug your shoulders as an answer until you decide that you better explain before he lets what he said get to that big head of his. “I’ve got a long list of errands to run today. Need some sugar to get me going.”
“And could I offer you something more interesting this time?” he waves a hand across the array of selections behind the viewing glass on the side, gesturing at all the flavors. “Let’s say, rocky road or cherry jubilee?”
He’s already got his scooper in hand when you chuckle, leaning over to roll the cookies ’n cream flavor into a custom Scoops Ahoy cup, knowing that you already have your mind made up. Poking you into a different choice never usually worked, but he kept up the banter regardless. You like that he does. Despite the fact, he’s got a routine of his own, looking at you over the glass he’s hunched behind. “One scoop or two?”
“Hit me with a two-scoop today,”
“Ah, finally being a little adventurous, are we?” he teases, putting the amount you asked for into the cup. “First you rock up early and now you’re splurging. What else do you have up your sleeve?”
“It would hardly be a surprise if I tell you,” your words smile at him, though you tilt your head at him.
“Wow,” he slaps his hand against his chest, scooper already placed upside down in the tub of water closest to him, feigning hurt. “After all this time, where’s the trust?”
“Shut up,” you laugh, feeling that fluttering in your stomach flare up again when he laughs in return, the crinkles under his eyes making him look much more energetic than he was when you first strolled inside. “It’s gotta suck when it’s this quiet. Am I your first customer?”
Steve shakes his head, tongue poking into his cheek. “No, I had those two brats come in this morning,”
You know who he means already, but still you ask. “The twins?”
“Yeah. They’re little nightmares,” he groans, his hands coming up in a choking motion as if he was doing it right here and now. “If it weren’t for company policy I would have kicked them out on their tiny asses.”
“Steve, oh my gosh,” escapes the breathless chuckle, seeing the pure disgust on his face when he speaks about them. Working at an ice cream shop brought in a lot of kids, but aside from his ragtag bunch, he didn’t take too kindly to temper tantrums from two ten-year-olds. “I’d like to see you try with their mother around.”
“She’s just as bad,” he points a finger at you, stepping over to the cash register. “I seriously need to get out of this place.”
Fishing a hand into your pocket, you pull out the money to pay for your ice cream. “Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad.”
“You’d be surprised,” his head shakes, one of his fingers punching in the amount into the cash register.
Your hand is offered over the counter before he can say the amount out loud. You already know what it is anyway since you order from here so often. Steve is used to it too, now contentedly taking the money from your hand and slipping it into the till, unlike how he used to make fun of you for being on the ready. One dollar is handed back to you, like always, to make up for the overpayment.
“I keep thinking I should hit the road,” Steve mutters when he nudges the drawer shut. “Take an extended road trip way out past Hawkins, you know? Have some time away.”
He’s still got your ice cream order in his hand, and as much as you genuinely come here for his company, you wouldn’t mind some ice cream right now. But you let him speak, interested in what he has to say. “Why don’t you?”
“It’s complicated,” he rubs one hand behind his neck, and you really try not to look at his defined arm under his red, white, and blue sleeve. “I’ve got… stuff here.”
“Stuff, huh?” you echo, watching him concentrate on the other side of the room. “You mean Dustin and the kids?”
Finally, his gaze is back on you. With a scoff, he transfers his weight from one foot to the other. “I’ve got a life outside of Henderson, alright?”
“Okay, okay,” you raise innocent hands at him, already knowing that he’s just teasing but you can’t help loving to tease him back. “Maybe you should have gotten a job as a babysitter.”
Steve chuckles something pained, shaking his head. “If only you knew.”
“Well,” you wave a hand at the cup that he’s still holding, hoping he gets the hint that you want the food that you paid for. “I think you should find time to take that road trip.”
He grins shortly, moving the cup over to you but then pulling back before you can get your hold on it. His laugh is loud when you shoot him a proper glare, leaning over the cash register to take the cup from his hand, though he extends his arm far behind him so that you can’t reach. It’s only your disgruntled “Steve!” that finally has him handing over your order, still laughing.
“Maybe I will,” he responds to your previous comment, rubbing a finger against his lip for a moment before continuing. “And maybe… you could come with me.”
The look you send him clearly says that you weren’t expecting that, and Steve is already fumbling over his words as he waves an awkward hand around. “Only if you wanted to, you know. Like we don’t have to. I was just thinking that it could be… fun.”
The poor guy is practically sweating, and you decide to ease his torment a little bit even though watching him fumble like this is really cute. “Yeah, it would be fun. Just keep saving up and we might actually get there.”
“Yeah, alright,” he shakes his head, though he’s smiling. “Don’t get a brain freeze, kay?”
Chuckling, you give him a sailor’s salute. “Aye aye, Captain.”
The sound he makes is between a groan and laugh, rolling his eyes at you. “You gotta go,”
“Don’t have too much fun without me!” you call by the time you’ve walked to the entrance, waving a hand at him.
He pushes his lips out at you, waving back. Even if it was only for a short time, being around Steve made your day better. Maybe that’s what changed in you. The first time you came to Scoops Ahoy and saw him you had thought you were hallucinating, then inwardly groaned at the thought of having your order taken by the guy you remember too well from school. But he was kind and made you laugh, and it looked like he hadn’t ever heard someone laugh at one of his customary jokes before.
The first impression of dread turned into actually enjoying his company, and even if you were to sneak a glance at him every now and then—watching the loose strand of hair peek out from under his sailor’s cap, curling by the bridge of his nose, while he refilled the freezer—it started to feel different. Burning gazes turned softer, more tender. It’s hard to admit in your head that you think you’re falling for Steve Harrington, but you know for sure that you’ll never say it aloud. The last thing you need is to finally open up to someone only for them to shut you down. Surely, Steve isn’t into you in the same way. You think he enjoys your company purely because you let him talk.
Shaking the thought out of your head, you take a spoonful of the ice cream you had ordered, happy to finally eat it. You’ve never really paid attention to the taste before because—once again—you’re only there to see Steve, but you can tell that this time something isn’t the same. Looking down into the cup, you notice how the ice cream looks especially bland without the chocolate chips you always get with your scoops. The aforementioned ingredient is nowhere to be found and you wonder if you should even bother going back to ask for some until you think of all the things you’ve got to do today and how you could really use the sugar. So, you turn on your heel and make your way back to Scoops Ahoy, finding a customer ordering at the counter when you return.
You’re happy to wait, but Steve’s eyes meet yours and apparently, all sense of professionalism escapes his mind as he totally ignores the customer to shout over at you, “Hey, couldn’t resist getting another look at me, huh?”
You poke your tongue out at him, which quickly retreats back into your mouth when the customer turns to look at who he’s speaking to. “Yeah, you in that sailor’s outfit are really turning heads, Steve.”
He lets out a sound similar to the one he had made when he pretended to be offended at you before, but somehow this sounds a bit more genuine.
“I’ll wait my turn,” you say, nodding over at the customer who doesn’t take too kindly to the smile you offer them.
“No, that’s fine. Robin can take over,” Steve says like it doesn’t matter at all about serving someone else. “Hey, Robin!”
He turns halfway to look over at where Robin sticks her head up from behind the foldback window, throwing him a glare that gives yours a run for its money. He explains the situation quickly, not waiting on Robin’s response before moving over to the side to look at you front on, nodding his head up and asking what you need.
“Um, well, it really doesn’t matter, I guess,” you start, but Steve raises a hand to stop you from saying anything more.
“It matters to me,” he says, a hand over his heart, and you understand that he’s not taking this as seriously as you thought he was for leaving his customer with Robin.
Placing the cup on the top of the glass window to bring his attention to it, you say, “It’s really no drama, but there aren’t any chocolate chips.”
Immediately his face falls, going from goofball mode straight into seriousness, and he’s leaning over to look down into the cup, almost like he doesn’t believe a single word you said. “I thought I put them in there,” he mutters.
“It’s fine, Steve. I guess I was just trying to tease you. I can have it without them,”
“No,” he snatches the cup before you can grab it. “You asked for two scoops of cookies ’n cream ice cream with extra chocolate chips. You always do. I must’ve been so busy talking that I forgot to add them.”
It’s incredible that he recites the order exactly back to you like he’s studied it for a midterm. He’s marching over to the ingredients section of the glass before you can even tell him not to worry about it, already scanning over all the selections. With the commotion of it all, you’re starting to worry that you shouldn’t have come back in the first place. After all, it’s just some chocolate, right? But Steve wouldn’t have heard you even if you spoke up, watching as his eyebrows furrow so much that he could break the skin if he’s not careful.
Finally, he looks over at you. His face is less strained than before, but it’s hardly relaxed at all. “I’m so sorry. I don’t think I even restocked them this morning.”
The sound of how upset he is about the mistake almost has you leaping over the counter to comfort him. You’ve not ever experienced an apologetic Steve before now, and to think it’s over something like an ice cream order. “It’s okay, Steve. Don’t worry about it.”
“Let me go check the back,”
“I’ll just have something else,”
“Hey, dingus,” Robin intervenes the two of you, having already sent off the customer with their order. “We’re out of chocolate chips, remember? We won’t get any in until tomorrow.”
Steve curses under his breath. “That’s right,”
He turns to face you, mouth open to speak, but you beat him to it before you can start to feel guilty about it all over again. “Look, it’s not a problem. I’ll just have some sprinkles or something—”
“I’ll go buy you some,” comes Steve’s offer to you, completely cutting you off without much warning.
It doesn’t take only you by surprise, it seems, as both you and Robin speak: “What?”
“Yeah, I’ll just shoot over to the store,” Steve is saying, already walking around the counter and placing the cup on top of the glass window. He’s beside you now, and it sinks in how you’ve never stood in front of Steve without an object in the way. “It’ll take two seconds.”
Robin’s looking at him like he’s just stripped his uniform off and waved it around, both palms resting on the counter as she leans forward. “You’re going to buy something that isn’t a magazine full of swimsuit models?”
“Hey,” he clicks his finger at Robin, quickly looking between you and her. “I happen to make responsible purchases, thank you.”
“Because this is really responsible,” Robin nods.
Steve waves her off, ignoring her comment, and then he’s stepping closer to you like he’s going to tell you a secret; leaning forward that if he wasn’t wearing that silly hat on his head then you might have felt the strands of his hair that you remember would always stick out. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
You’ve hardly had a say yet, so you just nod at him a little listlessly, not sure what else you could actually do. “Uh, sure. Okay.”
“Great, don’t go anywhere!” he shouts as he skips out of the shop, and you watch the way he goes into a full-on sprint as soon as he’s got one foot on the walkway.
It’s quiet for a moment, aside from the Scoops Ahoy music playing through the shop speakers. Then Robin clears her throat and you spin on your heel to look at her. “That was weird,”
“Yeah,” you awkwardly laugh, scratching the side of your head. “He takes his job pretty seriously.”
“Mm, I don’t think it’s the job he’s worried about.”
Normally your defense mechanism of playing off everything as a joke would jump in right now, but another customer makes their way to the counter before you can even think of something to say in reply. Robin’s now occupied with them and so you stand there awkwardly, playing with your hands as you look out past the shop entrance as if you would see Steve running back by now. He was hardly gone three minutes but it feels like the longest three minutes of your life.
You opt for sitting at one of the tables, your leg bouncing up and down as you go from looking outside to the clock on the wall and back again. By ten minutes, you’re thinking that your ice cream is probably already melted. By fifteen minutes, you’re thinking that Steve’s tripped over his shoelaces and smacked his head on the Starcourt Mall tiles. The visual in your head doesn’t do well with the anxious feeling in your stomach. In fact, it makes for a pretty killer recipe for spontaneity.
Jumping up on your feet, you tell Robin that you’re going to check on where Steve is and mention that if your ice cream is soup at this point then just chuck it out. Her nod isn’t all too enthusiastic as you quickly walk out of the shop and make your way to the big grocery store on the bottom floor of the mall, stepping in between shoppers as you look around the place. You pass aisle after aisle, taking a chance by looking down each one just in case, until finally, you spot the blue color of Steve’s uniform as he looks intently at the shelves in front of him, one hand on his hip as the other points at all the items as he looks through them all.
He doesn’t seem to notice you make your way over to him, not until you’re stepping by his side. “Hey,”
The sound of your voice startles him slightly, tensing his shoulders before he registers that it’s only you. His lips turn up into a meek smile as he lingers on your face a little longer than usual, before clearing his throat and gesturing to the shelves. “I, uh, don’t know where they sell the chocolate chips.”
Steve’s bashful honesty has you laughing, tipping to the side that you have to hold onto his arm for support. That, with all the worry you had pent up before, comes out in pure hilarity that you have to cover your mouth with your other hand to suppress the noise. It has Steve laughing too, but he’s got a better grip on it than you have.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh,” you smile at him. “I just feel so bad about you wanting to buy them for me.”
“You order it every Wednesday. How could I just stand by and let you not have your cookies ’n cream ice cream with chocolate chips?” he smiles down at you, his cheek near to his shoulder that it almost comes off a little lopsided, but still cute.
“Extra chocolate chips,” you tease him.
“Of course,” he says softly, still somewhat leaning into you that you could convince yourself that you really are telling each other a secret, wanting no one else to hear.
For a moment, the two of you just simply stand there and stare at each other, and it’s something you’ve not felt up until now. Sure, you’ve stared at Steve before, who hasn’t, but now he’s staring back. You’re almost so lost in the moment that you forget you’re both standing in the store aisle, paying more attention to how you have your hand still on his arm.
“You should probably get back to the shop before Robin kicks your ass for leaving her there,” you mutter, and Steve chuckles.
“She kicks my ass for everything,” he says.
“Can’t say I blame her,” the tease leaks past your lips in another defense mechanism, trying to keep your balance on how far you’re tipping into Steve’s corner when this all just started out as getting ice cream and a look.
Shaking his head, Steve gives you that offended voice of his. “And after I went through all this trouble,”
“You can just make it up to me with another double scoop next Wednesday, okay?”
“How about instead,” he starts, his hand moving to settle on top of yours still latched onto his arm, his fingers brushing against your skin. “Next Wednesday I scoop myself some ice cream and we can sit down together.”
Your mind is freaking out about jumping the gun right now, and if you weren’t experiencing some kind of error mode then you might have spoken before thinking and asked if he means as a date. But you’re snapping yourself out of that theory long before it truly settles too comfortably in your chest. Having a letdown after all that’s happened would turn your day from good to bad in a heartbeat. He’s probably offering to help make you feel better, or because he feels embarrassed at not knowing where the chocolate chips are. You saw them on the third aisle when you were looking for him, but you’re not gonna tell him that.
“Is this your fancy way of getting me to try a different ice cream flavor?” you joke, smiling at how the words instantly have him chuckling.
His hand is pressed flat against yours now before he moves to take hold of it. “No, it was actually my fancy way of asking you out on a date.”
Oh. Oh. Your brain wasn’t totally pulling your leg after all. Even with that confirmation, though, you’re spinning. This means that all those glances, all those conversations have actually meant something this entire time—that Steve wasn’t just talking to you simply for the company or because you actually enjoy his jokes, and that his memory in serving you ice cream wasn’t totally because it’s the same order every time but because he cares enough to notice. This means that his little freak out on forgetting the chocolate chips wasn’t stemmed from good employee behavior, but because he wanted you to have exactly what you needed.
Gosh, you feel stupid for even thinking it but you need him too. High school was rough and life after it hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows either. Seeing Steve was what helped carry you through your week, even if all you got was a single moment of hearing him say “Ahoy!” when the shop would be busy. As ridiculous as the similarities are of the metaphor, Steve really was the one thing keeping you afloat in this bland old life in Hawkins. He’s the only great thing about this place. That and, of course, the ice cream.
You don’t exactly notice how long you’ve been standing there thinking, leaving Steve waiting on a reply, but he seems to finally settle some when you shake your head after he was staring at you with knitted brows. “Sorry, I just got speechless.”
He nods, tapping his index finger against your hand. “If it’s too forward, I understand. I’m a bit rusty now with these sort of things.”
“No, I really want to,” taking a breath, you think that you might as well go all in or nothing—even though you swore to yourself a hundred times over that you never would. “Actually, the reason why I come to the shop so much is just to see you.”
Steve chuckles, his whole face brightening with his wide and toothy smile. “I noticed.”
“No way,” you shove at his shoulder, feeling your heart skip a beat in your chest. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“If I do I would be lying,” his comment has you rolling your eyes but groaning at the same time, and Steve chuckles more heartily this time as he pulls you into a one-armed hug. “I knew you couldn’t resist me in this sailor’s outfit.”
“Oh, of course,” you nod, reaching up to take the sailor’s hat off of his head and spin it around your finger. Wednesdays at Scoops Ahoy were going to be very selfish from now on. “What can I say, I’ve got a thing for captains.”