Chapter Text
A shrill alarm alerts Steve Harrington that it is, once again, 5:30 AM, and time to get ready for school.
He groans and slams his hand down on the snooze button, hauling himself out of his ever-so-comfortable queen-sized memory foam mattress. He has a specific routine in the morning that he follows each and every day. It makes him feel more secure. Because who knows what will happen the day that he decides not to follow the routine?
Step 1: take a shower. Never, ever make the shower water hot. You will fall asleep in the shower and hit your head again. We will not have a repeat of that.
Step 2: brush your teeth. Comb and spray your hair. Get better at it each day, so each day you have a new time record.
Step 3: make shitty coffee. Always add way too much sugar-cookie flavored creamer to mask the burnt taste. (He hates this specific brand of coffee, but never buys anything else, because that would be breaking the routine and God save him if THAT ever happens). Never eat breakfast. Your breakfast is the coffee. He should be eating breakfast, then maybe he wouldn’t be falling asleep reading his work emails, but breakfast is for people who have the time and energy to have fun and do trivial things such as eat breakfast and Steve Harrington is a Very Busy Man.
After his very specific morning routine, Steve goes upstairs to his comfy, warm room, breathing it in for just a moment longer before he must change and walk out the front door to the cruel, cold Indiana air. He slides out of his Oscar the Grouch pajama pants (Oscar is, obviously, the best Sesame Street character and he will have a DETAILED argument prepared for anyone who dares to disagree) and his oversized Pearl Jam shirt from the 2009 tour. It brings him joy, as that was his last year in college, and one of his favorite years. He dresses himself in a banana yellow button-up and dark gray slacks, and slides on his caramel brown lenses before he examines himself in the mirror. His hair is still wet, but maintains its beautiful curl.
Steve refused to wear glasses until his senior year of high school. After his sister Robin pushed him to get his eyes tested all throughout high school, he finally gave in once he nearly failed his English final in his senior year because he had to hold the papers to his nose in order to see the words. He was just too afraid he’d look “like a dork”, as he said it. The glasses accentuated his face, he thought. Made his eyebrows look more arched, made his beautiful hazel eyes look rounder. They suit him.
He throws on his brown corduroy burlap bag, containing his books, and walks out to his car. He rolls up his sleeves to welcome the chilly October air against his lean arms.
This was only his second year teaching at Hawkins High, and while it’s a cozy, mostly friendly school, he knows it’s in worse condition than his old high school. Growing up in Chicago has conditioned him for the big city life, a huge school filled with all different kinds of people. Busybodies, punks, you name it. Moving to Hawkins after college was a big change, but soon, Steve found that he preferred his rural one-story home over his shitty apartment. The constant roar of cars and drunks on the streets outside at 3 AM is enough to drive anyone out of their minds. Now, on the weekends, he can sit outside on his porch in the morning, and watch the golden sunlight cast long shadows over the trees, and look at the leaves begin to coat his yard. It’s a beautiful yard, though he doesn’t exactly take care of it. Overgrown ivy on the fence, tall grass, and patches of flowers with a simple stone path cutting through it. Steve thinks it’s beautiful.
Hawkins High is relatively small, hosting only 1300 students total. Never did he imagine he would be a small-town English teacher out in the middle of nowhere. When Steve was a sophomore in high school, just like every other man, he dreamed of the NBA. Of course, after one hell of an incident with the one Tommy Hagan, his ankle was permanently damaged. He tries not to spare a thought to his high school bully, a tall, scrawny boy with a head full of orange and corduroy and denim. The last he saw of Tommy Hagan was in 2005 and he hoped it would stay that way.
He unlocked his classroom door, just like he had the past month, and threw his bag onto his smooth oak wood desk, and pulled out a mug with Oscar the Grouch on it. (Of course, he has 4 other mugs with different Sesame Street characters and motifs on them.) He found himself wandering out of his classroom into the hallway, in search of the teacher’s lounge. Another cup of coffee will do me good, he thought to himself.
As it was early, only 7:05, many teachers and staff weren’t yet in the building. As Steve walked into the drafty air of the teacher’s lounge, he thought he would sip on the disgusting school coffee and have his thoughts to himself. After filling his mug only halfway, he splashed the dark, bitter water in his mouth. Where the hell do they get this coffee from, a dumpster? He watched as the sun lit up the shiny floors of the hallway outside through the glass door. He loved fall. It comforted him. As Steve stared at the linoleum floor, deep in thought, a sudden dark figure blocked his view. He jumped, so lost in his own mind that he hadn’t heard the hollow thud of black Doc Martens against the floor. He looked up at the person entering the lounge with him, and exhaled roughly. Mr Munson, or Eddie, as he was known to his students, was a bit of a peanut gallery to Steve.
Eddie wore a style that was the complete opposite of Steve’s own personal collection of pastel polos, colorful button-ups, and fitted neutral slacks. No, no, he would often come to school just bordering on the Hawkins High dress code for teachers. Eddie wore short-sleeved black button-ups with rhinestones embedded into the shoulders, and fairly ripped black jeans cuffed at the ankles. Or, if he was feeling bold on Casual Fridays, he would wear a mildly horrifying band shirt- usually with the loopy, spiky lettering and gruesome imagery that Steve would never lay his hands on, and even fishnets under his ripped jeans. His Doc Martens were shiny, with yellow stitching, and he tended to wear chains- lots of them. A doubled silver chain attached to his belt loops, a guitar pick looped around his neck, and a dog tag. He wore steel rings on his fingers, some with heavy engraving- a skull or a fierce monster with fangs rose up from the iron of his rings. His nails were painted black and neatly groomed, which Steve would never understand- he bites his nails. Sometimes, if Eddie were feeling especially bold, he would even smudge black eyeliner around his big, dark doe eyes.
(Of course, he would never admit it, but Steve admired that deeply. Eddie was shameless and unafraid to be himself-something Steve always struggled with.)
Munson’s pale peach lips curled into a mischievous smile at the sight of Steve standing there, mug in hand. He smiled with his whole face, teeth and gums flashing, cheeks stretching, eyes squinting slightly. A very animated character, Steve thought. Honestly, it was a bit intimidating. But, he has to be animated, right? He’s a goddamn drama teacher. Duh.
”Miiiister Harrington! Pleasure to see you here on this fine fall morning.” Steve exhaled sharply through his nose at the fairly loud admission. Steve tended to be quite anti-social towards the adults in the school-quite frankly, talking to people his age in the school environment was somewhat overstimulating. It was the same when he was younger. He kept his head down in the hallways, didn’t smile back when people smiled at him. He only wanted to make it through the day.
So why did Steve become a teacher? The kids, of course. As he got older, he found himself missing the experience of being around their confused, mischievous, smiling faces. Steve had always been somewhat of a prodigy in English- he was an extremely talented writer. While he struggled to form his words vocally around others when he was little, writing helped him articulate. With writing, he could go back, erase mistakes, redo what needed to be redone. He could perfectly plan out everything he needed to say. So, he thought, I’ll get a teaching degree. He could talk to those kids, no problem. They were younger than him. High school students could listen just fine.
Well, he was only half right. But it doesn’t matter, of course. Steve loves his job- he just doesn’t particularly enjoy certain aspects of it. But it’s worth it. So he smiles politely at Mr. Munson.
”Hello to you too, Mr. Munson. How are you today?”
His brown eyes narrowed as he grinned, holding a bit of a smirk, which made Steve nervous. “Oh, I’ll have to start helping kids practice today.”
“For what? Is there an upcoming play?”
Munson raised his eyebrows slightly and chuckled. “Nope. Since you’re confused, I assume you haven’t checked your emails. A Halloween-themed Dramafest. All the information is in the email.”
Steve cocked one eyebrow in confusion. “Why am I involved here?”
“Oh, it’s not just for theater kids. It’s for ALL performance arts! Dance, singing, poetry… which is where you come in, Harrington.” He giggles again, like a schoolgirl, making Steve roll his eyes. “Some of your students may participate in some of the categories of the Dramafest. The most prominent of which include screenwriting and poetry. So, if you have any kids in mind, you’ll want to saddle them up. It’ll be fun, I promise!”
Eddie waved him off with one hand after he finished pouring his own coffee, that same mischievous grin on his face. He walks towards the door with a peculiar spring in his step, one that makes Steve cock his head to the side slightly. “It’s all in the email!” He calls out, his chains making a funny jangling sound as he walks out of the doorway.
Steve waits until he’s gone to walk out of the threshold to his classroom. Let’s see what this “Dramafest” is all about, he thinks to himself.
It’s mostly what he expected.
Kids in Hawkins High can sign the various sign-up sheets around the school. Vendors, tents, even small plays performed by the drama department. Of course, Halloween decorations, and one rule about poetry: all poetry needs to contain “a spooky or macabre element of some kind.” Of course, he has no fucking idea what that means. He rolls his eyes at the “informational meeting” happening after school.
At approximately 7:30, children start pouring into the school.
The first in Steve Harrington’s classroom, as per usual, is Max Mayfield. She has her sweet mother drive her to school every day, haul her wheelchair out of the car, and wheel her way up the ramp into the school. Max has taken a liking to Mr. Harrington, specifically his empathy and ability to listen. She comes in early every day to talk to him about life. He looks forward to it. He cares for Max deeply, especially what she went through between 8th and 9th grade.
The car was going too fast. Max and her family, known as “Maxine” by her parents, lived in California most of her life. They were forced to move to Hawkins after one hell of an incident with Neil, involving a shot glass and a coworker’s eye. Neil had always been an alcoholic.
One night, Max and her older brother, Billy, had gone to the Starcourt Mall to watch a movie (Back to the Future, one of Steve’s favorites), and Billy was mostly just there to “supervise” her, as Susan Hargrove had insisted. Neil was drunk. He picked the children up and was going too fast. They were driving around a curve with a railing on the side which prevented cars from falling into the ditch above. They crashed through the ditch. Max was the only one who survived. But the accident had caused her to be permanently paralyzed from the waist down.
Steve’s heart twists and burns every time he thinks of that story. He had met Max once before the accident when he was helping out at an event at Hawkins Middle School, and she was happy. Glowing. He remembers, her red hair was in two braids, and her entire face scrunched up as she smiled. She chased Lucas down a hallway, which caused them to Ger into trouble. Steve had looked down at her and ruffled her hair. He knows she misses those times, too.
Next in, as usual, is El. Full name Jane Eleanor Hopper, she would come in with her brother fairly early, with their bus. Her and Max were close friends, though he had heard through the grapevine that they weren’t always like that.
While Max was hard-headed and fierce, El was all sunshine and rainbows. She loved school- always came in with her brown hair in a half-up bun and a wide grin on her face. El wasn’t the most academically ahead- in fact, she tended to be a couple years behind everyone else. From what he had heard from her father, Chief Jim Hopper, she was taken out of an abusive homing situation when she was 8. Never had been enrolled in school, didn’t know a whole lot besides very basic English and math.
Despite her circumstances, El was extremely talented and picked up on subjects very, very fast. She had a knack for writing- which is what made Steve like her so much. Like him, she expressed herself better through writing than her vocals. She was a girl of few words, but always had something to say. She could cheer people up with ease, could describe her emotions and the emotions of others in great detail. She deserved the world, he thought.
El ran over to Max excitedly and kneeled down so she was eye-to-eye with the redhead.
”Max! Did you hear about…” Steve tuned out the girls gossiping and watched as the next student of the circle, Will, came in. El’s sister, nice kid, very quiet and shy. Didn’t vocally participate in class much, but a smart kid nonetheless.
After a few minutes, the rest of the class poured in, including the circle. Mike, Dustin, and Lucas. The six teenagers were all lucky enough to get a class all together, and while Steve found their dynamic very sweet, it was also a little bit annoying. The amount of times he’s had to snatch notes or raise his eyebrows at little whispers was exhausting. But Steve couldn’t blame them. He was snarky, annoying, loud, just one hell of a show-off in 11th grade. Their interactions make him nostalgic.
The bell rings, loud and jarring, and after the Pledge of Allegiance, he turns to the class with an exasperated sigh. “Okay, class, you might have heard about the upcoming Dramafest…”
At exactly 12:00 every day, the bell rings for lunch. And every day, Dustin Henderson asks if his circle of friends can eat in his classroom. And every day, Steve says no.
“You don’t get special treatment here just because you’re my nephew, Henderson. Now go, find somewhere else to sit.” He waves them off with a grin and a sign and Dustin pouts. “I’ll tell Robin you’re mistreating your students!” He calls as the six children walk out of his doorway.
Dustin Henderson was the adoptive son of Robin Buckley, his step-sister. But for as close as they were, they might as well be twins. When Steve was 12 years old, his mom had just…had it. His dad was a piece of shit, as he put it, and one day he came home from school and her car wasn’t in the driveway. That night, him and his dad ate in silence. She never came home.
She had called the next night explaining everything. Filed for a divorce, gave up custody. She had never wanted to be a housewife. She had never wanted to be a mother. It hurt.
After only a month, his father met a new woman. Miss Buckley, and her daughter, Robin. Despite his anger with his father, him and Robin clung to each other like Velcro. They were all they had. Bonded over losing a parent, came closer sharing a like of video games, movies, and eventually…girls.
Steve met Nancy in his sophomore year. It was hot, fast, and messy. They fell madly in love and couldn’t keep their hands off each other for months. Until, one day, something changed. They were at a party, Nancy got drunk. Jonathan took her home. After months of on-and-off talking, eyes wandering, and even the occasional fling, Steve broke up with her. For good.
When Steve came home one day to find Robin and Nancy wrapped up on the couch, he couldn’t exactly say he was surprised. He was a bit confused, sure- but quickly adapted to Nancy becoming a part of his life again. They became close friends, in the end. They had always been compatible, sure. But never as more than friends.
When Steve was in college, he met up with Robin at a coffee shop after a frantic call telling him he needed to “come to White Plate Cafe now!”, as she put it. Robin had a much older sister. She passed away, and 11-year-old Dustin needed a home. And, bless their hearts, caring Nancy and Robin took him in. Over time, Steve grew to love him dearly, as a nephew and as a godson, since children of his own have seemed so far away.
Suddenly, an idea sparks. Steve picks up his phone (yes, a flip phone, it’s 2012. Give the man a break) and decides to call up Robin instead of just daydream about the next time he can see his sister and who may very well be his sister in law already. When the time is right, he thinks as he waits to hear the excited squawk of Robin’s voice on the other end. She doesn’t disappoint.
“Stevie? What are you up to?”
“Just having lunch in my classroom, Buckley. Missed your annoying voice, so I thought I’d call and say hi.”
Robin scoffs. “Sure, I’m the one who’s annoying. You called me knowing very well I could be busy doing Very Important Business!”
“Right, important business. What kind of Very Important Business may that be?”
There’s a quiet pause before Robin mutters: “Waiting for Nancy to get home.”
Steve chuckles, sunshine warming his face from the inside. “Sure, sure, you raging lesbian. You cannot go an hour without the soothing touch of your wife, can you?” Steve can’t see her face, but he can hear the guffaw in the sharp exhale she lets out. “My wife, she most certainly is not! Yet. She is but my devoted lover!” He can hear Robin wistfully sigh on the other end of the line, really playing up the dramatics. “Hopefully the planets align soon for us so I can have her wed by the end of next year.”
Steve smiles at that. “Yes, yes, when the planets align. Waiting for divine intervention to do it all for you, eh, Buckley? Or would you rather Nancy propose instead?”
He can almost picture Robin’s overdramatic pout, staring him right in the face. Taking drama throughout high school certainly gave her the upper hand, he thinks. “Well, if you’re so keen on making fun of MY plans, what are YOU up to today, Miiiister Harrington?”
He sighs. “Nothing, I still have a few more classes to wrangle into listening to me for more than 5 minutes.” An idea pops into Steve’s head. “Let’s get dinner this evening, shall we? We can have some girl talk!” He puts on his most extra, sparkly, obnoxious voice to TRULY play up the role of participating in “girl talk”.
Just as he shoots up a hand and leans back in his seat as he overplays the words, a rush of darkness appears in the threshold between his classroom and the hallway. Mr. Munson. Something settles in the pit of his stomach as the lanky man stands in his doorway, leaned up against the right side with a cheeky smile on his face. He wiggles his fingers in a questionable greeting, his eyes sparkling.
“Very nice, Harrington. You’d be a wonderful candidate for the drama department.” He chuckles as he turns on his heel and walks out of the doorway, chains jangling loudly down the hallway. Whatever was in the pit of his stomach grows heavier, which Steve decides is disdain. He feels his cheeks grow ruddy under the teasing compliment, not even noticing that Robin is asking his name.
“Steve? You still there?” She inquires. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Still here, Rob. One of my coworkers stopped by to say hi.” His voice dripped with scorn.
“That doesn’t sound like a friendly interaction.” She giggles. “Tell me all about it this evening. Champy’s, 6:00. See you!” She hangs up suddenly, which she has a habit of doing, and Steve leans forward in his chair, resting his chin on his hand.
Nice job attracting more attention to yourself, Harrington.
The final bell rings and Steve waves out his final class of the day, sighing and leaning back after they all leave. Maybe I could go home, shower, maybe read a new chapter of my book before… the meeting! He groans and rubs his droopy eyes. I’ll need another coffee if I’m gonna make it through this godforsaken staff meeting.
As Steve enters the teacher’s lounge, mug in hand, he suppresses an eye roll at the man who is already standing at the coffee maker, filling his black mug only halfway with bitter, burnt coffee. Steve adjusts his glasses to read the mug as he gets closer: “Never laugh at live dragons” says the mug in gray, spiky letters. Steve chuckles and, against his better judgement, takes a breath.
“A fan of The Hobbit, eh?”
Eddie jumps outwardly at the sudden sound, coffee splashing around in his mug. He whips around to face Steve with wild brown eyes, curly hair whipping around his shoulder as he does, and holds a metal-clad hand to his chest. “You scared me, Harrington!” He informs in a wistful fashion. Steve raises an eyebrow and flicks his eyes towards the coffee machine, which is still on.
“Oh shit!” Eddie grabs the handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes up the desk, after turning off the machine, of course. Steve chuckles at the comical admission. “Oh, do spare me, Harrington. It’s been a very long day and we still have a very long board meeting to attend!” He turns to the assortment of creamers and sugar. “What a shame, we barely know each other and my fellow coworker is already creeping among the shadows to spook me!”
This time, Steve does roll his eyes. “Oh, cut it out, Munson.” Although, he can’t help the grin that spreads across his face, weirdly amused by his antics. “I have no reason to purposefully plot against you. Except, of course, the Dramafest!”
Eddie filled half his mug with creamer, turning the coffee a light tan. Of course, a sweet tooth. “Ah yes, the Dramafest. Dear Steve Harrington holds a grudge against me for something I didn’t even plan!” Eddie leans in closer, strangely close, which makes Steve shiver against the sudden intrusion in his personal space. “Although, I am co-hosting, so I suppose that is a reason to blame me.”
Later, as he walks in to the meeting, Eddie is already sitting at the large brown table. The principal, Ms. Smith, greets him with a curt nod. He sits himself down, blushing slightly at the fact that he’s the last person to enter.
“Now that Mr. Harrington has joined us, I’d like to talk to you all about the upcoming Dramafest. Some of you…”
He misses most of what the older woman says, spacing out as he thinks of home. A warm bed, a nice couch, a TV. He only tunes back in when he hears his name.
“And as most of you know, Mr. Harrington will be collaborating with Mr. Munson and a few students in order to write a script for one of the plays being performed…”
He shoots a questioning look to Eddie, only to be met with the most shit-eating grin on the planet, and suddenly, something in his stomach turns. He knew about the scriptwriting, didn’t he? Is he trying to piss me off on purpose?
Before his thoughts can spiral into something more, the meeting has disbanded and Steve is leaving the room. But as Eddie walks out, he calls him over.
“You knew about this whole script-writing thing? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Eddie shrugs. “To be honest, it kind of just slipped my mind. Why, are you worried about it?” Steve scoffs. “Of course I’m worried about it! I’ve never written a script, I wasn’t really paying attention so I’m not sure who’s working with us, when we’ll be meeting up to write…” He’s interrupted by a warm, comforting hand on his upper arm, clutching him gently. He’s slightly taken aback by the gesture, and gasps slightly. Eddie seems amused.
“Harrington, dude, don’t worry yourself about it. It’s just a few students, nothing major, and it’s a fairly short script. I’ll guide you through the whole thing, all you’ll need to do is whip out your clever storywriting skills and give us a basic plot, mostly. And as for meetings, how about every Tuesday and Thursday?”
Steve takes a breath and nods, strangely comforted by the admission. “Yeah, sure. Thanks, man.”
He cracks a small smile at Eddie, who smiles back, with his whole self. Steve can’t help but admire the glow in his eyes when he does, dimples showing, teeth revealing themselves, eyes scrunching up. Frankly, it’s a handsome sight, which makes Steve proud to behold. They look at each other for a moment, silence heavy, the air in the hallway suddenly thick, before Eddie breaks the silence. “Well, I’ll see you around, Harrington.”
Steve reaches out a reclusive hand. “Steve. You can call me Steve.”
Eddie takes his hand gently, wrapping around Steve’s, and he feels the cold metal of his rings press against his hand. “And you can call me Eddie.”
Steve pulls his black Subaru up to the side of the restaurant (which his friends have lovingly dubbed his ”mom van”) and hops out onto the sidewalk. His eyes scan the somewhat small crowd for Robin and Nancy, until he sees the familiar mop of dirty blond and dark brown hair amongst the crowd. He opens the gate that encloses the outdoor section of the restaurant and greets them with a polite wave.
“So good of you to finally join us, Stevie!” Robin chirps with a sarcastic undertone. Steve rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Fuck off, I was like 10 minutes late.”
“Yeah, where were you, Stevie?” Nancy cocks her head with a sly smile on her face, curly brown hair falling to the side. Steve chuckles. “Oh, I just had to clear some stuff up with a coworker. I’ll be quite busy the next few weeks, I’m afraid.” Nancy furrows her brows in confusion, and for a moment, Steve remembers when he would have been enamored by the display of adorable confusion. Long eyelashes fluttering, button nose scrunching, lips pursed. She still remains as beautiful, of course, but Steve doesn’t find his heart fluttering at the admission.
“Well, you see, there’s a fair coming up…” he explains to the women the basic gist of the upcoming fest. They listen with rapt attention, as Steve tends to have that effect on people, to draw them in. Food and drinks are served, and after about 45 minutes, everyone is sufficiently “lubricated”, as Steve would say.
“Yeah, I have to write a script. I’m collaborating with the drama teacher-“
“With EDDIE?” Robin exclaims in excitement. Steve tilts his head. “Uh, Eddie Munson? Yeah, I’m helping him and a few others out with it. Why?”
“What do you mean, why? He was my only friend in high school after I came out! Besides you, of course.” Steve looks mildly taken aback suddenly. “Whoa, Eddie was your friend? How come you never told me about him? What happened?”
Robin shrugged. “I dunno, we didn’t really talk much outside of theater, and just lost contact when he went to college. But he was always such a kind spirit. I think you’ll like him, Stevie.” Steve gives her a wary smile. “Kind? Really? He seems a little…loopy.”
Robin nods at him. “Definitely a wild child, for sure. He got in trouble so many times for climbing on the set pieces when we performed “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”. But I think you two will bond well. Maybe you’ll…” she waves her hand around “settle him down a bit. And who knows?” Robin leans in to touch the tip of his nose with her finger, Steve startling at the touch. “Maybe you’ll even become friends.”
Steve shakes his head and readjusts his glasses, a light blush coating his cheeks. Friends, huh? A flash of deep brown eyes, wild hair, chains, an evil smile flashes across his mind and he pinches the bridge of his nose to make it disappear. Sure, sure. I could tolerate him, at best.
After the check is exchanged with a very curt young man, Steve kisses Nancy and Robin goodnight on the tops of their heads and walks back to his car, mild margarita buzz fading with the food and water. He climbs into his car and readjusts his mirror, gripping the steering wheel tightly.
I could tolerate him.