Chapter Text
“Iced caramel latte, no whip, and an extra shot of espresso for Carrie!”
Working at Bookish & Brews had not been how Steve saw himself making ends meet during community college, but he’s getting used to it. He’d always pictured himself outdoors, maybe blowing a whistle at a group of sunburnt kids as a part-time little league coach, or pacing a gym floor as an assistant for some high school basketball team miles away from Hawkins. He’d been that guy once, the swim co-captain, the best point guard Hawkins High ever had. Usually, that was the kind of thing that set someone like him up to be able to leave, to head out and into the real world outside of their small-town bubble.
Not him, though. Every coaching lead fizzled. Every assistant position went to someone else. His confidence, the same thing that had once carried him across the court, slowly chipped away until all he had left were rejection emails and the humbling realization that he might actually need a backup plan. And for one bleak afternoon, that backup plan had taken the form of babysitting.
People had told him he was good with kids, and it wasn’t like he hated them. He figured perhaps he could put that to the test, maybe even making a few bucks in the process. Like a side gig.
Stooping that low was not something Robin, his best friend and platonic love of his life, had been ready to let him do without exhausting literally any other option, though. And so, after hours scanning job requests and applying to community colleges, the two newest students at Hawkins Community became the newest employees of Bookish & Brews.
The place had caught Steve’s eye from afar. Though holding a bit of a reputation for being hipster, it had often piqued Steve's curiosity, with the ivy crawling over a brick storefront, windows foggy and mysterious, and the faint smell of espresso and paper drifting through the open door. Inside, shelves of secondhand books lined the walls, their spines bright pops of color against deep turquoise paint and chestnut floors. The space glowed with warm lamplight that screamed nothing like something Steve or Robin would call their home.
And yet, the moment Robin spoke to the owners, a silver-haired older woman with long braids and her daughter, a studious, soft-spoken woman with the kind of earrings that jingled when she laughed, something changed. Before Steve knew it, the two of them ended up with dark aprons and a schedule.
That had been a year ago.
Since then, Steve's perspective changed. Bookish & Brews wasn't just a job, but somewhat of a second home. The creak of the wood flooring, the constant hum of conversation and machinery, the stark smell of roasted beans melted into his bones. He viewed the rhythm of it and the cadence of its many sounds as comforting, and saw Robin's presence within it as charming. He looked forward to these hours with her, to their banter and laughter, like an essential punctuation to each of his days.
Somewhere between her clever quips and learning how to pronounce macchiato without sounding like a fool, Steve also discovered he really liked this work beyond the atmosphere. It was simple, like a formula, but creative. Once you got past all the recipes, you could have fun with it. You could pair certain cups with certain pastries and open up entire flavor profiles, or at the very least brighten someone's day. Steve loved that.
He also loved the books.
Books, he came to realize, were a lot like people. Sure, some were tougher to read than others, but there were so many out there, and each held their own characters waiting for the right reader to explore. He liked to think he'd gotten pretty good at guessing what kind of person someone was based on what books they chose while waiting for their drink, as well as what kind of characters played a role in their 'stories.' Sometimes, he even caught himself wondering what kind of story he had been pinned to play once while reading books in school, and if those stories ever ended up where he stood now.
He was halfway through that spiral of thought, refilling the coffee bean canister absently, when the familiar chime above the door snapped him back into his body. Robin’s customer-service voice followed, bright and practiced with her traditional greeting Steve often chose to ignore in favor of sticking to his craft. But, something about it, whatever it was, made him look up this time.
And what a goddamn look he received.
Like a storm rolling in from over the horizon, with crashing clouds and flashes of lighting that dazzled and amazed, he instantly captured Steve’s attention. His dark curls spilled out of a half-assed bun in a reckless tumble just above his shoulders. A few strands betrayed their hold to frame his face, cutting across his eyes, and tickle those broad shoulders Steve noticed before. And then, his eyes. Oh, his eyes. Magnificent dark things, they were. They put the dark coffee beans to shame as they scanned the room, mischievous yet very grounded deep down at their core.
When they caught Steve in their trap, he immediately felt his knees go weak. He tried to brace himself on the counter, only to nearly spill all of his beans with a slip of his hand.
Robin grimaced.
“Hey, earth to Hair,” she whisper-shouted, sending quick glances as the storm of a man approached. “Don’t cause an avalanche over there, yeah? I’ve got cleanup tonight, and I’m not crawling around on my knees again because you forgot how gravity works.”
Steve winced. He did remember.
Robin had found a mouse. A big, gray, scampering mouse. She had screamed about said mouse scurrying past her and proceeded to run outside like a madwoman, refusing to go back in until Steve returned and safely trapped and transported the creature into the woods away from her.
Robin had screamed so loud that day, he swore his ears were still ringing.
“Sorry,” he muttered, cheeks hot. Finishing filling up the vat with beans, he made a point to not look up as he put away the bag. He made an even stronger point not to as he began work on his next morning task of stocking their pastry display. Beans were one thing to drop on the ground; an entire croissant or icing-covered donut was much, much harder to recover from.
But then, the stranger’s voice rolled across the café.
It was low and rough, like the crackle of an old song on vinyl. It carried in the air, magnetic, lingering until it hit Steve where he stood. There was little he could do but look up from the display at its source.
When he did, he was met with curls and those horribly piercing eyes, cast right at Robin.
“You recommend any drinks around here, Birdie?”
Steve heard Robin chuckle. She normally hated when Steve called her that.
He set down the tongs.
“For you, Munson? You’re telling me you don’t only drink it black?”
The name, Munson, stuck, and so did the grin that followed it. It was sharp, wolfish, and absolutely devastating to the eye. Steve’s pulse stuttered. He could practically feel the heat crawl up his neck, along with the fear that he would truly collapse this time, maybe even managing to finally knock over the beans.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Munson drawled, “you know me so well. Ring me up one then, why don’t ya?”
“Suit yourself,” Robin said, punching buttons on the register. “That’ll be $3.55 with tax. Feel free to pick out something to read while you wait, Steve’ll call your name when it’s ready.”
In that moment, Steve wondered if Robin had it out for him. Because as soon as she said his name to this Munson fellow, she gestured to her right, to him, without even an ounce of regard to the consequences of her actions. The guy's dark eyes flicked right toward him as a result, catching him like a deer in headlights right in the middle of the shop.
Steve gulped.
“I’ll look forward to it. Thanks, Birdie.”
It took him thirty full seconds after that to remember that he actually had to make the coffee, that he couldn't just spend the rest of forever watching him like a lovesick puppy with a crush. When he finally did and reached for the cup, he was confused to find a different name scribbled in Robin's infamous chicken scratch. Eddie.
“I thought his name was Munson?” he whispered.
Looking up, he shuffled over to Robin and repeated himself, but louder. "I thought his name was Munson!"
Robin scoffed. “What kind of first name would that be, Steve?”
“I don’t know! People name their kids weird things all the time. I mean, just look at that one lady you listen to with no last name!”
“Cher?” If possible, Robin scoffed harder. “Steve, Steven, darling of my cursed existence. First of all, Cher is an incredible name and you’d be honored to have the coolness factor she does to be able to pull off no last name. Second, Eddie would too, hence the need for the whole Munson thing. Don’t doubt it. That’s just science.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “You clearly haven’t seen the guy if you’re saying that.”
“Don’t need to see what I already know,” Robin replied, dusting her hands. “I sat behind him in freshman year after he flunked for a second time. Trust me, I’ve seen plenty.”
Steve frowned. Robin had gone to another high school just outside Hawkins before transferring to Hawkins High and meeting Steve her junior year. She'd never told Steve much of the place, but he knew she didn't have fond memories of the place. Looking to where Eddie sat now, sunlight catching in his curls as he thumbed through a book, Steve found himself wondering if he felt the same about his time there and if, just maybe, it had clouded a little bit of how Robin saw him. Because for someone who apparently was an issue in the classroom, he looked oddly peaceful there. Like he belonged there.
He continued in his wondering until Eddie’s coffee was brewed and it was time to face the guy head-on. Clearing his throat, he looked over to where Eddie was sitting and chose to rip off the band-aid, loud and proud.
“Black coffee for Eddie!”
Eddie looked up at his voice, and a few things happened rapidly at once. Firstly and notably, Steve clocked that Eddie had picked up Pride & Prejudice, a book he’s typically seen only romantic, more bookish types pick up in the past. Second, Eddie’s cheeks tinted. He shook himself out of it quickly, putting aside the book and trying to bury it as fast as he could as he ‘dusted off’ his jeans, but Steve still had seen it. He shared a glance with Eddie as he approached as if to tell him as much. The mischievous glint Steve received in return told him there was no way in hell Eddie would own it – not that day, at least.
“What?” Eddie teased, resting his elbows on the counter as Steve continued to stare. “Have a problem with my light reading, Steve-o?”
Steve blinked, still thrown. “Nah, man. Just…well, don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s just not what I expected for you.”
Eddie tilted his head, pretending to consider it. Then, after a long sip of his coffee, he met Steve’s gaze again, eyes glinting with full confidence.
“Gotta keep people guessing somehow, Sweet Thing. Thanks for the coffee.”
Eddie might not have been very smart in school, but right then and there, Steve was almost certain he'd way more than compensated for it with his social prowess. Because in that glorious moment, when the world seemed to revolve around just them, Eddie left Steve not only weakened by his endearment, but by a wink. A stupid, well-executed wink that got him all flustered as he tried to return to his job, and then later as he tried to do said job while Eddie read. He must have made it through nearly half the book before finally leaving and giving Steve a moment to breathe.
His presence lingered, though. Long after, as a matter of fact.
Especially the next time (and subsequent times) a customer asked for a black coffee.