Chapter Text
The same old moldy smell haunted the aisles of Melvald’s general store from when it had opened roughly forty years ago. Barely anyone ever walked into the almost forgotten building, and with the broken AC system that persisted on its last legs only with the obvious tinny whirring of the failing coolant in the scalding heat of a Midwest summer, Mike Wheeler couldn’t blame them for forgetting him, too.
His brown eyes pierced into the faded pink of a solidified chunk of gum under the cashier’s stand. He didn’t know who put it there. Most of his shifts were spent trying to imagine the face of the disgusting culprit behind the petty crime, but he never really got far.
Mike didn’t think they’d be very civilised.
Maybe they’d have big teased hair, like Eddie’s tangled mop of mousey brown locks back in ‘87. They’d have a starter moustache, even if they were in their mid forties, and he wouldn’t be surprised if they had an arm or two covered shoulder to fingertips in tattoos that had bled together in a mess of blue hues over the years.
He sighed, leaning back against the cigarette cabinet, the cool metal his only source of relief from the heat. The brief moment of bliss was interrupted rudely by the rusted bell above the front entrance.
“Wheeler!”
An unmistakably smug voice almost bragged out his last name. Mike could instantly rule out the possibility of most suspects. Not many people were that excited to see him anymore. Not after all his friends had left town. He gathered the courage to meet the eyes of the culprit.
“Got a date later today?”
Steve Harrington’s laugh was forced, almost awkward as he approached the checkout, leaning against it like it was a second home.
“What makes you ask that? Can’t you just greet me normally for once?”
“You’re wearing a suit.”
Mike raised an eyebrow pointedly as his eyes flicked down Steve’s form. His baseball coach’s uniform was replaced with a brown suit set and a beige shirt underneath. A flicker of annoyance ignited in the pit of Mike’s stomach as he lay his eyes on the brown pair of leather loafers on his feet.
Whenever Mike had courageously picked out an outfit at a much younger age, Ted wheeler had managed to pick apart every little mistake, despite his own looks- or rather, lack of. Black shoes with a brown suit set was the most heinous crime in his books.
Steve shuffled in place, like he was about to bolt out the door he had confidently strutted in moments before.
“I can wear a suit when I want to see you. There’s no law against it.”
His voice came out disgruntled.
Mike let out a sigh, wiping away the beads of sweat threatening to fall from his forehead.
“Alright. If you say so. Do you want anything?
“Malboro Blues.”
Steve placed a wad of cash on the counter.
His way of ordering cigarettes was direct, like a transaction he had played out many times in his mind before.
Mike turned, fumbling for the keys to the cigarette cabinet in his pocket.
“Thought you said you didn’t have a date?”
“I don’t, Mike.”
“Really?”
Mike tossed him the packet of cigarettes, and Steve caught it, looking down at the box with disdain.
“You never smoke unless you have a date. You think the ladies dig that? Steve, you hate smokers.”
“I know I do!”
Steve snapped, hand going into his hair to relieve him of his unnecessary stress.
“And they do dig it, Wheeler! It’s not my fault you don’t get girls!”
Mike silenced. The words sent a wave of discomfort through him, though he didn’t know why. He tugged down on his blue polo shirt, the dampness of the sweat on his back suddenly too prominent.
“Depends on who you ask.”
Reluctantly Steve nodded, stuffing the box in his pocket. He took a step back, as if he couldn’t wait to get away from the stale conversation.
“How long do you have left?”
His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall that had been stuck in time for two years. Nobody had bothered to replace it.
“That doesn’t work.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Mike hated every second of their interaction. It wasn’t a conversation good friends would have. More like strangers working on a school project together. Forced, scrambling to grapple onto any talking point to avoid the inevitable silence that would draw upon them eventually. Steve straightened, his smile recovering dutifully.
“Well, uh. I should get going. Kristen’s waiting at Enzo’s.”
He must have noticed the look of surprise on the boy’s face, because he laughed with an enthusiastic grin.
“Enzo’s, I know! Listen Mike, I think she might be the one.”
Mike blinked.
“Oh, well good for you!”
He forced a smile so soft it was barely visible. Steve didn’t seem to care. He had just nodded, walking backwards to the door.
“Yeah! Wish me luck.”
He chuckled, the bell above the door ringing again, this time announcing the silence that’d fall on top of the deserted aisles like the snow on an old battlefield. It was like he could feel the memories of the party as children, running through the storage rooms to keep Will company while Joyce finished her shift, only it was like a ghost instead.
Mike retraced Steve’s steps to the front door, flipping the sign to ‘closed’ as if it would ruin anyone’s plans.
He was wearing a watch.
His shift had ended ten minutes ago.
He wasn’t surprised in the slightest.
‘Maybe’, Mike had thought, ‘Maybe if I don’t tell him the truth he’ll stay and talk longer’.
Obviously it hadn’t worked.
His scuffed mustard yellow converse squeaked against the sticky linoleum floor. The aisle he walked through towered pathetically head to toe with cereal boxes that had loyally stood facing potential customers for so long the packaging’s colours had faded. The tiger on frosty flakes now looked like a creature from the upside down. In the beginning of his time working for the store it had almost brought him amusement. He now looked at it with the same drained apathy he stared at everything with.
Mike still pushed the storeroom door open in the same spot he had when they were younger. Just below the sign floating ‘Staff Only’ in bold red letters like they were superior to any customer that walked in. His eyes turned the dark room into a blue hue as they adjusted, before his slender fingers found the familiar roughened plastic of the general lightswitch.
In a single click, the store was drowned in the dark, the only light coming up from the pointless windows at the front of the store.
Swiftly he exited Melvald's, rushing to his secondhand blue coupe.