Chapter Text
The Summer of 1985.
The prior day’s rain left Hawkins muggy, the air thick like soup.
The air shimmers off the pavement of the parking lot. Eddie retreats inside, telling himself it’s only because it’s insufferable out.
The overhead lights of Starcourt Mall are a bit too much.
Eddie blinks rapidly, trying to get the neon and brightness out of his eyes. Maybe it’s the weed he smoked earlier, but do the ceilings just look that dazzling, or is it a trick of the light? He shakes it off, and the feeling of too many people. He hates crowds. Playing guitar for them is one thing. That’s something he can control, and they’re a distance away. Acting as DM for Hellfire is also different. Masses of people clogged together and coming from all different directions. Chaos.
He swore he wouldn’t set foot in this mall full of fascists, sheep, fake plastic rich people, and money-hungry vapid idiots. His uncle kept mentioning he needed his watch repaired. His birthday is tomorrow, and if Eddie procrastinated to the very last minute, then he’s the only one who needs to know. The local repair shop is closed temporarily. That only left the mall. He would have driven to the next town over, but procrastination, you see. That and gas costs money.
If he smoked a little to calm his nerves in preparation, then well, only he needs to know that, too.
The place is an absolute zoo. Heavy smells of perfume, hairspray, and bubble gum cloud the air and threaten to choke Eddie. Who the fuck would come here willingly?
He’s jostled by a gaggle of who look like identical-looking pre-teen girls. He barely contains his lip curl before one whips around, ponytail violently swinging, and glaring at him like he was the one who bumped into her.
He’s been in the mall .5 seconds, and it’s already hell. Too many people. Too much noise. Too bright and too stifling. It’s claustrophobic even with the high sparkling ceilings. It’s cramped even with the wide walkways. Normally, he’s fine with loud music, of the metal variety. The overhead music is some sappy pop shit. He finds out very quickly that he stands out like a sore thumb. There is too much latex, spandex, and hairsprayed hair that they should be concerned about if they’re near an open flame. There is pink, glitter, and neon everywhere. He’s going to be sick.
He somehow shrugs off the rude girl and adjusts his leather jacket. He consults the confusing mall directory, head throbbing. Somehow, through the streams of people, heat, awful smells, and music, he makes it to the jewelry repair kiosk relatively unscathed.
He didn’t think about having to wait for the repair, though. He’s told to come back in half an hour.
Jesus Christ. It’s like torture. A normal person would be able to pass that time with no issue. He will not shop at any of these stores. He will not be a conformist. He will not bow down to their rules. Fuck the man. And fuck this mall for hurting local businesses. If that makes him a “freak,” then so be it. He’s not normal, and he’s perfectly fine with that.
He wanders, eyes lowered, although also making sure to avoid the throngs of people, which seems impossible. There are teenagers everywhere. Some he thinks he recognizes. They seem to give him a wide berth after a while. Maybe it's the aura he’s giving off. Maybe it’s the weed smell. Maybe it’s his “get back stare”. Maybe it’s the leather and his hair.
He wanders back to the food court. Despite the smells from before, these are better, though still strong. Grease, cheese, and sugar. Orange Julius, despite everything he’s seen, actually looks decent. He’s heard it’s good from Gareth. He doesn’t want to cave. Right then, his stomach gurgles at the sight of the treat. He blames the weed and skipping lunch. He gives in and pays for the overpriced drink.
And he still has fifteen minutes. Christ. He sips at his overly sweet treat, getting a sugar rush. At least, it helps a little. His temple and left eye aren’t throbbing anymore. His mind and eyes wander across the food court to something called “Scoops Ahoy”. Jesus Christ. Who named it? And were they on something? He needs to know what, so he can find that supplier. He snorts at his own joke, his feet taking him closer. Why? Morbid curiosity and the need to kill time, he supposes.
It’s beyond tacky. The fake boat protruding out front. The wallpaper. The blue and white checkered tile. And the–
Oh God, is that who he thinks? Eddie squints.
He shuffles closer, lips paused on his straw like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
Steve “The Hair” Harrington, in a ridiculous sailor outfit, is handing an ice cream cone to someone. It can’t be real. Is he feeling the effects of the weed?
He watches transfixed as one of the, if not the most, popular kids at Hawkins High takes the money from the girl and stuffs it into a cash register. It’s not a joke, then. Steve actually works here. The “King” and all-around good ol’ boy. Sports star, ladykiller, and prick works at an ice cream parlor in the mall. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Eddie is cackling before he realizes it. It has completely made his day. Everything he’s gone through to get to this moment is now worth it.
Eddie is shamelessly watching now, being pulled in by the overwhelming smell of sugar. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he isn’t being subtle. Harrington seems to be a little busy talking to his co-worker. Is that Buckley? Eddie recognizes her from band class. Why is she working here and laughing with Steve like they’re best buds?
The puzzle is getting weirder and weirder, and Eddie can’t look away. It’s the storyteller in him; he’s beyond curious now. Maybe he really is the freak they say he is. He’s standing close to the entrance of this god-forsaken place, just peering in. He needs help.
Harrington is leaning against the counter, facing Buckley. She’s leaning on the cash register towards him. They’re lost in conversation. It’s familiar banter. Light. Easy. Eddie squints again. He could have sworn she didn’t lean that way from what he’s picked up on, and how she’s practically drooled over Tammy Thompson. Takes one to know one, he supposes. He has been wrong before. She must have said something funny because Steve laughs. His eyes crinkle, and his forehead smooths out.
He takes Harrington in because nothing is making sense. It’s like he’s in the Twilight Zone or Area 51. Everything feels off kilter. Surreal.
Harrington takes off his sailor hat and twirls it around on his finger, eyes still on Buckley, who’s chuckling. Steve’s hair, even after taking off the hat, still falls perfectly. It does this swoop thing that Eddie has no idea how anyone achieves. It both defies all laws of gravity like he’s in a photoshoot, but also looks like he just rolled out of bed and is completely effortless. A conundrum.
Eddie feels his head tilt ever so slightly, like it’ll help him grasp exactly what he’s seeing. Did Harrington always have a very pink and inviting bow mouth? Long eyelashes? Those moles on his slender and inviting neck?
He shakes his head, hair whipping around in his face. He’s being ridiculous. He wills his legs to move. He needs to check on the watch anyway. He needs to be anywhere other than this mall. But then Harrington’s head moves like he sees something. Eddie looks over his shoulder reflexively. A group of teenagers walks past Eddie into the shop, but he’s still rooted in place.
When he looks back, Steve is waving. Eddie stupidly looks around. There’s no one else walking into the shop or in his vicinity. The wave is for him. Harrington is looking directly at Eddie now, and he’s waving. Eddie’s cheeks heat up without his permission. He feels sweat at the back of his shirt. His heart beats a strange rhythm in his chest.
They’ve locked eyes. God, he can’t imagine how he looks to Harrington. He may not be wearing an over-the-top sailor outfit, although he still looks foolish. Probably more so, and he can’t explain it away. It wasn’t even like Eddie was passing by. He stopped and was openly watching. His heart starts hammering, and his head starts throbbing again. Eddie thinks he nods at Steve. He’s not sure. When did Harrington’s eyes get that look? Faraway looking, and like he’s seen some things. They still have the same dopey, good-humored, and vacant quality to them. Underneath it all, there’s something. He should know. He’s seen it reflected in his own eyes.
He’s endured the looks he gets because of his tats, hair, D&D, and his further evolution into the metal scene. It left its mark. He puts on a brave face, although he has felt it all, and when he looks in the mirror. He sees the pain in his eyes. Steve, though. What does he have to worry about? Daddy didn’t buy him a car this week?
Another conundrum. Steve Harrington: pressed, fresh looking, swoopy hair, and eyes that are hollow, curious, a little sad, and have seen some shit. Eddie is definitely in the Twilight Zone.
Eddie visibly shakes himself, hair in his face again. The moment passes. Steve’s attention is divided. His hat is back on. Eddie must have imagined the whole exchange. He must have. Maybe he’ll check his stash because he must be trippin.
He clutches his pathetic drink and stalks off to find the nearest escalator, or maybe a hole to jump into and die.
If he goes back to Starcourt again, it’s only because of the Orange Julius.