balleyboley

The morning after move-in day, Steve Harrington almost spilled his morning coffee on that Derek kid’s head. 

It went like this: he woke up in his new bedroom in his new house–the Forest Hills place–tangled in an old sleeping bag, staring up at the dusty ceiling from a bare mattress in the middle of the floor. It was early. He didn’t have curtains yet, except for what had been let behind, and none in the bedroom, so the early-morning sun flooded the room, burning his closed eyelids red and dappling shadows on the walls. 

Steve wasn’t really the dingy-mattress-on-the-floor, bachelor pad kind of guy, for the record, but he’d done most of the move by himself, except for a few hours when Lucas and Max had shown up to help. And Max was working on it, sure, but she still didn’t have the kind of muscle tone you need to be much help hauling heavy furniture around. So it had taken nearly all of Steve’s energy to load and unload his shit and get everything more or less to the correct room. Thus, the mattress was on the floor, the bedframe in pieces in the corner, and Steve would be living out of boxes for the foreseeable future. 

It was fine. That’s what adulthood was, right? Doing things by yourself, without inconveniencing anyone else by asking for help. 

And who could he have asked, anyway? Nance and Rob, who would have to drive twelve hours from Massachussets? Ditto, Jonathan in NYC? Besides, at the kids’ graduation, the three of them had said they wouldn’t even come back for a visit, let alone hard labor. Once upon a time, Hop might have shown up, but he and Joyce had been in Montauk for the better part of a year.

Maybe Ron, the assistant coach, would have shown up if he’d asked, but they weren’t that close yet.

Whatever, it didn’t matter. The point is, he’d been wiped out, slept hard, and woke early, blinded by the morning sun. He climbed awkwardly to his feet–this sleeping on the floor thing was for the birds, he had to put his bed together, stat–and thanked yesterday’s Steve for having the presence of mind to unpack the coffee maker.

His new kitchen was pretty nice. It had a small island with a well-maintained butcher’s block countertop, and a bright window over the sink where he could watch the grass slope gently downward toward the woods. When the weather turned cooler, the morning dew would crystallize into ghosts and catch fire in the sunrise. 

Maybe he should build a patio out back, thrift some outdoor furniture, give himself someplace to sit outside and watch the sun come up before school every morning. It seemed like the kind of thing that would make being alone more enjoyable. 

Until then, he’d have to content himself with the front stoop. So when the coffee maker beeped, he poured himself a mug (black, as usual), grabbed yesterday’s sports section off the counter where he’d left it, and headed out front.

Which brings us back to Derek, whose jacket–a suspiciously familiar gray Members’ Only one–blended in surprisingly well with the cement steps. Steve stopped just short of tripping headlong over him, and managed to swing his coffee to the side just quickly enough to avoid scalding the kid’s scalp. Instead, the coffee sloshed painfully over his own fingers. Steve gritted his teeth, but managed to avoid swearing or dropping his mug. So, all-in-all, a success. 

“Derek?” he said, once he’d regained his bearings. “What are you doing here at like… butt o’clock?”

“Hi, Coach Steve,” said Derek, chipper and nonchalant all at once. “I’m a morning person.” 

“Okay…?” He stared down at him for a second before giving in and settling down on the step next to him, carefully avoiding the wet coffee puddle. “How do you even know where I live, man? I’ve been here all of five minutes.” 

“Duh,” said Derek. “Turnbow Realty? My cousin Tracy was your Buyer’s Agent.”

Right. And nobody in this town had document security sufficient to keep personally identifiable information out of the hands of your average middle schooler. Thanks for the reminder, kid. 

“And you’re here at dawn why, exactly?” he said instead. 

Derek gave him a look that said this is not dawn, buddy, and dug into his pocket for a granola bar. Two granola bars, actually. He handed one to Steve. “I figure you haven’t gone grocery shopping yet. You probably don’t have any real food.” 

Steve blinked. “No, I uh. I guess I don’t.” He took the second granola bar and carefully unwrapped it. It was the hard, dry kind that crumbled into dust at the slightest disturbance. “Thanks.” 

Derek elbowed him like they were old pals. “No problem, Coach. Anyway. I’m here because I need an adult male mentor figure in my life, and Mike said you did a pretty good job.” 

Steve inhaled a bit of granola bar dust and choked on it. “I’m sorry, what? Mike…?”

“Wheeler,” Derek clarified pointlessly. “He said you did a pretty good job with the party, so if I wanted to be as cool as he is someday, I should really be following you around instead. And, well, you are Coach, so it makes sense.” Did it, though? “So I found a copy of your contract in my dad’s home office, and here I am.” 

Steve stared at him for a moment, feeling like maybe his brain hadn’t fully woken up yet. “Right,” he said slowly, and then took a long sip from his mug to buy himself time. Was this going to be the rest of his life? Random kids just invading his life and his home, like they belonged there?

After a few moments of confused, if companionable silence (Steve had to give the kid credit, he was much better at shutting the hell up than Dustin ever was) the Responsible Adult side of his brain lurched begrudgingly online. “Wait, do your parents know you’re here?” 

Derek gave him a pitying look, one that said, are all adults idiots, or just you, only achievable by the pre-pubescent. “It’s fine,” he said in his baby voice, with his cherub cheeks, “I’m practically an adult, these days.” 

Steve did not snort in incredulity, but it was a near thing. Instead, he buried it in his coffee mug, pounding the rest in three big gulps (ow, still too hot) and got to his feet. “Well?” he said, raising both eyebrows at Derek. “Come on.” He swung the door open indicatively.

After he finished gaping, Derek scrambled to his feet. “Yes, Coach! Are we unpacking your stuff? Where should we start? I think probably the bedroom first, followed by the kitchen, because my dad always says–” 

“Hup-up-up!” Steve cut him off before he could get rolling. “First, stay out of my bedroom. Second, we’re not doing anything until you call your mom and tell her where you are.” 

Derek blinked at him for a second before petulant despair washed over his face. “Aw man. Mike said you were cool.” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Mike’s a dirty liar, and you’re a kid. Let’s go.”