IF SOMEONE had told you six months ago that Steve Harrington would reenter your life while you were getting paid minimum wage for sorting discount battery displays, you would have laughed in their face. 

And yet here you are, dressed in an oversized uniform with a crooked name tag and half listening to Dustin Henderson. He’s rambling enthusiastically about something called “Cerebro” (whatever the hell that means) while you attempt to decipher which drawer holds the coaxial cables he needs. Why a fourteen year old would ever need such a bizarre array of things was beyond you, but as Bob Newby once hammered into your brain during one of your first shifts here, a customer is a customer.

When the store bell rings, you’ve gotten yourself into the habit of preparing for a dreary thirty minutes of explaining that the problem could probably be fixed by switching it on and off again. You aren’t met with a middle-aged man ready to insist otherwise, though. When you look up on instinct, Dustin’s chatter melts into a distant sound in your ears.

Steve Harrington is just as annoyingly handsome as you remember. It’s like he’s stepped directly out of some cruel daydream you buried years ago: hair still perfect, though somehow more natural than before. He’s cut back on the product, you think. And he’s broader now. A little tired around the eyes, but so real you can feel your heart stutter in your chest.

He scans the store in that way of his—all lazy confidence—before his eyes land on you and Dustin. For half a moment, you expect him to ignore you. You weren’t exactly unforgettable in high school, not like he had been. You’d been… adjacent to important, maybe. Close enough to notice everything and far enough to be nothing.

You’re surprised when his eyes knit together in recognition.

“Hey.” The greeting itself is a shock, let alone your name following it in a questioning tone. Hearing him say it was disarming in a way you aren’t prepared for after two years. Your stomach does something unpleasant. “Right?”

“Yeah,” you say, carefully neutral. “Steve. Hi.”

Dustin, oblivious to the inner turmoil you’re facing, bounces on his heels between the two of you when Steve approaches. “You guys know each other?!” He exclaims, like his two worlds are currently being brought together.

Steve seems to blink himself out of his own stupor. “Yeah, we, uh, yeah,” he answers eloquently. “High school.”

“We had trig together,” you offer politely. As if you’re currently not on the verge of melting into a puddle of teenage hormones all over again.

“Right,” he affirms with a nod. “You sat by the window. I remember, ‘cause—” Steve drags a hand through his hair, and you swear your heart stops at the familiar gesture. The shape of his bicep under his shirt was one you’d memorised long ago. “—You had those pens that changed colours. They were cool.”

It’s something that seems so trivial, but the fact he remembers such a detail almost kills you on the spot. “Um, yeah,” you reply, too quiet to be normal. “Those.”

An awkward silence falls for a moment. Then Dustin claps loudly. “Cool! Okay! Back to the mission. Steve, she has the parts I need. See? Right there! The thingy.”

“Signal amplifier,” you supply (though you doubt Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington has any idea what that is.) You reach for it, adding it to the bundle of cables on the counter.

Steve is too busy watching you with unmistakable curiosity to care about the name. “You work here?”

“Unfortunately. Pays better than the diner, though.”

He laughs. It’s more like a snort, you think. God, even his laugh still does that to you. Makes your stomach churn and your legs feel weak in a juvenile sort of way. You force yourself to ring up the part to distract yourself from the way he’s still looking at you like he’s trying to put the pieces together again.

“That’ll be seventeen dollars.”

$17.30, actually, but you don’t have the heart to correct yourself when the wrong price slips out. You’re embarrassed enough in this situation.

Dustin turns to Steve expectantly. “You owe me from the arcade.”

“Uh, yeah. Not seventeen dollars, dude,” he retorts. You bite your lip to keep yourself from laughing when he reaches obediently into his pocket for his wallet anyways. He counts out the cash and drops it on the counter and you have to feign normalcy when your fingers brush to hand him the receipt.

“So,” Steve says after a pause. “You still live in Hawkins, then?”

“Unfortunately,” you echo again. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth.

He smiles at that. Genuine and easy and far too charming for your own good. “Yeah,” he says. “Same.” The pause feels a little less awkward this time. Then he asks, “You doing okay?”

It takes you a second to get over the initial shock at him being genuinely interested in your well-being. Probably just polite conversation, you tell yourself. He’s always been like that.

“Yeah,” you lie. “You?” You know the answer. It’s no secret he hadn't been accepted into college.

He shrugs a shoulder. “Getting there.”

Dustin chooses that moment to gather the ridiculously long cable and dumps the armful into Steve’s arms. “Carry these.”

Steve sends you a pitiful look but accepts them anyway. “Well, nice seeing you.”

“Yeah. You too,” you reply lamely as Dustin ushers him off towards the door.

“See you around, Radio Queen!” Dustin shoots over his shoulder with a peace sign. Despite yourself, you laugh under your breath.

The RadioShack feels agonisingly empty after the pair of them leave. There’s a hollowness to your chest where the warmth had been a minute ago. You’re so melodramatic, you realise with a groan, forehead thumping against the counter.

It’s just Steve. Stupidly handsome Steve that you’d been in love with for two years. You’re an adult now. Sort of. Completely over him.

You reach sullenly into your pocket to drop the last thirty cents for Dustin’s purchases into the register.

You’re so fucked.

—

Now, if someone had told you that Steve Harrington would re-enter your life twice in one week, you would assume you had done something in a past life to deserve this torture. Which is why you don’t even consider the possibility of seeing him any time soon as you pull open the glass door to Family Video five days later.

It’s a bit miserable to be spending your Friday night looking for a movie to watch alone, but it’s not as if anyone but Keith is around to witness your monthly ritual. You wander towards the horror aisle immediately—it’s less busy back here (not that there’s many people here after 10pm) and you’ve learned over the years that they shelve the good stuff back here where the parents won’t complain.

You skim the spines slowly. You’ve watched most of these movies already, but for whatever reason, you gravitate towards a copy of The Thing. It’s better than standing around for an hour trying to pick something out.

When you turn the corner, you walk directly into a firm, vested chest.

“Oh. Shit, sorry, I—” You start, already stepping back. But two strong hands come up immediately to catch your shoulders before you can stumble backwards into a rotating rack of VHS tapes.

“It’s cool, it’s cool.”

There’s that familiar voice again. You freeze for a second, then your brain (very slowly) follows the sound upward. You’re met with quite the sight: striped tee, green Family Video vest, and that perfect, stupid hair.

Steve Harrington. Again

“Oh,” you squeak—actually squeak, like a startled mouse. Brilliant. “Sorry. Wasn’t looking.”

He blinks at you like it takes him a moment to pin your face again, then breaks into a smile so immediate you almost swoon. “Hey!” He says, like he hasn’t spent the last few days living rent-free in your head. “What are the odds?”

Apparently very bad ones, you think faintly.

“Crazy,” you agree mildly. “You… work here?” You gesture weakly towards his vest like it’s not already blatantly obvious. You wish the floor would open up and swallow you right now.

He glances down at himself like he’d forgotten he was wearing it, too. “Yeah. Yeah, I just started, actually. My friend Robin and I got hired together.”

Of course they had. You swallow. “Nice. That’s… nice. This place is nice.”

Aren’t you just doing so well? He shifts his weight, hands still loosely on your arms before he realises he never actually let you go. When he finally does, he squeezes your arms apologetically in a way that makes your brain short-circuit.

“So,” he says, awkward but soft. “You looking for something specific?”

“A movie,” you answer instantly, like you don’t already have The Thing held behind your back. “Just… something dumb and loud. Had a long shift.”

Steve beams like he understands exactly what you mean. “Well,” he says, motioning with exaggerated seriousness like he wants you to follow him, “you’ve come to the right place.” You watch as he starts off, and then without thinking, you follow. You grimace at your shamelessness and slide the copy of The Thing into one of the shelves as you pass.

Steve gestures towards one of the displays. “If you want ‘dumb and loud,’ that’s kind of my entire personality in movie form. Anything from here has been personally approved by yours truly.”

You huff out a laugh and pretend to inspect the display. “Wow. You take this seriously.”

“Always,” he agrees solemnly. 

You reach for a random case, barely bothering to read the title. “Do you always walk customers around, or am I a special case?”

The worlds slip out before you have the chance to think better of it. Your face burns instantly, clearing your throat and looking down at the case in your hands. God, are you flirting with him right now? Embarrassing. All because he’s doing his job.

The silence that follows makes you want to bolt for the door before he recovers and says brightly, “Guess you are.”

Ah. He’s humouring you, you think. Somehow that makes it worse. Suddenly, the carpet beneath you seems incredibly interesting. “So,” you continue quickly, holding up the tape like it’s a shield because you’re suddenly aware of how uncomfortably close he is right now. “You like working here?”

He shrugs. “It’s alright. Beats scooping ice for a bunch of thirteen-year-old girls.”

“High praise.”

Steve chuckles softly at that. Your brain traitorously tucks that sound away for later. “RadioShack doesn’t seem too thrilling either.”

Your face twists in displeasure. “I might lose my mind if I have to explain why there’s different types of batteries one more time.”

“Well, I just carry the cables,” he says. “We all have our burdens.”

You laugh fully this time. The way he watches you like it matters makes the sound die down in your throat.

“Harrington! You’re not getting paid to flirt!” A voice rings out from the counter.

Heat crawls up your spine. Steve turns an embarrassing shade of red. “It’s not—!” He starts, then gives up on yelling back and rubs at the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

You shake your head quickly. “No, no, it’s fine—”

“Steve,” another voice calls from further down the aisle. “Do you know where the returns are supposed to go?”

He groans under his breath. “I gotta go be useful.”

You nod even though your chest is currently doing something complicated and entirely inconvenient. “Yeah. Sure,” you force out.

Silence lingers, which only makes that odd feeling in your ribcage worse. Then he clears his throat. “You can always swing by again. If you, you know, want recommendations or… whatever.”

Your heart kicks against your ribs. “I mean,” you reply lightly, glancing down at the case in your hands. Fast Times at Ridgemont High, you finally process. “I don’t even know if you’ve earned my trust yet, Harrington.”

Challenge sparks behind his brown eyes. “Oh, you’ll see. You’ll be back here next Friday for something just as good.”

You smile despite yourself. Then you turn towards the counter before he has the chance to see just how much that stupid look affects you. As you check out, Robin slides your tape across the counter with a knowing look.

“So,” she drawls. “Steve’s friend?”

You clear your throat. “Hardly.”

“Mmhm,” she hums disbelievingly.

You grab your bag and bolt before she can say anything else. And when you finally push outside into the cold Hawkins air, you press your back to the glass door and stare up at the dark sky.

Yeah. You’re not over him. Not even close.

—

You don’t watch the movie that night. Can’t bring yourself to, mostly because you spent the next hour driving around town and trying not to scream into the dead of the night. It’s just Steve. Not like he plagued most of your daydreams for the entirety of junior and senior year. He’s just some stupid boy who’s growing into a young man.

But the following night…

Well, the movie isn’t what you expected. You sit cross-legged on your bed after your shift, uniform discarded for something softer, the flicker of your TV painting the walls of your room blue and gold as you sit enraptured.

You’d told Steve you wanted “dumb and loud.”

This isn’t just that. It’s funny, sure—but there’s something else there too. Something strangely familiar. You hadn’t expected to like it so much, given you’d arrived intending to spend the night huddled under the covers to a horror movie.

And then there’s Brad. At first, you hadn’t thought anything of him. He’s not the main character, after all. Just some guy who wants to be taken seriously. Wants to grow up faster than he knows how. Wants more than he knows how to ask for.

Somewhere halfway through the movie, you realise you’re not really watching anymore. You’re thinking about Steve.

Brad, with his secondhand confidence, carrying the world on his shoulders and pretending everything is fine. Stupidly, it reminds you of him, in some dramatic and cinematic sort of way that makes you feel a little ridiculous. But you hug your knees to your chest and stare as the credits start to roll anyways.

Steve’s not at all how he presented himself back in high school. The King. The Hair. Whatever other idiotic nicknames a bunch of teens came up with for a boy that was so charismatic everyone couldn’t help but be drawn to him.

You can’t believe he remembered where you sat in trig class. The same guy who had sat two rows away, leaning back in his chair and pretending not to care about the diagrams on the blackboard as Tommy nudged and muttered something crude in his ear. You remember stealing glances when he laughed too loud. When he ran his hand through his hair like he did the other day and your breath had hitched like it used to.

You’d been stupid about it back then. Painfully obvious in your own head and completely invisible everywhere else. 

Your eyes drift to the clock. 11:24. Family Video is still open.

You nearly laugh at yourself. You are not going back there just to tell Steve Harrington you liked his movie pick. You are definitely not getting off your bed. You are absolutely not changing into jeans and grabbing your jacket.

And you are very much not locking your front door five minutes later.

—

He might not even be working. The thought crosses your mind as you drive into town, surrounded by the eerie silence of a sleeping Hawkins. Regardless, you choose not to turn around.

When you arrive, the lights inside are dim. Close to closing time. You catch a glimpse of Keith sweeping the floor with an expression that suggests he’d rather be anywhere else, and you linger near the entrance longer than you mean to.

Eventually, the bell chimes when you finally push through the door. Robin looks up first and her smile is immediate.

“Oh my god,” she says. “You came back.”

You flush, fishing the case out of your pocket like it’s a valid explanation to show up before midnight. “I just… was already driving through town. Wanted to bring this back so I could—”

Steve pops up from the returns cart, and the lie dies on your tongue. You shift awkwardly from foot to foot before he breaks into a grin. “Told you she would,” he says triumphantly. The thought of them discussing you in your one-day absence makes your stomach churn.

“I watched it.” You try to sound neutral. You fail miserably.

His eyes light up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You wave the case awkwardly. “I liked it. It was… good.”

Steve straightens, interest genuinely bright on his stupidly gorgeous face. “Okay, but like… good-good, or are you just being nice?”

You hesitate, then shrug. “Good-good. Brad’s kind of… sad.”

He makes a face like you’ve personally offended him. “In a cool way, though?”

“... Sure,” you indulge with a laugh.

Keith appears from one of the aisles, making a motion with his hand that says let’s wrap this up as he heads for storage. Steve clears his throat and straightens up as you hand the movie back over. “So… next Friday?”

The question is entirely casual. The way he looks at you, on the other hand, is not. You pretend to consider it, even though the answer echoes yes, yes, yes in your bones. “Well,” you say slowly, tilting your head. “I guess you get one more chance to impress me. You know, just in case that was a fluke.”

He laughs, pleased. “Deal.”

Robin slaps the counter and you startle. “Leave her alone with your sucky movies and come help me close up,” she says, earning a reluctant groan from him.

“Sorry. She’s got attachment issues. Can’t do anything without me there to hold her hand—”

“Can too!” She protests.

You smile weakly. “It’s okay. I’ll see you around.”

The two of them are too busy bickering to really hear your answer as you back away with your heart leaping out of your throat. You can’t believe you just wasted gas money to return a movie at midnight. But despite your embarrassment, you feel slightly giddy as you reach the door and hear Robin call after you:

“Bye, Steve’s friend!”

—

Steve’s friend.

You replay it stupidly in your head over the next week, even though you know Robin meant nothing by it. Still. Friend. It echoes where it probably shouldn’t. Your giddiness from that night twists into something more confused: less thrill, more fear.

You’ve only seen him three times and you’re already overthinking yourself into oblivion.

What is Robin to him? Surely she’s ‘Steve’s friend.’ She wouldn’t be so comfortable waggling her eyebrows after you if they were a thing. But maybe that’s some sales tactic. Pretty boy lures in the customers and his girlfriend plays up the amused coworker role.

No. No, you’re being utterly ridiculous. Deep down you know that, but the doubt gnaws at you anyways. It’s like watching Steve in the halls with Nancy Wheeler all over again when you think about the way they’d bickered as you left the store. 

Either way, Friday comes both too quickly and not at all fast enough.

You don’t mean to go back to Family Video after all those thoughts swimming about in your head. Not really. But you find yourself standing in front of your mirror after work, fixing your hair for no practical reason. You try on three different outfits before settling on the one that looks like you didn’t try at all. You hate the part of you that hopes he’s happy to see you. By the time you get in your car, you’ve convinced yourself it’s for the movie.

Definitely not the boy.

Steve is restocking when you walk in. The universe doesn’t bother playing tricks this time—you spot him immediately, bent over to slip cases from a plastic bin back into the shelves. The vest he’s wearing is too small in the shoulders, drawn taut over the muscle beneath. You feel your mouth go dry.

He looks up and catches a glimpse of you, and his face lights up. Actually lights up, like he’s genuinely glad you’re here to brighten an otherwise dull night of restocking shelves and counting cash at the register.

“Hey,” he greets, a little too quickly. “You came.”

Your stomach flips traitorously. “I said I would,” you remind him, tugging awkwardly on your sleeve. You feel stupid now. Overdressed, even if you’d spent half an hour trying to look the exact opposite. 

He scratches the back of his neck. “I mean… yeah. I just—yeah. It’s cool that you’re here. Anyways, I’ve been thinking about tonight’s selection.”

Thinking about it. Thinking about you. That’s not what he said, but your weak, pathetic heart takes it and runs with it anyways.

“You… have?”

He freezes for half a second, like he’s been caught admitting something wildly embarrassing. It’s endearing. Nothing like the suave Steve Harrington you once swooned over in the halls. His ears turn pink, and you resolutely try not to stare at them to avoid making that hopeful thing in your chest flutter dangerously.

“Not in, like, a creepy way. I told you I took my job seriously.”

Your heart almost sinks, but the way his eyes crinkle softly at the edges makes you realise he’s deflecting. You look down to hide a smile, rocking on your heels. “Right. Totally professional. What have you got for me, then?”

He gestures for you to follow him, and just like last time, you trail along behind without even thinking about it. It’s becoming something of a habit. Apparently you’re still that lost puppy from high school pining for attention.

He leads you past the “New Releases” display and into one of the aisles near the back. Steve stops, scanning the shelf like he’s picking out something special, then plucks out a tape with a satisfied little aha! 

“This one,” he announces, holding it up for your perusal. “It’s kind of old. And not really funny or loud. So if you hate me for talking up my funny taste, I can pick something else.”

You take it from him. Brief Encounter. Your brows knit together. “I’ve never seen this one.”

“Yeah. Nobody our age really has,” he shrugs.

“What’s it about?”

“Two married people that meet and then spend the rest of their lives remembering it,” he supplies. You almost tell him he looks cute when he’s nervous about explaining a movie like this.

“You trying to make me cry, Harrington?”

Steve laughs, dragging a hand over his face. “No. It’s a good movie. But if you’re sensitive, maybe I should put you on to Star Wars instead.”

You roll your eyes. “Do I get to ask why you chose it?”

“I don’t know,” he lies poorly. “Just seemed like your sort of thing.”

You don’t call him out on that. Just let him walk you back to the counter to ring you up, heart aflutter in your chest.

Later that night, the movie ends up wrecking you. You don’t move for the entire runtime, your back against your headboard and your knees pulled to your chest. You’ve never been in a physical fight but you’re pretty sure this is what it feels like to get punched in the sternum over and over again.

You don’t even realise you’re crying until a tear lands on your sleeve and leaves a darker mark behind. You blink it away, embarrassed at the display even in an empty room.

God, Steve.

—

“I’m mad at you. You’re awful,” you accuse the next time you get the chance to swing by, sliding the case across the counter.

He blinks at you, alarmed. “Wait, what?”

“That movie ruined me,” you continue, tapping the case emphatically. “So sad. I didn’t know what to do with myself after.”

Relief flashes through him so fast it almost makes you laugh. “Oh,” he breathes out. “Oh, okay. I can work with that.”

You shake your head at him in exaggerated disappointment. You choose not to acknowledge how comfortable you’re becoming with him during these brief interactions. “It was beautiful. And horrible. And unfair.”

“What’s your takeaway from it?” He prompts, resting his elbows on the counter.

“That the world is awful? Life is meaningless? Happiness is impossible?”

He fixes you with a deadpan look. Your shoulders slump with a sigh. “I don’t know. What’s yours?”

“Sometimes things are better when they don’t last?” He suggests.

You almost ask if he feels that way about Nancy Wheeler. You have to swallow back the inappropriate thought, averting your eyes to the case. “Tch. Pessimistic.”

“I’m kidding. It makes me cry,” he admits with a laugh. Your eyes dart up, and he shrugs off the surprised look on your face. “Don’t tell anyone I said that, okay? Especially not Henderson. Little shit thinks I’m invincible. I’d never hear the end of it if he learned I had—” He makes a disgusted face. “—Emotions.”

You snort before you can stop yourself. “Yeah, right. God forbid the former king of Hawkins High experiences feelings for the first time.”

Steve grimaces like he’s embarrassed by that title. “Hey,” he protests indignantly. “I have always had feelings. I just happen to keep them hidden.”

“Behind the hair?” You suggest innocently.

“Behind the charm,” he corrects.

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth keeps tugging upwards into a faint smile anyway. God, it’s unfair how easy this is all becoming. You’ve spent years carefully packing Steve Harrington away in your minds under the label things we don’t think about anymore just for him to waltz back into your life and unpack it himself.

You rest your hip against the counter, folding your arms and pretending like you’re not trying too hard to appear casual. “Charm, my ass. You’re not charming anyone by recommending movies like that.”

“I didn’t know it’d hit you like that,” he says, hands raised in surrender. “I figured you’d think it was boring.”

“So either I cry my eyes out or I’m bored out of my mind?”

“For the record,” he says, earnest, “that’s not usually the goal.”

“Liar. I think you just enjoy watching your customers suffer.”

He snorts. “Only a little.” A beat passes, then he reaches for the tape and slides it into the returns bin. “I’m kind of glad you hated it, though.”

That takes you aback slightly. “That’s rude.”

“I mean—” He rushes, then stops, thinking better of it. “No. I’m glad you felt something. People usually just… watch stuff. You actually watch it.” You’re not really sure what that means. Before you get the chance to reply, he barrels on with a rueful laugh. “Actually, most people don’t even bother watching stuff. I’ve recommended that movie to, like, two girls since I started working here. They’ve both just pretended to watch it to try to get into my pants.”

Ironic. You actually did watch it to get into his pants. Guilt stirs in your chest.

“That sucks,” you say, scuffing your foot against the carpet.

“Occupational hazard of being stupidly handsome,” he replies lightly.

“As if you don’t love it,” you shoot back.

“I don’t,” he insists, softer. It’s enough to give you pause. You glance down at your hands on the counter.

“So I get points for actually sitting through that sad bullshit, then?”

“Huge points,” he affirms instantly. “Gold star. You’re my customer of the month.”

You laugh despite the way it feels like there’s a hand squeezing your heart. It’s a strange thing, being lumped into the same category as these two girls when you’d spent most of high school being a ghost in the background of his life. And yet now you’re standing here in front of him, and he’s looking at you like you’re not just another bored kid killing time with the hot cashier.

It’s not until you’re home in bed that night, covers tucked up to your chin and staring dreamily at your ceiling, that you clock his intentions. Wait, was that a test? Did Steve Harrington just recommend you a movie to test how superficial you were being with him? And did you actually pass?

You roll over, smothering your giddy laugh into your pillow. Gold star. Hell yeah, you passed it.

—

The next few weeks you settle into a routine. You must be renting at least two movies per week by now (though Dustin single-handedly covers the cost of most of them every time he pops into RadioShack), each carefully selected by Steve. He’d been ecstatic to learn about your affinity for scary movies, and you’ve moved on from his favourite action movies to the horror genre.

Last week was Carrie and The Exorcist, the former of which you didn’t have the heart to tell him was already one of your favourites. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. You haven’t had the chance to swing by for your next selection. One of your co-workers, Jeff, has called out sick the entire week, leaving you to pick up shifts left right and centre.

You pretend you don’t miss him. You also pretend not to be disappointed that him accompanying Dustin was a one time thing. Apparently, you manifest the boy into existence when a hat and a curly head of hair appears in front of you.

“Radio Queen,” he greets with a solemn nod.

“Henderson,” you greet just as solemnly. “What can I do for you?”

“Need batteries,” he announces immediately, slapping a couple of crumpled bills down on the counter like he’s in a high-stakes poker game instead of a small electronics store. “And… wire. And maybe one of those weird plug things Mike said I’d probably forget.”

You arch an eyebrow. “That narrows it down tremendously.”

Dustin beams toothily. “I know. I’m great at instructions.”

You turn and start the shelves. You’re used to translating Dustin Henderson into something functional. “Did he actually send you with a list this time, or am I going in blind again?”

Dustin fishes a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. “List.” Miracles do happen. You take it from him, eyes skimming over the unmistakable scrawl. You can’t count how many times they’ve had a Party meeting and Dustin has been sent on a shopping spree with an illegible list of items.

“Wow,” you mutter, squinting at the numbers in the margin and the title IN ORDER OF IMPORTANCE. “He’s getting organised.”

“Only when the fate of the world is involved,” he replies seriously.

You snort indulgently. “Of course.”

You gather the parts in practiced silence, Dustin trailing closely behind you like a duckling.When you finally return to the counter to begin ringing everything up, he leans forward conspiratorially.

“So,” he starts, dragging the word out. “You and Steve, huh?”

You freeze for a moment, then resume your work. “What about me and Steve?”

He shrugs like it’s obvious. “You’re always at the store. He won’t stop talking about you when we hang out.” Then, as an afterthought— “Not in a weird way. In a normal way. I think.”

Your heart stutters in your chest and you forget for a moment you’re supposed to be punching numbers into the register. “He… talks about me?”

Dustin rolls his eyes. “Yeah. He’ll be like ‘Dustin, if she doesn’t like scary movies as much as I thought, then I’m bad at my job.’ And then I’ll be like, ‘Steve, nobody cares this much about their job,’ and then he gets all quiet and weird.”

You busy yourself with pretending to double check the list so he can’t see your face. “Right,” you mutter. “Sounds exhausting.”

“For him,” he agrees readily. “For you, probably flattering.”

You shoot him a look. He just grins. You slide his change across the counter, still avoiding his eyes. “Anyone ever tell you you’re annoying?”

“I’m right,” he corrects, stuffing the bills into his pocket.

“Out,” you say, pointing towards the door.

Dustin laughs giddily, like this entire interaction has proved something he thought he already knew, and gathers his bag to swing over his shoulder. The bell jingles after him when he leaves, and the shop feels emptier for it. Too quiet. You busy yourself with reorganising a row of batteries that are already perfectly organised just to keep your brain from drifting back to that one awful, wonderful revelation:

Steve Harrington talks about you.

—

You don’t make it to Family Video for another four days. Not because you don’t want to, obviously. Life has apparently decided you’re not allowed to have nice, simple routines anymore. But Jeff finally returns to work looking suspiciously healthy, your manager immediately dumps all his shifts back on him like you never existed, and suddenly it’s Thursday and you’ve gone an entire week without seeing Steve’s stupid face.

Which is fine. You’re fine. Totally normal amount of fine.

So when you finally push open the glass door to the store that night with the bell chiming sharply overhead, you’re already bracing yourself for the familiar warmth of seeing him behind the counter. You don’t get it. Instead, it’s Robin, leaning against the register with a pen in her mouth and her eyebrows furrowed as she studies a piece of paper.

“Oh,” you say in disappointment before you can stop yourself.

She looks up and brightens instantly. “Steve’s friend! You’re alive.”

“I should hope so,” you reply uncertainly.

She grins and hops off the counter. “We’ve missed your face around here. Better than looking at Keith all the time.”

You hear a faint hey! of protest from the back, and she drops her head sheepishly. You give a weak little laugh. “... Is Steve not here?”

Oops. There it is, out in the open with no subtlety whatsoever. Robin’s smile flickers into something mischievous and knowing.

“Ah,” she says, like she’s solved the mystery. “You’re here for him.”

You feel your face flush. “No. I just… I’m used to him picking stuff out.”

“Mhm.” She nods like she’s listening to a lie she finds very entertaining. “Tragic news for you then. He’s off tonight.”

Your chest dips in dismay in a way you immediately resent. “Oh. Right. That’s okay.”

Robin studies you for half a second, then gasps dramatically. “Wait. Wait. I can fix this!”

“That feels threatening,” you squint warily at her.

“No, no,” she assures you cheerfully, already walking around the counter. “It’s fate. Destiny.” Then she points at you. “You are now invited.”

“To..?”

“Movie night!” She declares. “Tomorrow. We’re all going.”

All is a very suspicious word. “All who?”

Robin claps her hands together. “Me, Steve, and Vickie.”

“Oh,” you say lightly. Vickie. You’ve overheard Steve ribbing Robin about someone with that name a few times over the last few weeks. It sounds familiar, though you can’t quite pinpoint her face just yet. “Like a group thing.”

“Yeah!” Robin nods enthusiastically. “A very normal, very platonic, very not-at-all nerve-wracking group thing.”

That earns a smile from you, weak as it is. “Sounds fun.”

“Oh, it will be,” she assures you. “Which is why you should be there.”

“I don’t know,” you say, tugging on your sleeves. “I’ve got work, and I’ll probably be tired, and—” Robin’s deadpan stare silences you, and you bite out a sigh. “Yeah. Okay, sure. Movie night.”

—

Apparently, movie night consists of carpooling, too. Which means you’re sitting in Steve Harrington’s passenger seat with Robin and Vickie in the backseat. As it turns out, you did recognise her name. A year below you in high school, if you remember correctly. 

She’s prettier than you expected.

Which feels cruel to think, but you think it anyway. Vickie is all soft curls and easy smiles, leaning forward between the seats as Steve fiddles with the radio. She laughs at something Robin says, this bright and unguarded sound, the kind of laugh that makes you immediately understand why they’d like her.

You sink a little further into your seat and pretend you are extremely invested in the streetlights flickering past the windows. To make matters worse, you have to endure thirty minutes of trying to fit in with them on the drive over. After the closure of Starcourt, the next theatre is two towns away.

“So,” Steve says from the front seat. “Everyone emotionally prepared to have their minds blown?”

Robin scoffs. “Please. Aliens is not ‘mind-blowing.’”

“It has Sigourney Weaver with a flamethrower. That’s kind of mind-blowing,” Vickie chips in.

Steve points at her through the rearview mirror. “Thank you. Case closed.”

You can’t help but smile. That same crooked little smile sneaks onto Steve’s face when he catches the expression on your face. You’re both startled out of it by the radio finally working, though it’s crackling through busted speakers. He groans.

“Every time. It either does this or plays gospel,” he mutters, reaching to change it again.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” Robin laments dramatically. “Repent now because we’re all going to die tonight.”

“You are going to die first for making me wait for twenty minutes outside your house,” Steve shoots back.

You let the sound of them wash over you. It’s a little strange to see Steve like this. Not polished and posturing like you grew up with. Just some guy driving too fast down a dark road with his friends piled into his car and the radio blasting a distorted version of Girls on Film.

You wonder—stupidly—if it ever could’ve been this easy with you back then. In another timeline. Another version of Hawkins. Another you.

Before you can dwell on it too long, the theatre blooms into view through the windshield as you roll into the carpark. The marquee reads: ALIENS - 8:45 PM.

Inside, the air is warm and smells like butter. Steve insists on buying popcorn “because movie integrity,” which starts another round of arguing between him and Robin until you slip him a couple dollars and he goes quiet in the cutest, most mortifying way possible.

You end up seated near the aisle with Steve beside you and Robin seated with Vickie behind you. You can hear them whispering and giggling amongst themselves when Steve sends you a reassuring smile, like this totally isn’t weird at all.

The movie is intense. In a good way, obviously. Though it’s hard to focus on anything but the way Steve’s arm is pressed against yours on the armrest between you. It’s just physics, though: narrow seats in a cheap theatre. Still, you’re acutely aware of how close you are in a way that has nothing to do with ergonomics.

By the time the credits roll, your nerves feel like they’ve been wrung out and hung up to dry. Not because the movie was scary—though admittedly you jumped a few times—but because god Steve Harrington smells so good up close.

Robin stretches her arms out in the row behind you as the lights come on. “Okay, whatever. I guess it was mind-blowing.”

“Knew it,” Steve says smugly as you rise to your feet. You pretend not to feel it everywhere when his hand skims your lower back as he ushers you out of the aisle.

“I’m never going to sleep again,” Vickie groans.

“Great. We’ve officially broken her.”

Outside, the night is cold and quiet. When the four of you pile back into the car, still buzzing from the movie, it feels easier this time. You’re less daunted by the conversations overlapping and brave enough to interject here and there, much to Steve’s obviously pleasure. It’s hard not to notice the way he laughs a little too loud.

Vickie gets dropped off first. Steve pulls up to the curb in front of a neat little house with a glowing porch light. She hesitates before getting out, turning back toward Robin with a soft, hopeful look. “I had fun tonight,” she says.

Robin’s voice almost cracks. “Yeah. Me too.”

It’s painfully obvious and somehow very sweet. You busy yourself with adjusting your seatbelt so you don’t have to watch the interaction too closely. It’s none of your business, but putting the pieces together makes you feel lighter. Robin and Vickie. Not Vickie and Steve.

Robin is next. Steve pulls up in front of her place, and she gives Steve a look that’s the furthest thing from discreet. “Alright. Drive safe, dingus,” she says, punching his shoulder. Before she swings out of the car, she pauses in the open doorway to give you a little smile. “I’m glad you came by the way.”

“Me too.” You mean it when you say it.

Steve waits until she gets inside—gentleman that he is—before he pulls away from the curb. Your place isn’t far from here, and you’re almost disappointed you get so little time alone with him.

It’s a peaceful drive, however short it is. When he pulls up outside your place, you brace for him to say goodnight. He doesn’t. He puts his car in park and shuts the radio off, angling himself towards you.

“So,” he says, wearing that careful little half-smile he’s been wearing lately. If you thought his signature grin was disarming, this is even worse. You can’t even think when he looks at you like this. “Uh. Aliens verdict?”

“I loved it,” you affirm. “Better than the first.”

“Good. Agreed. I’d probably ban you from the store if you hated it.”

You both laugh before lapsing into silence. It’s not awkward, you think, but you can still feel your skin crawl with anticipation. He watches you for a moment, then—like he’s decided something—he shifts in his seat again.

“This might be dumb,” he starts, and you raise an eyebrow. “Probably is dumb. Definitely is. But I can’t believe you’re, like, here. With me. Hanging out.”

You blink at him, unsure how to take that. “Uh… thanks?”

“No. I mean, back in high school,” he continues, “I was kind of a dick. So I wouldn’t really blame anyone who hates me now. I mean, half of them come into Family Video just to laugh that I ended up renting movies instead of going to college.”

Your heart twists sympathetically. “Well, it’s not like I’m much better off. Battery salesman, remember?”

“... Yeah. Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he laughs, dragging a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m just trying to say I’m glad you’re here. And that you haven’t totally written me off just because I was a douche as a kid.”

You swallow around the sudden tight feeling in your throat. “Yeah, well, you’re different now,” you say. Too simple, because explaining that you’re probably still in love with him is far too heavy. “In a good way.”

“Am I, or did I just finally get enough bad luck that it knocked my head out of my ass?”

“Probably both,” you snort. 

He huffs a laugh, then falls quiet again. After a moment, he says quietly, “I wish I’d known you better back then.”

Your gaze drops to your bag to avoid seeing the soft earnestness in his eyes. “Yeah. Me too.”

Steve shifts in his seat, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself either. “We’re… doing that now, though. Knowing each other. Right?”

You nod weakly. “Yeah. I think we are.”

He smiles at that, and there it is again—soft and unsure and nothing like the grin he used to wear in high school. It’s a good look on him. “Good,” he says, like he means it. “I’d hate to think I missed my shot twice.”

Steve hesitates, his hand hovering near the gearshift like he’s about to bid you goodnight. Then he continues: “I had fun tonight. I mean, I’ve had fun this entire time. With the movies. You’re fun.”

Your chest tightens, fingers curling nervously in your lap. “Yeah?” You say, lifting your eyes to give him a sheepish little smile.

“Yeah,” he agrees, firmer this time. He shifts closer again, just a little, until the space between you is smaller than it has any right to be. “If I’m reading this wrong, you can totally say no. I just really want to…” His voice falters and he trails off, wetting his lips.

“You’re not reading it wrong,” you blurt out. 

His smile twitches slightly. “Good,” he says. And then his lips are on yours. Slow at first, as if he’s trying to gauge whether you want this just as much as he does. As if you haven’t dreamt about this moment since you were sixteen. Your hand finds his arm, the other one drifting to rest on his chest. You can feel his heart rabbiting under your palm.

When you finally pull back, still breathing in each other’s air, that crooked smile of his makes your heart flip all over again. “Get your ass inside before I do something even more stupid.”

You laugh breathlessly—embarrassingly it’s more like a girlish little giggle—forehead still resting against his for far longer than necessary. “Goodnight, Steve,” you say, finally pulling back. You open the car door before you can lose your nerve and combust right there in his car. You make it all the way to your front steps before you hear it.

“Hey—!” He shouts. “Wait!”

When you turn around, Steve is half out of the car, one hand braced on the door and the other shoved awkwardly into his jacket pocket like he doesn’t know what to do with it. “I wanna take you out,” he elaborates.”For real. Not just a group movie thing and not sitting awkwardly in my car pretending we’re just people who recommend each other movies.”

Your mouth opens, then shuts promptly at the revelation. Steve Harrington wants to take you on a date. A grin blossoms in its stead. “Are you asking me out, Harrington?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m asking you out,” he laughs, just as breathless. 

“Well, if it wasn’t obvious by how many nights I’ve spent at a movie rental store, yeah. Yeah, I want to go out without you.”

You watch the nerves practically drain from his body, replaced by relief. “Cool. Perfect. That’s great,” he says, then grimaces in embarrassment. “I’ll… I’ll swing by tomorrow with the details, then. Give me tonight to plan something.”

The thought of Steve Harrington spending an entire night planning out a date makes you swoon all over again. “Okay,” you say, in a very failed attempt at playing it casual. “Goodnight, Steve.”

“Goodnight,” he parrots.

You give him a little wave, then head inside with your heart thudding loudly in your ears. You barely bother greeting your parents before bolting up the stairs, your thoughts echoing a very repetitive stream of: Oh my god he just kissed me. When you collapse onto the bed, you muffle a squeal into your pillow.

It’s just a date, but…Steve’s girlfriend sounds a hell of a lot better than Steve’s friend.

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