A world in which Eddie Munson, who fought tooth and nail from K-12+ against his all-encompassing, incredibly annoying crush on King Steve Harrington, is leaving Starcourt one evening and is the only person around to see the King talking to Robin Buckley while trying to lock the back door to Scoops.
“Righty tighty, lefty loosey, Steve-o,” Buckley drawls.
“Not for keys, Robi—will you shut up?”
Eddie is prepared to defend Buckley, whom he’s always liked, from Harrington’s bitching, but the weirdest thing happens. She laughs. She touches his arm. It’s familiar in a way that makes Eddie say, “Huh” aloud to himself.
He’d thought Buckley played for a different team, but maybe The Hair transcends all.
Now, Steve is saying, “I will leave you in this parking lot,” and Robin is laughing harder.
“I’ll tell corporate you don’t wear the sailor hat.”
“It ruins my best feature, Robin! Why are you laughing?” Steve sounds annoyed, which Eddie doesn’t get, because Buckley is cute, if you’re into that sort of thing girls.
“It is my best feature,” Steve grouses, and Robin shoves him lightly, but all that accomplishes is getting him to drop his keys. The toe of Steve’s blue sneakers that probably cost more than Eddie’s latest water bill connects with the silver glint of the keys and sends them arcing neatly across the parking lot and right into the toe of Eddie’s own shoes.
Both Harrington and Buckley are staring at him, twin pairs of big eyes blinking slowly in the streetlights like they’ve never seen anything like him.
Eddie scoops up the keys and dangles them off a finger. “Drop something, Harrington?”
For some reason, Buckley elbows Steve in the ribs. When he doesn’t move, she gives him another shove, which sends Steve stumbling forward a step.
Steve’s face is slightly red, and Eddie figures he’s embarrassed to be caught in his stupid nautical shorts, but then he says, “Thanks, Munson,” and holds out a hand to take the keys.
When their fingers brush, Steve’s hand sort of spasms, and the keys clatter to the ground again. He scrambles to pick them up, then nods at Eddie when he stands again, like that was always his plan.
“See you around, Harrington. Buckley.” Eddie nods back and then keeps walking.
Behind him, he hears Buckley say, “You suck, Harrington.”
About a week later, Eddie runs into the pair of them again, this time, beaten and bloody and walking along the road near Forest Hills. Against his better judgment, Eddie calls out to them, and that’s how he finds himself listening to the very, very high ramblings of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb, who are bleeding steadily onto their white sailor collars and ranting about a spider made of people.
“You could use it,” Steve slurs, conversationally, “in a campaign.”
Eddie is torn between amusement and worry that something got knocked loose in Harrington’s brain.
“Your dragons and dungeons,” Steve says, then, smugly, “I know stuff.”
Alarmed, Eddie tells them he’s taking them both home to get them patched up. “Especially you, Harrington. I’ll admit you’ve got me worried, big boy,” he adds, because Steve was staring at Eddie with the intensity of a bad trip.
At his words, Steve beams, which causes his lip to split open again.
“Robs!” He shouts, gripping at her shoulder.
“You rule!” She crows with a fist in the air, and they both cheer. Eddie just shakes his head and helps them start walking again.
