satanicpanics | Open Post/Overflow

"Dentist appointment." He replied automatically, though it was only after a rather impressive string of expressions ran across his face in quick succession, some of them repeating at least twice, finally settling on a kind of mild confusion, because he was trying to figure out how he was the reasonable option for something like that, but found himself carrying on his thought even despite trying to puzzle out what was going on here and whether or not it was some kind of prank, "And you know she doesn't drive, right? I'm usually taking her home." Maybe not usually, but more often than not, since it was easier than having one of her folks drive all the way out to get her since he was already heading that direction anyway.

Probably part of how the two of them had already gotten weirdly inseparable, and that was something Steve was trying not to look at too hard because, well, that way lies doom, or something to that effect.

But realizing that he was actually going to miss that chatterbox riding shotgun on the way back to town, he just scratched at an eyebrow with his thumb, considering for probably less time than he should have, "So sure? I can give you a ride, I mean. Just don't make me regret it."

Eddie blinks at Steve’s near immediate response, not actually expecting him to know more about Robin’s prior commitments than he does.

“Yeah,” he replies slowly, almost suspiciously, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Yeah, that sounds right.”

The thing is…he has no reason to be suspicious. As he’s already have to force himself to admit, Steve is nice to Robin. He hasn’t heard or seen anything he might unsavory, but sailor suit or not, Steve Harrington does have something of a reputation when it comes to women, and Robin just so happens to b an extremely likable young woman. Eddie can’t help but worry that this friendship could take a turn and with absolutely no chance of Robbin reciprocating, it could spiral into something awful.

But it’s fine. It’s fine for now. Eddie shakes it off and comes to lean against the counter, a little too close for comfort. He tips his head and grins, eyes bright.

“Yep, I know. But, uh…guess that means you’re as good of a second choice as any, doesn’t it, Harrington?”

Honestly Steve only knew because she'd been complaining about it, namely by way of just how much she hated dentists in general, and Steve had tuned most of it out, only paying enough attention to know if she jumped topics with zero notice as she was prone to doing, it had taken him a solid three weeks to at least be mostly able to catch it when it happened now.

It was his turn to squint suspiciously, if only for a moment, at the encroachment into his personal space, not sure why it didn't twig him as being a problem. Sure, the kids had conditioned him to not having any, and Robin had definitely furthered that, but that was people he knew, people he liked, it was a potential concern that he didn't seem to be bothered by it from Eddie.

But that was why he pushed himself up away from his own lean against the counter, arms folding, "I already agreed, Munson, also said don't make me regret it." He glanced at the clock, "I've got about two hours left, maybe less if night shift comes in early, you going to stick around or swing back by?"

Eddie grins, thoroughly pleased with himself for at least managing to ruffle Steve’s feathers enough that he moves away before Eddie can completely push into his personal space. Not that he would. He usually behaves himself, respecting that this is a friend’s workplace and he needs to rein himself in to some degree, but this is different. Robin isn’t here, the place is absolutely dead right now, and without paying customers, is it really anyone’s workplace?

He doesn’t think so. Not at the moment, anyway.

“Nothing to regret, Steve,” he responds with an innocent smile, retreating back into a more socially acceptable distance. “I’m a perfectly well behaved passenger.”

Two hours is a long time, and it would serve Eddie better to leave and come back later, but for whatever reason, he feels the innate desire to stay and wait it out. So without a second thought, he backs away from the counter, drops into a seat at one of the little tables, and twists his fingers together with a grin.

“I’ll hang out.”

"Sure, just you know, don't bother anybody." Not that there was anyone to bother at the moment, and that was -Steve had learned- the problem with Scoops, it was either slammed all day, dead all day, or vacillated wildly between the two in a way that made it impossible to get a third person on staff each shift, no matter how both day shift and night shift wanted one for those busy times.

Robin returned with just enough time to grab her stuff, clock out, wave a hello to Eddie, tell Steve to call the night shift to come in for early coverage since he hadn't gotten lunch, and then vanish again.

He just blinked at the whirlwind, mostly because he never would have thought of calling the next shift to come in early unless it was an actual emergency. Of course, actually doing so had to wait until the next wave of customers was handled, but in the end it was only about an hour until Drew arrived and Steve dipped into the back room to leave apron and hat on the hook, grabbing his keys before popping his head out around the door again, "Let's hit the road, man."

Eddie rolls his eyes, crosses his heart with an index finger, and for the next hour, he behaves himself. He remains quietly seated at his little table, and although he fidgets constantly (tapping his fingers, jostling his knee, shifting positions every two minutes), and makes no effort to purposefully bother Steve or the lazy parade of late afternoon customers that comes marching through. At some point, he flips open a battered spiral notebook and begins writing furiously in it, looking up only to wish Robin luck with her dentist appointment—hope they don’t drill the wrong tooth, he had called after her with a grin.

He’s still scribbling in that notebook, expecting to be waiting for another hour, when Steve calls to him. He gathers his things up quickly, pushes in his chair like the upstanding young man he is, and hurries to fall into step beside Steve.

“Hey, uh, congratulations, by the way,” he says suddenly, like he’s been holding onto that one little word for the past hour. “On graduation. Turns out that Hawkins High isn’t ready to let me go just yet, but...cool that someone managed."

"Thanks, I think, but it was barely and the options were 'graduate and get a job' or 'don't and get shipped off to boot camp', so, not really that much of a choice." He hadn't been sure just how serious that particular threat was, but it was one of a handful his dad had made more than once, which definitely lent some credibility to it.

He shook his head, as if to shake that line of thought off, "Honestly Nancy's the one who helped the most, Wheeler, wouldn't have managed it without her." Steve moved unerringly, he'd already memorized the path through the maintenance halls from the shop to the exit nearest the parking lot, since he tried to go unnoticed as long as possible while still in uniform. He shouldered the door open, waving Eddie through and nodding towards the actual mall exit, "This way."

There wasn't really a designated 'staff' area of the parking lot -though everyone felt like there should be- but he'd gotten there fairly early that morning, so he wasn't parked far away, just fishing his keys out of his pocket, unlocking the passenger side out of habit more than anything else before circling around to the driver's side.

Eddie takes the opportunity to peer sideways at Steve as they trudge through the dingy maintenance halls, trying to imagine all that perfect hair shaved off for the military. It’s not half as funny of an image as he thought it might be. In fact, it’s kind of sad and offers a glimpse of the Harrington household that he never knew existed. Maybe money can’t buy happiness, but it surely helps, right? Between the nice car, a pool, giant house, never having to skip meals—what could Steve Harrington ever have to be unhappy about? Well, more than Eddie thought, apparently, but he doesn’t push for more information.

Eddie has always struggled with school. The material just doesn’t come easily to him, and no one ever talks about what a battle it is to try to focus on something you don’t find at all interesting. But not once has he ever been threatened with boot camp. Maybe it’s because Wayne knows that his nephew could never survive a place like that, or that he simply knows Eddie is trying his hardest in a system not built for him and that’s all he can ask for. His uncle’s support is one of the only reasons he hasn’t dropped out. He’d like to actually make the old man proud someday. Third time’s a charm, maybe.

“Well, count yourself lucky, Harrington,” he calls as he ducks into the passenger seat. “This will be my sixth year in that goddamn school, and I speak from experience when I say the curriculum doesn’t get any more interesting. But hey, they can't exactly surprise me at this point.”

Without permission, almost on instinct, he pops the glovebox open and begins to rifle through it, ignoring the usual paperwork and nonsense that usually ends up in a glovebox. That’s not what he’s after.

“No tapes, dude?"

"Not in the glovebox." He replied as if that was the most ridiculous suggestion that he'd ever heard, "There's a shoebox under the seat." One that Robin had already added to, and while he didn't think she'd actually removed anything from it, he wasn't entirely sure, since the kids had definitely done the same, and it wasn't like he'd had more than a couple things in there himself in the first place.

It was easy enough to just circle back to the statement before that even as he started to make his way out of the lot, alert as ever, "And no, the curriculum doesn't get any more interesting and it doesn't actually change that much." He debated for a moment, thumbs drumming idly against the steering wheel before asking: "Mr. Hauser's still teaching English, right?" He was pretty sure he would have heard from Robin if the guy had retired, what with him being her favorite teacher and all, but was going to gauge just how much information to relay from Eddie's response.

Eddie rolls his eyes and bites his tongue, holding back on what he’s actually thinking—that he’d assumed Steve was one of those guys who didn’t actually care about music enough to form an opinion about it or keep more than a handful of tapes on hand. It’s a bit of an assholeish assumption, but it’s one he’d make about just about anyone. It’s just inescapable; not everyone loves music to the degree Eddie does.

But he reaches beneath he seat, and lo and behold, there is a shoe box. It’s a little sparser than the stuffed milk crate he keeps in his own van, but he hoists it up into his to lap and begin shifting through tapes, holding each one up like he’s scrutinizing precious gems instead of brittle plastic.

“Nah, man,” he replies vaguely. “Hauser left, like, mid-year. Came back after winter break and he was gone. Surprised you didn’t know. I mean, there’s not much that doesn’t become a wildly inaccurate rumor around here.”

It had all been quite sudden, and while Eddie thinks he may have a vague idea as to what happened, he doesn’t make it a point to poke into teachers’ personal lives. Hauser had actually liked Eddie to some degree, though, and his class had been one of the few he wasn’t crawling his way through. He’s already kind of missing that.

“At least someone got out of this goddamn town,” he sighs, squinting at a tape before dropping it back into the box and shifting his gaze back to Steve, flat and unimpressed.

“’Kay, so, remind me to introduce you to some real music,” he says, like this isn’t a one time thing, like this ride isn’t going to take fifteen, twenty minutes tops and they'll never be in such close quarters again. But despite his criticism, he finds something that he deems worthy. He pops open the case, slips the tape into the deck, and the soulful voice of Van Morrison begins to drift from the speakers. And it doesn’t take much; a stanza or two and Eddie is captivated by the music, tapping his fingers, half humming, half singing along like he isn’t in the car of a near-stranger:

And it stoned me to my soul
Stoned me just like going home
And it stoned me

"Damn, guess someone figured out he was using the same answer key for all his tests so he wouldn't have to adjust the scantron." He doubted that was actually a fireable offense, but he didn't really know, since all it took was one student figuring it out to become something that benefited most of them, and making the students' lives easier was the one thing the faculty seemed to be well and truly against.

His brow furrowed at that insistence, just blinking, glancing at Eddie and responding, "Why do you think I have that many tapes? I've got Robin and an entire squad of almost-teenagers trying to do the same thing." He shook his head, gaze returning to the road, honestly a little amused by how readily Eddie fell into bobbing along with a song Steve sort of half-recognized, "And I have to tell you, I'm not sure anyone else knows what 'real music' is, either."

He shrugged, "All I'm saying is that everybody just knows what they like. And before you say anything, yes, that also includes me."

“Mmm,” he intones thoughtfully, scrunching up his face and tilting his head. “Not so sure you can get fired for that. Not when I know for a fact that Higgins is popping pills in his office on a daily bass just for the hell of it. Not a whole lot of room to judge after that, you think?”

Don’t ask him how he knows. He will be taking no questions at this time. In fact, he glosses over it and skips baack to the more important subject at hand: music.

“Yeah, well, judging by the slim pickings in this box?” He rattles the shoebox to prove his point before he shoves it unceremoniously beneath the seat again. “I believe that.”

He and Robin have some overlapping taste. In fact, he suspects the Van Morrison tape belongs to her. Eddie would never pretend he’s too good for mainstream acts like Bowie and Fleetwood Mac, but given the choice, he’d much rather gravitate to his own carefully curated tape collection.

But his interest has been piqued, and with a wide grin, he leans just a little further into Steve’s personal bubble.

“And what does Steve Harrington like? If you’re not afraid of my judgment, that is.”

"Well I wasn't until you mentioned it and now I think maybe I should be." He replied, eyes narrowing with another brief glance towards Eddie, especially as he leaned in closer.

He did, however, shake his head, since it wasn't like he'd actually have to deal with that judgment for anything more than the time it took to get back to town, just ticking off on his fingers as he listed, "Springsteen, obviously." Though it was only when he said it that he realized it might not be obvious, "Cyndi Lauper, Bon Jovi, Queen, and I mean, Dolly Parton, of course."

He shrugged then, "And honestly? I've actually liked any of the stuff Robin's thrown in the box, some of it's weird, but it's not like I go out of my way to avoid any of it."

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