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Eddie’s the one who suggests they get ice cream. It’s only May but already Derry’s getting so hot the days are starting to stick to them, making them lethargic as they loll around town with nothing to do. It’s so hot they can’t even conjure the energy to go to the lake for a swim, their hair limp against their foreheads, sunburn spreading along their shoulders and cheeks like a forest fire.
Ben suggested going to the library, which got a hard no, and Richie suggested the arcade, which got an even bigger no.
“We could go to Scoops Ahoy?” Eddie says casually, fiddling with the laces on his sneakers where he’s sitting on the curbside, little legs folded to his chest. He's wearing a sleeveless top today and Richie's been trying not to stare at the freckles dotted along his shoulders.
Stan looks at him. “Isn’t that the one Steve Harrington works at?”
“Oh does he? I never noticed,” Eddie says, voice slightly too high.
"You never noticed that the most popular boy at school worked there?"
Eddie raises a small shoulder in a shrug. "The ice cream is just really good."
It was sacred law in Derry that Steve Harrington was the coolest. He was 17. He was gorgeous. He had the fucking best hair. He knew how to play football and where to score the best weed. He stood up to bullies. And every single girl in Derry and the state of Maine was in love with him.
“Oh my god, Steve Harrington. He's such a dreamboat,” Beverly sighs dramatically, pretending to swoon as she presses the back of her hand to her forehead like a Victorian damsel. Ben pouts silently behind her.
“He’s not that dreamy,” Richie scoffs. “Like, have you seen his fucking hair? Looks like a dog died on his head.”
“Do you need new glasses, Tozier?” Bev says sternly, hands on her hips as she stares down at him where he’s sitting on the curbside next to Eddie, long legs stretched out in front of him. “He’s like a storybook prince. Do you remember when that skeeze was messing with Shelley Clarke after school? Steve hit him in the face with a baseball bat!” She sighs. “I think he’s dating that girl Robin who works with him though.”
Richie squints up at her. “He wouldn’t be able to handle you anyway, Marsh.”
“Damn straight,” she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder and smiling.
“At least he’s not dating Nancy Wheeler anymore,” Bill says, making a knowing face at them.
“Priss,” they all say in unison before they start laughing.
“Steve is pretty cool,” Mike says. “He vouched for me when I tried out for football last year. Told coach that it’d be the best decision he ever made. He didn’t have to do that but he still did. And that makes him alright in my book.”
Richie rolls his eyes, tilts his head to look at Eddie, who’s being weirdly quiet. He doesn’t look upset though, more like he’s daydreaming as he stares at the sidewalk, bottom lip caught between his teeth.
"Whatcha thinkin' about, Baby K?" He elbows Eddie, who startles.
"Nothing and don't call me that!" he glares, and there's his little fierce kitten. "I just want to get out of the sun before I turn into a fucking lobster."
“Come on, let’s go then. I want vanilla,” Bill says, getting up and brushing the road dust off his jeans.
They make their slowly over to Scoops Ahoy, wilting like baby blossoms under the sun. Scoops Ahoy wasn’t the best ice cream parlour in Derry, that had to be the ice cream emporium that had opened near the Public Library the summer before. Scoops Ahoy was a lot smaller, tucked away on a small street next to a run-down store for kitchen supplies. But it had become much more popular since Steve started working there three months ago, signposted by the groups of giggling girls you could find clogging up the doorway or spilling out onto the street on any given day.
When they walk in, pushing past a tangle of girls whispering shrilly about how amazing Steve was, like he was a member of fucking Mötley Crüe or something, they see Steve sitting on the ice cream counter. He’s making faces at Robin, the cool girl who'd moved to Derry the year before, as she says some weird words in a guttural voice. A Russian glossary lies open on the counter beside her.
“Seriously, dude, you sound like a fucking Klingon,” he says as she throws her head back and laughs.
“How do you know what a Klingon is? Oh my god, is Steve Harrington seriously admitting he watches Star Trek?”
“Hey, I’m part of the zeitgeist. I soak up pop culture like a sponge,” he says as she scoffs.
Steve’s eyes flick over to them as they make their way to the counter. “Oh no,” he says, mock fright colouring his voice. “It’s Derry’s biggest troublemakers. Please don't rob us. All we have are pennies and multi-coloured sprinkles!”
"And Steve's hairspray," Robin says, chewing on a wad of gum. "We could give you a few cans of that."
"Hey, I draw the line at my hairspray, Buckley. I will happily let you be eaten by feral children to save my hairspray."
She huffs, rolling her eyes. "Charming as always, Harrington."
Steve grins and hops off the counter. He’s wearing that stupid sailor uniform again with the shorts and hat, his hair spilling out and blonde at the edges like he's in some dumb fucking boy band. How anyone could find that cute is beyond Richie.
“Hey Steve!” all the Losers parrot at him with stupid grins. All of them apart from Richie, who scowls, and Eddie, who hangs back behind the group, and suddenly seems preoccupied with fiddling with the zipper on his fanny pack.
“Great to see you, Denbrough,” Steve says, clapping his hand on Bill’s shoulder. “Heard you’ve been rocking the writing. Saw your short story in the school paper last month. Good on you, dude.”
“You read that? Thanks a lot, Steve,” Bill says earnestly, looking up at Steve in awe.
"Whatever," Richie says under his breath. And maybe he hadn't read Bill's story yet, but that was beyond the point.
Steve grins at Mike, claps their friends together like they’re friends. “Mike, my man. You are killing it this season. Still working on that drop kick?”
“Every week,” Mike replies with a wide smile.
And what the fuck? Since when did everyone in the club start losing their damn minds over Steve fucking Harrington?
Steve’s eyes drift over Mike’s shoulder and he smiles when he sees Eddie.
“How’s it going back there, Kaspbrak?”
“Erm, o-okay, thanks Steve,” Eddie says and Richie goes stiff, because Eddie says it in this soft, quiet little voice he’s never heard before.
“I’ve got that strawberry and white chocolate flavour you like again. Fancy a scoop of that?”
Eddie's mouth falls open slightly, looking at Steve like he just walked out of the sun. "You remembered I like that?"
"Yeah, of course I did."
“That would be really nice, thanks, Steve,” he says, fingers twisting into the hem of his shirt.
Richie turns to Eddie, face scrunched up as the rest of the Losers group around the ice cream counter, arguing loudly over which flavour tastes the best. He blinks when he sees Eddie’s face has gone completely pink. From this close, Richie can see his bottom lip tremble.
“What does he mean, again? When have you been coming here?”
“Kaspbrak here’s become a bit of a regular, isn’t that right?” Steve says in a teasing lilt that makes Eddie go impossibly pinker, the flush spilling down his face all down his neck. “Had him over here on Thursday first in the queue for the new key lime pie flavour we got in.”
Last Thursday? But that couldn’t be right.
“What the fuck, Eddie? You said you had to go home early on Thursday.”
Eddie looks at Richie with wide eyes. “I-I did. I just swung by on my way home.”
But that didn’t make any sense. Eddie lived on the opposite side of town to Scoops Ahoy. How could he have just swung by on his way back? Richie’s about to demand that Eddie explain when Steve interrupts him.
“And what about you, Trashmouth? What would you like?”
“Nothing,” he snaps, because something’s twisting in his stomach and it’s leeching all the hunger out of him.
“Ah, come on now. Let me guess what we could get for a little dark horse like you. How about this, we've got a rich chocolate which tastes fucking great. Has a berry jam swirl. You’ll go crazy for it, my friend.”
Eddie nods frantically. “Richie loves chocolate, don’t you, Richie,” he says, bumping his shoulder against Richie’s.
And Richie doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to give Steve the satisfaction. But he does love chocolate, and it does sound pretty good.
“Okay,” he says sullenly as Steve grins.
Steve hops back to the counter to help Robin get their orders. The others are clustered around her, staring at her avidly, as she babbles with Bev about the killer Siouxsie and the Banshees concert she'd been to in New York last month.
Richie turns to Eddie, who's fumbling with his fanny pack again. He only does that when he's feeling particularly anxious.
"How much have you been coming here anyway? Sounds like they should give you a fucking lifetime membership."
Eddie scowls at him, and Richie's eyes slide over the freckles on Eddie's nose, how dark they look against his pink blush. "It's none of your business how much I come here, Richie! And stop embarrassing me in front of Steve!"
"What the fuck?" But Eddie has already flounced off to join the others, leaving Richie standing there frowning.
After a few minutes, the Losers get all their ice cream: vanilla for Bill because he’s a boring bitch; pear and cinnamon for Stan; a sharp citrusy mango for Beverly; Oreo cheesecake for Ben; banana cream for Mike; and the dark chocolate and berry jam swirl for Richie.
Finally, Steve hands Eddie his strawberry and white chocolate. “Here you go, one scoop on the house for my favourite customer.”
Richie glowers as Eddie takes it with trembling hands. He can’t even meet Steve’s hands as he says, “T-thank you so much, Steve.”
And Jesus, had Eddie caught Bill’s fucking stutter or something?
“Remember we’ve got half-price banana splits next week, okay? I’ll have a banana split with your name on it. With whipped cream and a cherry and everything. It's going to be bananas. And I mean because it's going to be rad, not because it's got, you know, bananas in it.”
And Eddie, honest to god, giggles. He giggles in a way that he's never giggled at any of Richie's jokes. Something heavy and cold settles in Richie's stomach. Because Eddie sounds just like one of the stupid girls who come in hordes to gawk at Steve like he's some kind of celebrity. And Richie knows this means something, knows he's on the edge of some fucking huge revelation, but he's not sure what it is.
Eddie looks at Steve from under his lashes, dimples popping as he says, “I’ll remember, thanks Steve.”
And seriously, who had replaced his wildcat of a best friend with this soft, shy creature? Seeing him like that makes Richie go hot and cold all at the same time. He hates it, but at the same time... how would it feel if Eddie was ever like this with him?
Steve winks at Eddie, and Eddie sighs in this weird, dreamy way Richie's only ever heard on TV. And have Eddie's lips always been this pink?
Fuck this shit. Richie grabs Eddie's free hand, making the other boy jump. "What-"
"We're blowing this fucking joint, come on guys," he says, dragging Eddie away from the counter. And Eddie, for once in his life doesn't complain loudly or push Richie away. He just stares down at their clasped hands, mouth pursed in a small o-shape.
They all say their goodbyes, waving enthusiastically and licking at their ice cream cones as they walk out the door. "Isn't Robin so cool?" Bev gushes to Ben as they leave. "Do you think she'd hang out with me if I asked?"
Richie's the last to leave. He hears Robin say, “What is it with you being such a local hero for Derry kids, Harrington?”
“Must just be my amazing charm and wit,” Steve replies.
Richie’s about to walk through the door to join the others outside, mentally cursing Steve Harrington and whatever weird spell he had over Eddie, when Steve calls after him. “Hey, Trashmouth!”
Richie turns, levelling a glare at him where he’s leaning back against the ice cream counter.
“What?”
“I meant what I said about you being a dark horse. All the girls are going to be after you in a couple of years."
Richie's face twists, because had Steve even seen his huge glasses and weird face? "Ha ha, very fucking funny, asshole."
"Seriously, dude, I mean it." He tilts his head at Robin. “What do you think, Buckley?”
Robin makes a thoughtful face, humming for a moment as she looks at the ceiling like she's a contestant on a quiz show, before winking at Richie. “He has the potential to be dishy, sure.” And Richie feels the heat rise in his cheeks.
“There you go. Come find me when you need some advice on how to chat up girls, yeah? We'll get you anyone you want.”
Richie blinks at him, thinking of Eddie's dark eyelashes, the way he had blushed. "Anyone?"
"Anyone, buddy."
And Richie can’t stop the smile from creeping onto his face. Maybe, he could admit quietly to himself, Steve Harrington wasn’t that bad after all.