Chapter Text
Eddie tuned out the never ending lecture being forced down his throat as he eyed Principle Nelson’s coffee, wondering just how much trouble he’d get in by smacking it out of his hand.
Nelson had been droning on for the last ten minutes about the importance of responsibility and accountability, two things manning the sacred Hawkins High concession stand apparently demanded. His superiority complex was potent as he explained, in excruciating detail, the inner workings of the stand, paired with a condescending smirk that never left his sweaty face.
Eddie cursed Mrs. Stewart and the stick up her ass for condemning him to this hell. You make one little comment to a misogynistic wannabe professor with a receding hairline and suddenly you’re the one out of line? Sure, it didn’t help that Eddie had pushed some of the knick knacks off Mr. Murphy’s desk upon his demanded exit, but that was more for the sake of pizazz than hostility.
And apparently, unbeknownst to Eddie, you could overstay your welcome at detention, prompting Stewart to get creative this time, forcing Eddie to man the pitiful concession stand for the basketball game that very night.
He mimed shooting himself in the head when Nelson turned his back.
Eddie looked to his left and spotted Stewart tottering into the gym. They made eye contact and her normal tightlipped glare thawed into a vindictive form of delight when she noticed Eddie, the victim of Nelson’s correctional crusade. Eddie prayed she’d slip and break a hip.
Mind you, he wasn’t normally one to wish ill will on an old lady, but Stewart was making him turn a new leaf. Sure, old ladies never seemed to like him and, yeah, they were often quick to make passive aggressive comments about his hair or his clothes or his nails, but never before had he been so tempted to run one over with his van. That being said, he did find a unique joy in riling them up with a few mentions of satan and sodomy, but that was all in good fun since he liked to try to make their eyes pop out of their heads. But Mrs. Stewart was one hobbled-over sack of skin that he definitely had a growing vendetta against.
Didn’t help that Nelson seemed to be enjoying this cruel and unusual punishment. The guy was all too pleased with himself when explaining that they kept a record of how much was in the money chest—a glorified tin can that looked like it’d been nicked from a landfill—and took inventory of all the snacks at the beginning of the night, so if any cash were to go missing he would know and not hesitate to get the police involved.
Eddie didn’t particularly appreciate getting accused of theft, but then again he was tempted to surpass expectations for no other reason than the satisfaction of seeing Nelson’s face turn purple. But alas, he had no desire to have a talk with Chief Hopper tonight, so he bravely refrained.
With one last sweeping look at the cheap, factory-processed throne he handed into Eddie’s loving care for however long a godforsaken basketball game lasted, Nelson said “I hope for your sake everything goes smoothly tonight, Mr. Munson. I think it could be a real turning point for you.” He rapped his knuckles on the flimsy plastic table and left Eddie blissfully alone.
“It’ll be a pleasure to disappoint,” Eddie muttered and collapsed in the foldable chair set out for him.
He sat there twiddling his thumbs as more and more people filtered into the gym. He was already soul crushingly bored, so with nothing better to do he watched them all chatter excitedly amongst themselves. How were they able to handle the suffocating stench of sweat? Somehow he didn’t think the sight of hormonally charged, barely pubescent teenagers made up for the inconvenience.
He rested his chin in his hand. Maybe he could at least make a few sales after the game. At least then this nightmare would be even partially worth it.
Unlikely.
The stands were full and the crowd seemed to swell with anticipation. How they could all so eagerly await hours worth of guys fighting over a ball and net, Eddie didn’t know. But the home fans cheered as the Hawkins team made their way out of the locker room. Eddie recognized several of the seniors as the guys that loved to sneer and call out unsavory comments at him from across the hall. He would be flattered with their devoted attention if it weren’t for the way it grated on his nerves. But fame wasn’t without its pitfalls.
Others, though, Eddie didn’t know were even on the team—surprising considering it tended to be their only personality trait—and some he had never seen a day in his life before. There was one, however, that Eddie was becoming increasingly acquainted with. Or, more accurately, aware of. It’d be impossible not to.
Number 13. Steve… something. Definitely started with an H. He knew because the whole school seemed to have a hard on for him. Not just girls either, although from them Eddie had overheard endlessly about how charming and smooth and pretty the guy was. It was excruciating.
Steve… Hoffman? No. Haggett? Absolutely not. Hepatitis? Eddie snorted.
It was definitely a name that was most likely attached to a CEO or someone else equally important, boring, and rich. Whatever, he’d figure it out soon enough.
Eddie watched as he talked with his teammates, laughing at something that asshole Paul said. The players were practically overflowing with energy where they gathered around the home bench and Eddie couldn’t think of a place he would rather be less.
Steve (Harling? Ugh.) had his hair styled obnoxiously for a basketball game where everyone would leave looking like they just got dipped in a vat of lube. He wore the Hawkins basketball team jacket that was probably higher quality than any school’s sport uniform had the right to be and the little school issued basketball shorts, leaving little to the imagination.
And they called Eddie slurs. Ironic.
Steve smiled at his teammates, one of the guys slapping his shoulder good-naturedly. The team had kind of congregated around him, as if he had some kind of gravitational pull drawing them into his orbit. He probably thought the world revolved around him too, that’s why his hair was so tall, to house all his ego.
Eddie had never witnessed so much commotion over some random guy—a freshman of all people! Even now cheerleaders called out to him, waving coyly when he looked up. Weren’t freshmen supposed to be benchwarmers? From all the talk Eddie had heard, Steve H was definitely not that.
But it wasn’t like Eddie couldn’t see the appeal; he wasn’t blind . Steve was a good looking guy, lean with a smattering of freckles based off what Eddie could see from this distance. Truthfully, he had never really gotten a good look at him, always somehow spotting him across the hall or walking twenty feet behind him, but he would bet his guitar that the guy had nice eyes too. Probably with long lashes; people were suckers for guys with that kind of shit. People, meaning Eddie.
And his hair definitely didn’t work against him either, it was thick and fluffy. Eddie had heard a handful of people refer to him as ‘The Hair’ and almost lost vision with how hard he rolled his eyes. But he couldn’t deny that, looking at it now, he was met with the absurd desire to run his fingers through it. Eddie grimaced and yanked that thought out of his head, stomping on it until it let out one last croak and died.
He had enough issues already without adding that into the mix.
His point was, Steve was conventionally handsome. To an intimidating degree if Eddie was being honest, so it wasn’t an all out mystery why the whole school was prone to treating him like royalty. But Eddie had to believe that he had the glittering personality of wet cement. So why were so many people put under his… his spell?
Eddie was tempted to do something reckless like corner him in the locker room, knock into him in the hallway, or, hell, let some of his freak tendencies fly just to see what the guy did. Would he punch him? Threaten to have his CEO dad ruin his life? Throw some favorite slurs around?
Okay, Eddie hadn’t actually seen him do that before, but 99% of his friends did and Eddie’s golden rule was you’re as good as your friends are, so they really weren’t doing Stevie any favors in his book.
Eddie’s staring would have been creepy if anyone had been paying attention, but that didn’t stop him from seeing his fill. He probably wouldn’t have looked away for hours if the scoreboard hadn’t suddenly flashed to life and the coaches hadn’t gathered to talk with the ref.
It seemed this horrible game was finally about to begin. Players shook out their limbs and took last sips of their waters, waiting for what, Eddie had no idea. He’d never bothered to come to a basketball game before. So far it all seemed rather anticlimactic. Where was the adventure? The drama? The stakes? Nowhere to be found because Hawkins was the equivalent of a stale piece of bread.
Eddie resumed his staring and was rewarded with Steve unzipping his jacket. He shrugged it off to reveal a dark green uniform underneath, nicely contrasting his pale skin. His arms were thin but toned, and Eddie didn’t doubt that after a couple more years as the basketball team’s star he’d lose some of that lingering growth spurt scrawniness.
He turned around to set the jacket down and Eddie caught a glimpse of the name sprawled across the back of the jersey.
Harrington .
Steve Harrington. Yep, the pretentiousness all added up. Eddie had the sudden impulse to find out what his middle name was. It wouldn’t be a surprise if he was a Jr., he sure as hell checked all the boxes. Unintentionally, Eddie’s eyes roamed the stands looking for an older copy of the boy before him, but if one was there Eddie couldn’t find him.
A man with a microphone walked to the center of the court and began speaking, thanking everyone for giving up their Friday night to watch asshats peak in their teens. Eddie was only half listening, disturbingly intrigued by the enthusiasm in the stands for a high school sports game, but picked up on the words “semi-finals.”
A big one, then.
Suddenly the man looked directly at Eddie, nearly making him jump. He had forgotten he was actually visible and not just some disembodied spectator. The man gesticulated at him, saying “And feel free to visit our concession stand at any point throughout the game. We have snacks, drinks, candy, and more; a little something for everyone.” Then he moved on to team introductions but the damage was already done. Anyone who hadn’t noticed Eddie before definitely did now.
A lot of eyes turned on him then. Too many; it sent a shiver down his spine. He felt like he was at the gallows, awaiting his execution. He could tell from the corners of his eyes that many Hawkinians were frowning in confusion, whispering to their friends. This definitely wasn’t Eddie Munson’s kind of place, nor his typical Friday night. This damn game was going to ruin the carefully curated image Eddie had spent all of freshman year building. Fucking jocks.
Despite the tension turning his muscles to stone, Eddie made sure to lean back in his chair lazily, sending an uninterested look over the crowd. He had half a mind to put his feet up on the table but didn’t trust the chair not to tip over.
He only felt all the eyes finally slide off him when the Hawkins’ players started to be announced. The seniors had their own little fan club in the stands, especially the team captain—Todd Ferguson, legendary douchebag—presumably trying to make the most out of this gross misuse of school funds when it could possibly be their last time playing for Hawkins High, a real tearjerker.
It was impossible to imagine being sad to leave this dump. Eddie would have invited them all to kiss his ass, then slammed the doors behind him on the way out, never looking back.
But if that had all been a show, then Harrington’s announcement was fucking parade. It felt like every single person in the stands cheered—even the away team. Eddie’s ears rang.
The cheerleaders shook their pom poms and made a tiny little tunnel for him, which, granted, they did do for all the other players, but they were extra enthusiastic for him. Hawkins High’s famous school photographer made sure to get a good photo of him running out and Eddie couldn’t help but feel something sharp twist in his chest.
No one had ever chanted his name before, unless you counted being harassed in the hallways or chased by the police. He couldn’t even imagine someone being so excited to see him, much less the whole school and town combined. He had been going to this shithole for two years and so far all he had to show for it were half-baked threats and the lovely label of Freak . Yet, this freshman—who were universally understood to be the lowest on the totem pole—was already leagues ahead of him in the pecking order.
Eddie never really cared for social hierarchies (it’d been made astronomically clear they would never be to his benefit anyway), but there was something particularly enraging about knowing that a 15 year old could spit on you and receive a pat on the back for it.
With a lead weight in his chest, Eddie knew if it were him being announced before the whole gym, only insults, scowls, and probably even some trash would be lobbed at him.
Like a bur, an ember of resentment embedded itself in his chest and would not prove easy to extract. It had carved out a special place in between his heart and his festering cynicism, claiming the spot for its home, a parasite Eddie couldn’t help but nurture.
Suddenly he realized he’d been choking a bag of cookies to crumbs while watching Harrington smile at the crowd, waving like a king. He moved the ruined snack to the front of the pile and elected to not look at the golden boy for the rest of the night.
It wasn’t even like the guy had ever actually done anything to him . Eddie hadn’t shared so much as a glance with Harrington, much less words. But he found his presence deeply offensive and knew, as if by scrying, how the Hair’s career at Hawkins would go, and sooner or later it would become Eddie’s problem. Because people like him didn’t let people like Eddie forget who owned the world and who was destined to be crushed beneath its heel.
So in conditioned apprehension, Eddie built a wall between Steve Harrington and himself, knowing the distance would eventually come in handy. And by the looks of it, that day would be soon.
As it turned out, basketball was boring!
Barely a half an hour in and Eddie was ready to ask someone to take him out back and put him out of his misery. It was just so… repetitive . Eddie didn’t even have to watch to know what was happening.
Some jock would bounce the ball to one end, shoot, the easily pleased bleacher people would cheer with far too much enthusiasm. Then in some perverse love of torture, they’d run to the other end and do it all again. Round and round they went.
If Eddie wanted to survive the night, he’d have to take his entertainment into his own hands.
He didn’t have many options available to him since he was confined to this plastic prison of a table, but fortunately or unfortunately he still had plenty of community interaction. No one was tripping over themselves to get to his concession stand, but there was a steady stream of people who reluctantly came up to him to buy.
With his years of experience, he was criminally overqualified.
To make the minutes feel less like hours, Eddie took to making jokes and rogue comments in an attempt to get a laugh or rise out of his unhappy patrons. But despite his best efforts most seemed intent on just getting their candy and scuttling away as quickly as possible. Eddie started to think of them as cockroaches.
When one pot bellied man wearing a ‘ Proud Dad of A Hawkins High Basketball Player ’ shirt ordered a Mountain Dew, Eddie kindly asked, “So, which team are you rooting for?” Which was met with a, frankly aggressive, “ Can you read ?”
Needless to say, Eddie’s humor fell on deaf ears.
The buzzer rang through the gym and relief surged through him. Finally it was over! And it was only 10, the night was still oh so very young. Eddie was about to grab his jacket and book it out of there when he noticed everyone else was staying suspiciously sedentary. A few people were queuing outside of the bathroom, but other than that the stands remained full and lively.
Eddie scowled, dread trickling down his spine.
It was then that he noticed the cheerleaders were making their way to the center of the court, assembling themselves in some type of formation. And then it clicked.
Half time.
They were only half way through?
Eddie thought he’d wither away to ash by the end of the game.
With a melodramatic huff he plopped back down, just barely refraining from dropping his head in his hands. He scrunched his eyes in despair and wondered what horrible crimes he must have committed in his past life to be forced to endure such purgatory. Only when he heard someone awkwardly clear their throat did he open his eyes, and freeze.
It was Steve Harrington.
Instinctively his shoulders tensed and his eyes darted behind the freshman, looking for any trailing cronies, but alas, he saw none.
Curious.
Harrington was standing in front of him, alone, breathing heavily from exertion, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple. Suddenly, Eddie realized he didn’t even know who was winning. He didn’t care.
“Can I help you?” Eddie asked once he got his shit together.
Harrington blinked and Eddie noticed he was holding out a dollar. “Two gatorades… please.” The last part was tacked on belatedly and Eddie struggled to parse out the meaning; if Harrington felt compelled to use his manners out of politeness or damage control, as if he thought that’d keep Eddie from throwing the money back in his face. Or maybe Eddie just looked like he had murder on his mind. Really, it could have been all three.
Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t Hawkins’ very own star player get drinks for free?” He was being an ass, but that tended to be his default, especially when his hackles were raised.
Steve tilted his head, as if in genuine contemplation, which was unfortunately amusing. But after a moment he shook his head like an etch-a-sketch, erasing the thought. “Just take the money, man.”
Eddie was almost sad that the jocks had sunk their claws into him already, slowly corrupting him until his heart would inevitably become as shriveled and decayed as theirs. Eddie could have had some fun with a guy like Harrington, he had a feeling there was a complex lattice of layers under that golden boy exterior.
Shame.
With a faint scowl, Eddie plucked the dollar from his hand and pulled out the gatorade box.
“Good game so far. Got a hole in one and all that,” Eddie said partly to be annoying and partly because he didn’t know jack shit about basketball.
Steve frowned, lip twitching in a way Eddie definitely did not notice. “...A three pointer?” His voice was so incredulous it made Eddie laugh.
“Yeah. What’d I say?” Steve was silent in a way that pleased Eddie immensely. He slid over the two orange drinks, chosen solely for Eddie’s hatred of the color. “Here you go. Two for the star.”
Steve stared at him for another beat, then cautiously grabbed the drinks and mumbled a thanks . As he walked away Eddie called out, “Go get ‘em tiger!” He couldn’t help but smile when Steve shook his head, not bothering to look back.
Somehow, that felt like a win.
Eddie: 1. Harrington: 0.
When the game finally did end, Eddie was almost too relieved to believe it. Knowing Nelson, this game was probably a special event that lasted five years and required a blood oath to leave.
With one arm, Eddie unceremoniously swiped all the remaining snacks off the table and into an empty box below. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with it so he decided to leave it for whatever poor schmuck had to close up the school tonight.
He grabbed the home made cash register and made sure all the money was tucked safely inside. Then he closed the lid and locked it with the rusted key.
He didn’t notice the players walking past him, too wrapped up in the pure euphoria of knowing he got to leave , but they sure as hell noticed him.
“Hands where we can see ‘em, Munson,” Todd called with a mocking smile. “Don’t want any of that cash disappearing into your pockets.” His friends laughed, which was ironic since Eddie knew at least one of their fathers was wanted for money laundering. It didn’t escape Eddie’s notice that Steve was among them, smiling half-heartedly, but for the most part keeping quiet.
Todd was a particularly large thorn in Eddie’s side. The nicest way to describe him was an asshole, but Eddie often preferred to use terms more colorful than that. He was a senior and Eddie was counting down the days until his graduation almost as much as his own.
Eddie smiled wickedly, hoping that if it didn’t unnerve the jock it at least disappointed him.
“If I was in the habit of doing that, my dear Todd, then I wouldn’t bother selling you all that molly, now would I?”
Satisfaction warmed Eddie’s chest when Todd’s eyes lit with anger and—by the way his eyes shifted around the semi-crowded gym—a bit of fear.
“Shut your mouth, Munson.” He took a threatening step forward, getting a bit too close for comfort. “Before I shut it for you.”
Eddie fluttered his lashes. “Promise?”
Disgust twisted Todd’s face and he backed up, as if just then noticing how little distance separated them. His lip curled with a revolted noise and he jabbed a finger at Eddie. “You know, perv, one day someone’s gonna to kill you and it’ll be your own damn fault.”
The thought was sobering, making it difficult for Eddie to keep up his taunting expression as needles of anxiety punctured his lungs. It wasn’t dissimilar to the thoughts he’d had himself when he was alone in the dark of night. In fact, it was an ever-looming black cloud of possibility that only seemed to get closer and more certain with each passing day.
And yet, sometimes it was so easy to forget his probable future. To instead think that people only hated him because he insisted on being annoying, not simply because of who he was —an amalgamation of societal labels that automatically landed him on the bottom rung of the world’s most rigged game of ladder ball. His crime was that he existed and he would never know a moment's peace because of it. He didn’t know what kind of future he’d have, if he would ever make it out of this hick town, or how long he’d live. He didn’t know which was scarier, not making it to 21 or actually having to continue living past that.
Because he certainly had never been expecting to.
As a result he had no plan for his life. Not like these dipshits who would probably pay their way into some Ivy League and either work at daddy’s company or settle into a cushy position at some firm. No, the only certainty Eddie had was that one day he’d be six feet under, he just didn’t know when or how.
But with the cards already stacked against him and life destined to trample him into the dirt, Eddie had to take the wins where he could. And that often meant making sure at least one person made these douchebags’ lives difficult.
So even as his throat suddenly felt tight and a yawning pit opened up in his stomach, Eddie just smiled, saluted obnoxiously, and said, “I’ll be sure to pay you a visit from the afterlife, then. But I warn you, the shower is my haunt of choice.”
Todd shook his head, spat, “ Freak ,” and led his gaggle of jocks towards the side door.
“How I love your pet names for me!” Eddie placed a touched hand to his chest, hoping his voice followed Todd like a bad smell.
Some of the others called back unflattering words, but for the most part they ignored him.
He caught Harrington’s eye once before he slipped out the door.
With his mood successfully sullied, Eddie abandoned all previous daydreams of meeting up with the band or working on his campaign. He could barely stand to be in his own skin, much less around other people.
Now, he just wanted to get high.