Chapter Text
Steve doesn’t really understand what’s been up with him lately. It’s not like he’s breaking out, or or has a new scar or anything- more so the opposite. He keeps catching glances of himself in the mirror and finds someone… softer staring back. His hair looks great, naturally. He cracked that code freshman year, thank you very much. His skin is clear, which is more of a rarity. Some badly timed stress acne had been flaring up earlier in the school year, but finally all of it had faded away into blissful nonexistence. The thing that’s really tripping Steve up is honestly his lips. During that same acne period, Steve had been biting his bottom lip nonstop. Between demodogs, mind flayers, and a shit-ton of babysitting, he’d been a little stressed out, okay? His bottom lip had suffered from it, but now, now his lip had somehow overcompensated. Like all the skin he gnarled off in between biting his grubby nails had grown back smoother, almost redder.
It was weird. Steve couldn’t stop looking at it. He’d snarl a little bit in the mirror, just trying to look a little rougher. Every time, all he saw was this pearly-skinned baby. He looked younger, softer. Ugh. It was annoying, and confusing- why and more importantly how was this result of stress induced from almost dying all fall?
Whatever the reason behind it, it had Steve feeling self conscious. Which was maybe why he was overcompensating with a button-up. He fiddled with the top button, twisting it back and forth. Sitting on a bench in Starcourt, waiting for the clock to strike 2:00pm to try and get an interview at a fucking ice cream shop. It wasn’t his first choice by far, but after two weeks of straight interviewing, it was basically his last option. Well, his last option if he didn’t want to work at Spencer Gifts. Everyone there reeked of weed and had greasy hair… Steve was willing to dawn the crappy sailor's uniform if it meant Nancy didn’t see him having to ring up sex toys.
1:58. Close enough. Steve cleared his throat, adjusted his top button one more time, and stood to start his own personal walk of shame. He heard that the hourly rate at Scoop’s Ahoy was horrible, but at this point he really didn’t have any other option. At the counter, an wired 30 year old stood adjusting the cash register. He had close-cropped hair, and was clean shaven, taller than Steve. His nametag read “Warren”.
“Hi, could I speak to the manager?” Steve should have cleared his throat again, his voice warbled slightly and he clenched his jaw, embarrassed.
“You’re looking at him. How can I help you?” His eyes stayed on the register, seemingly messing with the cash drawer. “I can tell you right now that I don’t do pint returns, I’ve heard that too many times this past week.”
“Ha, no.” Steve started, fiddling with the end of the countertop. “I was actually wondering if you’re hiring? I have my resume with me,” burning a hole in his back pocket, the "Experience" part sadly minimal.
Warren looked up from the register, finally. His eyebrows were raised, eyes glittering with what Steve was reading as light excitement. “Really? How soon could you start?”
“What?” Steve must have heard him wrong. “Don’t you, don’t you need my resume?”
“Well, you don’t look like a punk,” Warren leaned over the counter, scanning Steve up and down. “You’re wearing dress shoes to an ice cream shop, and I’ve got a doctor’s appointment at 3pm that I was absolutely positive I’d have to miss because we’re understaffed. So, I’ll ask again. How soon could you start?”
Steve blinked, doing a mental calculation. He wasn’t technically needed anywhere else today- why not? “Now! I can start now. My name’s Steve.” The taller man shook his hand, “I’m Warren. I’ll have you fill out some paperwork in the back room while I try and find a spare uniform. What size are you for a shirt and a pair of shorts?”
Oh crap. Shorts? Steve was almost certain they wore pants. Then again, he never was really focused on behind the counter when he was taking Dustin out begrudgingly for an ice cream. But shorts were much harder to make look cool. Pants and a stupid sailor hat, he could muster. A stupid sailor hat and shorts? Kill him now. But, he was stuck now.
“Sure! Sounds good. I’m uh, I’m a size medium for both.”
“And do you have nonslip shoes?” Steve really hadn’t expected to get this far.
“I don’t actually. I could run home and grab some sneakers? I could be back in around 40 minutes.” Starcourt wasn’t out of the way for Indiana, but it was definitely further than Hawkins High. 20 minutes there and back would kill a chunk of his gas money budget.
“No, no,” Warren waved his hand, distracted by the clock on the wall. “I gotta be gone by then, I have an extra pair of sneakers I can lend you, just bring in your own tomorrow. Or whenever you can work again, you’ll put your schedule down on the sheet.”
Warren led Steve back through a door behind the counter, leading to a small staff room with a table and a couple chairs. There was a whiteboard on the wall, and a sliding screen that allowed people at the front of the store to talk to people in the break room. Along the back wall of the room were some larger freezers and another door, maybe an exit?
Before too long, Steve had filled out the shockingly short employment paperwork, and was changing in the staff bathroom off of the break room. The shirt of the uniform was fine, aside from the stupid little cape in the back. The problem Steve was really having came from the hat and the shorts. The shorts were a little too short and a little too tight, but he knew from the weird proportions of the waist that if he asked for a size up, they’d probably fall off of him. He had to push his hair back on his forehead to make the hat stay on, effectively killing the one part of his looks that he actually felt was working for him.
Staring in the mirror, he sighed. Heavily. This was a rough trade-off for $3.00 an hour.
Back out at the front of the store, Warren was gathering his stuff up into a duffel bag. “Okay, I don’t necessarily have time to train you, but Rob’s going to be here in about half an hour, you’ll just be back-up for the 3pm rush. A lot of the local kids will be in camps or summer school before then, but it’ll be a lot more people at 3. But you’ll get the hang of it really quick, it’s just scooping ice cream, not rocket science.” Steve nodded, a little overwhelmed. “Oh, and you’ll get a name tag after your paperwork is processed at corporate. It takes a little bit of time to send in the mail, so just use this until it arrives.” Warren hands him a small plastic name tag.
“Alex?” Steve’s confused, to say the least. “Isn’t that more weird than having no name tag?” Warren wrote something down on a notepad before responding.
“I mean, it’s policy. It’s like the hat, you know? Can’t be Scoops Ahoy INC. without a name tag. Oh, the joys of the modern work-place.” Warren laughed dryly. “Don’t worry about locking up, Rob’s got it covered. But hang in to see how it’s done, because I imagine you’ll probably get a key at some point.” He turned around, giving Steve a rare moment of his full attention. “Thanks again for just jumping in here, Steven. It means a lot.” He shouldered the duffel bag, sighing. “I’m going to change and then leave out the back exit, so you’re on your own for about 25 minutes. Think you can handle it?”
Steve’s gut reaction was to say “I don’t even know how to use the cash register”, but his father’s voice droned in the back of his head about responsibility, ownership, and professionalism. “Yep! I got it. Thank you for the job.”
Warren smiled tiredly. “Don’t thank me until after your first day. See you soon!” He hurried out the door, the hinges squeaking.
Steve took a deep breath, orienting himself. The mall was quiet, which he was grateful for. If it was busy right off the bat, he didn’t know if he could handle it. He shifted in the sneakers, one size too big. At least this Rob guy would be here soon, and could hopefully train him a bit. Steve figured the first thing he could do was at least figure out where everything is. The counter looked a little dirty, so the first thing would be some sort of cleaner, right?
Underneath the counter closest to the ice cream was cones, napkins, extra utensils… And a small spray bottle! Yes! He grabbed it, and a rag from the pile next to it. It was unlabeled, but there could only be so many cleaners in an ice cream shop, right? Unless it was the bathroom cleaner. But you wouldn’t put that near the food… right? It was dawning on Steve just how little experience he had in the workplace, his resume sitting dormant in the pocket of his khakis.
“Um, excuse me?”
SLAM, Steve went to stand up at the voice, flinching hard, and hit his head on the slight overhang of the ice cream counter. “Fuck!”
He stood up, a little blearily, and prayed to god that it wasn’t a kid or a Mormon mom looking for a scoop. Luckily, it was neither. Unluckily, it was someone his age. Or at least around his age. A skinny white guy with lots of curly black hair tied up in a loose bun was staring back at him. He had pierced ears, glinting silver in the fluorescents. ‘A punk?’ Steve thought, hazily. His head was pounding. His eyes finally refocused on the guy’s shirt, a Metallica emblem shining underneath a bright yellow lanyard.
“You okay there,” The guy asked, eyes flicking down to Steve’s shirt, “Alex?”
Steve flushed, his face heating. Not exactly the first customer interaction he had wanted. “Uh, yeah. All good. How can I help you?”
The guy put both hands on the counter closest to the glass, leaning forward. “Well, I’m usually here to bother Warren for a free scoop of Rocky Road, but I guess with the change in management I’ll have to pay again, huh?” Steve blinked, confused.
“Oh, I’m not the manager. I just got hired, uh, 30 minutes ago? But as far as free ice cream, I don’t know if I-” Steve caught a frog in his throat, hard. He cleared his throat a couple times, trying to get rid of it. “Sorry, I don’t know if I can-” what the fuck was wrong with him? His voice was pitched too high, too croaky. Had he damaged his vocal cords by hitting his head? “I don’t know if I can give away my first sale here.”
The guy had cocked his head and a Cheshire-cat grin. He sighed, flopping his head over to the other side. “Well, if it comes down to it, I guess I’ll scrape some pennies together. If you’re not too concussed to handle the heavy machinery that is an ice cream scooper, I’ll take a scoop of the Mint Chocolate Chip.” Steve’s ears heated at the mention of his clumsiness.
“Yeah, of course. Um, do you want a cone or a bowl?”
“Cone, obviously. Anyone who gets a bowl doesn’t know how to eat ice cream.” Steve chuckled at that, looking for a scooper.
“You’re not wrong.” There it is! He grabbed it, now keen on finding both the cones and the mint ice cream. Cones were easy, right up top. The ice cream was harder. “Um, just-”
The guy pointed towards the end, still smiling. “It’s on that side, space cadet.”
Steve bristled at that, peeved. “All right, chill out.” He finally found the mint chip, wedging the glass case open.
“Oh I’m chilled. Iced cold.” He had slid down to the side where Steve had moved, still hovering on the other side of the ice cream. “Frozen, in fact.” Steve dug into the ice cream with the scoop in his right hand, slightly surprised at how little give the dessert had.
“You sure you need ice cream, then?” He plopped the scoop onto the cone, a little harsh. He thanked whatever god in heaven there was that the cone didn’t crack.
“Oh yeah, for sure. I’m practically addicted to my mid-afternoon treat at this point.” His eyes gleamed as he continued to yammer at Steve. “You’ll be seeing a lot of me.” And then he winked.
He fucking winked. Steve was going to explode.
Instead of doing that, he took a deep breath and handed over the cone. “That will be…” He looked up at the board behind him, squinting. “A dollar twenty five.” He looked at the register in front of him, and punched in the numbers. It made some kind of noise, and opened the cash drawer, so he assumed he did something right.
The guy dug through his pocket with one hand, going to lick the ice cream held in his other. His tongue jutted out, and Steve unfortunately found himself distracted as yet another piercing glittered back at him under the lights. ‘A tongue piercing?’ Steve thought, annoyed. ‘Really?’ It was one thing to be this energetic at a random time in the afternoon, it was another to be this energetic, annoying, and a punk. Steve could only handle so much stimuli in one moment before he reverted into douchebag mode. He figured he had about 30 seconds before he hit that.
Finally, the dude slapped down 6 quarters onto the counter. “Could I have a napkin, too? I’m messy.” He wiggled his eyebrows, going back to his cone for another lick. Steve breathed heavily through his nose while he grabbed a paper napkin by the register.
“Of course. Here, have a nice day.” Handing over the napkin, the two of their hands touched. The guy’s hands were weirdly cold. Like, iced cold. Maybe he wasn’t lying when he said it was frozen.
“Oh I will now.” This guy just couldn’t stop smiling. A rogue stroke of chocolate was across one of his canines, sharp and prominent. “I’m Eddie, by the way. It’s been nice meeting you, Alex. Keep the change by the way, that’s your tip.” He stuck out his tongue at that, quick, trying to get even more of a rise out of Steve.
He started to respond with a correction on his name, when Eddie chirped “Oh, and close the glass. Otherwise, everything’ll melt. Don’t want to lose your job before you even have it!” With that, he bowed dramatically, holding out the ice cream to the side, and rushed out.
Steve put a hand on the door of the case, and slammed it shut.
It was going to be a long summer.