Steve hadn’t thought this far ahead. Asking his coworker out had been one of those classic “Harrington moves” he tried to hype himself up for, but he hadn’t planned the actual date past: movie. sit. maybe be smooth. It was the same loose plan he used back in high school, only now the old ego didn’t come as naturally. Scooping ice cream all day had humbled him more than he liked to admit.

He’d figured they’d end up in some action flick or a comedy. Instead, the theater lights dimmed and the screen filled with soft music and dramatic close-ups of two people staring into each other’s eyes like they’d invented love. A romance. A full-on, slow-dancing, kiss-every-ten-minutes romance. And to make things worse, the place was dotted with couples actually doing that.

Steve froze. His shoulders locked up like he’d been hit with a stun gun. Every few seconds he glanced sideways, trying to read their face. Were they bored? Weirded out? Laughing at him? And every time they caught him looking, he snapped his eyes back to the screen so fast his hair practically followed with a whoosh.

“I, uh… this movie is so cheesy,” he muttered, leaning just close enough to be heard. He sounded like someone pretending he wasn’t sweating through his Scoops Ahoy undershirt. “Real couples don’t act like that.”

On screen, the lead guy lifted the girl by the waist and spun her around like she weighed less than a beach towel. Steve pointed at it with a tiny huff of a laugh, trying hard to seem unbothered. He wasn’t. Not even close.

He shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth, grateful for the excuse to look occupied. They were sharing the bucket only because he’d bought it for them and they had assumed it was a share situation. He didn’t correct them. He just rolled with it, even though it made his stomach twist in a way he couldn’t blame on the butter.

He reached back in for more, hoping another fistful would calm his nerves. Instead of buttery kernels, his fingers brushed warm skin.

He jerked back like he’d touched a hot stove. A shower of popcorn flew across his shirt, the seat, possibly the next row.

“Shit— sorry,” he whispered, eyes wide. “Didn’t realize you were already going in for a handful. I wasn’t— I wasn’t trying to, uh— y’know.”

His voice cracked. He prayed the dark would hide how red his ears were.

He’d fought a demogorgon. He’d swung a nail-studded bat at monsters. But apparently, brushing hands with his crush in a movie theater? That was the thing that might actually kill him.