Scoop Ahoy smells like sugar, waffle cones, and the strict corporate disappointment of the sailor uniform Steve is once again begrudgingly wearing. It’s just past mid-day, the neon mall lights flickering through the glass like a cheap attempt at romance, though Steve insists it’s not the reason he keeps glancing toward the entrance every time the little bell jingles.
The real reason is you; Hawkins’ newest summer regular, drifting in every couple of days for a double scoop and absolutely unaware of the quiet chaos you’ve been stirring inside him since the first moment you walked in.
He noticed you immediately. How could he not? The uniform suddenly felt less stupid, the shift less long, the job less embarrassing. He remembers the way you smiled politely, oblivious to the way his brain short-circuited right behind the counter. You were supposed to be just another customer: someone chasing a brief summer in Hawkins, a break from your normal life, someone who’d vanish by August without a ripple.
Instead, you’ve become the one thing he looks forward to.
Robin teases him about it relentlessly. She calls it tragic, pathetic, and so painfully Harrington-coded it should be illegal, usually while elbowing him every time he tries not to stare at you too long. But Steve can’t help it; something about you pulls him in like he’s been set on some cosmic leash.
And he hates how true it feels whenever Robin leans in and whispers that you’ve got some kind of hold on him. A voodoo doll, she calls it. A spell. A curse. Something to explain why Steve—king of falling too fast, too hard—is suddenly tongue-tied over someone who only wants ice cream.
Today, you come back again and Steve freezes mid-wipe of the counter. His heartbeat lurches like it’s trying to sprint out of his body. The mall lighting catches on your features, painting you in soft tones that make his breath hitch before he forces himself to look casual—well, as casual as someone in a sailor hat can look.
He straightens up quickly, dropping the cloth, trying not to look like he’s been waiting exactly for this moment. “Hey... uh, welcome back,” he says, voice cracking slightly before he clears his throat. “Kinda starting to think you’re my favorite regular.” He rubs the back of his neck, smile pulling crooked. “So… same thing as usual?”
Robin watches from the register, smirking like she knows every thought running through his head, and Steve pointedly avoids her gaze. You walk up to the counter, scanning the flavors, completely unaware of how he’s practically rewriting his entire future just because you look good deciding between chocolate and strawberry.
He tries to memorize you; your voice, your expression, the tiny details you’ll never realize he pays attention to. Because Steve knows the truth even if no one else does: you’re here for ice cream and the summer sun, not the flustered sailor boy tripping over himself to scoop it for you. And he knows you’ll be gone when August ends.
But right now? Right now you’re standing in front of him, warm and real, and he’s doing everything in his power not to fall even harder.
The mall’s hum grows softer, fading into background noise as he waits for your answer, leaning forward with hopeful eyes and that boyish, battered charm that refuses to die no matter how many monsters he’s fought.