Read on AO3. Or below the cut!

Thank you for the prompt, it was super fun to work on! :)

-

Robin’s pissing Steve off.

She’s giving him eyes from the other side of Scoops Ahoy, where she’s currently wiping down tables before the afternoon rush. She’s giving him eyes, because two people deep in line stands Billy Hargrove.

Billy’s become somewhat of a summer problem for Steve.

Billy is abhorrent. Lucas taught him that word, and he got it from Max. Max also uses it to describe her brother, so Steve figures he’s merely keeping consistent.

Billy’s got his lifeguard gear on. Short red shorts and a Hawkins Pool tank top, the whistle twirled around his fingers as he spins it. He apparently works at the pool now, which is just great. Steve may hate his own pool, but he does still like swimming. And having to drop the kids off at the public pool knowing he can’t step foot past the gate is a special, sweaty kind of torture for an Indiana brand summer.

Robin draws him out of his mopey thoughts with a tilt of her head and a very unsubtle jab of her elbow toward Billy inching up in line. One more to go and then Steve would have to confront his summer problem head on, yet again.

Billy’s decided his favorite spot to grab a snack is Scoops Ahoy. Something about the combination of fatty treats and berating Steve makes for an afternoon well spent. He usually stays for what Steve assumes is his lunch before he always dumps his trash and leaves, never saying a word.

But he stares. He does do a lot of that.

Billy liked to watch Steve work. Steve would maybe go so far as to say he loved it.

It just made Steve feel antsy. Uncomfortable. Off his center of gravity while he tried to keep busy. It’s not like he could just hang out in the freezer for an hour.

Robin flings herself to the other side of the shop, cleaning product and rag flinging right after her, behind Billy. She kicks her heel out after her with a matching swing of her neck and again, it’s aimed at Billy in line.

Billy, who’s saying something.

“What?”

“Wow, you didn’t hear a word of that did you?” Billy asks him, tongue swiping over red lips. He shakes his head and points slow at the menu above Steve’s head. “I want a triple scoop orange mocha caramel cherry banana double swirl.”

Steve clenches his scoop.

“You mean the Deluxe Fruity Salute?”

Billy’s lips pull wide. “Bingo, buddy!”

“Not your buddy,” Steve grumbles as he goes to pull down a bowl and start scooping.

That’s the other thing.

“Don’t forget the whipped cream or marshmallows or the sprinkles or the chocolate shell,” Billy reminds him.

Billy orders the gross shit nobody else ever orders.

They’re always massive sundaes, a slop really. Triple double scoop? With four toppings? Inconceivable.

And the way he orders. How he insists on listing each individual ingredient, like he’s testing Steve to see if he’s got the menu down. Like he’s trying to catch Steve being bad at his job.

He gets that enough at home, thanks very much.

Steve can feel eyes on him as he assembles Billy’s lunch time monstrosity. By the time he sets it down in all its colorful splendor, Billy’s got his tongue and sharp teeth safely tucked away behind his lips.

He regards his order as he hands over two dollars and eighteen cents.

This sundae is almost an hour’s wage. Every time Billy orders it, Steve seems to remember that.

“Where are the cherries?”

Steve breathes out through his nose. “You didn’t order extra cherries.”

“It comes with them.”

“Yeah, it comes with cherry sauce.”

“I want cherries on top.”

Steve doesn’t even ask for the extra nickel. Just holds Billy’s eyes as he reaches into the bin of cherries, grabs a handful, and drops them in a mess over his ice cream.

“Have a nice day.”

Billy snorts a laugh and grabs up his sundae. He shovels a spoonful in his mouth and hums, whip cream over his top lip.

“Where’s that Scoops spirit?”

Steve will bludgeon Billy with his scoop. He will.

“Hope you have clear skies and calm waters as ye set sail, matey. Don’t come back.”

The wicked grin is back and he saunters off to his usual table.

And because the shop is empty save for him, Robin, and Billy, Steve adds:

“And shave that moustache, you look ridiculous.”

He heads to the freezer to laughter.

–

Robin finds him spoon deep in the chocolate.

“Jesus,” she swears when she sees him crouched on the floor of the freezer. “You’ve been in here thirty minutes.”

“Yeah.” Another spoonful down the gullet. He lets the spoon hang there in his mouth, eyebrows twisting up. “Don’t make me go back out there.”

“Stop mumbling and get up, dingus. While I find this strange male ritual very amusing, I don’t exactly want to find you after work frozen solid. How am I supposed to get to the gallons behind your body, huh?”

“Robin,” he whines.

She only holds out her hand to help him up.

“I guess set that out then. Cross contamination you know.”

Steve takes another scoop out of pettiness and sets the top back on. Sets the gallon on the floor.

“I’ll get it after work.”

“Good. Come on, let’s go face your mortal enemy.”

“So you can watch our supposed ritual behavior?” She sniffs at that, mouth going crooked. “What does that even mean?”

Robin rolls her eyes. “Boys.”

–

Billy comes back the next day, like clockwork.

He’s wearing different clothes at least. Tight jeans and a red tee shirt. Normal, for Billy’s standards. No whistle, but Steve sees the gold necklace he’s always wearing imprinted beneath his shirt.

“Eyes are up here, Captain,” comes Billy’s stern voice and Steve snaps his gaze up. Billy laughs.

“I’m sorry, you’re just always practically naked,” Steve tells him, flat. “Didn’t know you knew how to put a shirt on, Hargrove.”

Billy looks away, huffy. But he stays curiously silent.

“What, no embittered retort?”

“Retort?” Billy scoffs, meeting his eyes again. They drag up to the menu.

“I work with Robin all day, I can’t help that we’re becoming the same person.”

Billy hums to that as he reads.

“Speak my name and I am summoned,” Robin singsongs as she rounds the corner. She’s got an inventory sheet in hand. “Hey, Dingus 2.0.”

“2.0?”

“Yeah, you and Steve, the original dingus. Lifeguard meets sailor? Both idiots? It fits.”

“Hey,” Steve and Billy echo together. Steve says, “I thought I was special.”

“Course you did,” Billy chimes.

Robin snorts and Steve sets his scoop down.

“Go ahead. Gang up on me. Get it over with.”

Billy hasn’t looked away from the menu.

Robin starts, leaning forward to rest on her elbows by the register. “You know why Stevie here is so grumpy all the time?”

“Why?”

She drops to a whisper. “His little minions brought in a treasure map last week. You know, X marks the spot? Steve hasn’t been able to find it yet.”

Billy’s teeth make their first appearance of the afternoon and Steve knows it’ll be a long day.

“You’ve been treasure hunting without me, pretty boy?” Billy sighs. He nods at whatever he’s decided to get and looks back to Steve. “You’re breaking my heart.”

Steve groans, burying his face in his hands. “Just order. Please. There’s no map. What the hell, Robin?”

“Guess you’re right,” she allows, straightening up. “We aren’t pirates after all.”

“You could always mutiny,” Billy offers. “Go rogue, use that scoop as an eyepatch.”

“Depends on how much you’re looking to piss me off today, Hargrove. Order your damn ice cream.”

“Touchy,” he says, holding his hands up. “Such a sensitive King of the Pirates. Go put that scoop over your eye, set sail for a while. Cool off.” Steve lifts the scoop in warning and Billy finally, finally says, “I’ll have the choco stick banana cream blueberry strawberry mint chip cookies and cream maximum twist.”

“So you want a Walk the Plank.” Steve gives him a tight lipped smile. “How many scoops and what toppings?”

“Quadruple triple.”

“What?” he asks, caught off guard. “That’s not possible.”

“Twelve scoops, first mate. Chop chop. Or scoop scoop, I guess.”

“Har–Billy. That’s gonna be like eight bucks.”

Billy shrugs.

How much do they pay at the public pool and why is Steve still working at Scoops?

He goes to start the order, feeling dazed.

“Also, don’t forget the whipped cream or the banana slices or the gummy bears or the oreos or the chocolate chips or the strawberry syrup.” Steve can hear the grin in his voice as he scoops. “Or the cherries.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Billy settles in, gets comfortable. Plants an elbow in a mirror of Robin as he cocks a hip out.

“So, Buckley,” he says, and Steve inwardly groans. “How much treasure we talking?”

Robin’s only more than happy to oblige, play into the game. “Oh, Billy, how glad I am you asked! Legend tells of a mighty load.”

“Mighty load, huh?”

“Oh yeah.”

Steve is facing the back wall, planning the layout of twelve scoops and how they’ll all fit into one bowl. He might need two. Maybe three. But he can see Robin’s face, and her cheeks are a little red. Which is weird.

“A huge booty,” she goes on and Steve’s ears prick up at that. He recognizes that tone. “I mean, juicy.”

Okay…

“Juicy,” Billy drawls. “How big is this booty exactly, and how long has Harrington here been itching to get his hands on it?”

Okay.

“Oh, all summer. For sure.”

Steve turns back to start scooping, knowing Billy’s looking right at him as he does it. He tries to keep the fact his temper is growing shorter by the second from showing on his face. That would give it away.

“All summer. Why, I’ve been around all summer. You think I would’ve noticed.”

“Fancy that,” Robin wonders. “I’ll bet–”

“Here’s your order!” Steve cries out, setting down a half finished bowl. He dives into the bins of toppings and starts throwing fistfuls at Billy’s sundae. Half of them miss, scattering all over the counter, spilling onto the floor. Some hit Billy before bouncing off, and he catches a stray marshmallow. Pops it between his teeth like it’s a delicacy.

“Harrington, you forgot the plank.”

Steve grabs a choco stick and plunges it straight in the middle.

“That doesn’t look very plank worthy,” Robin says, and she’s still got that shit eating tone Steve hates so much at times like these.

“I agree,” Billy adds, rolling the marshmallow around.

Steve points at the choco stick. “Climb up it and jump off for all I care. Get the hell out of my face.”

Billy’s eyes go wide. And sure, Steve knows he’s being a little hard on the guy, maybe harder than usual. It ruins the strange rhythm they’ve found themselves in since Billy started spending his lunch hours here.

But he cannot risk him finding out, okay?

That would be awful.

Truly life ruining.

And Robin grins, smug and knowing, like she doesn’t care about Steve’s plight in the least.

He’s got a crush. It’s stupid. And Robin’s been flaunting it every chance she gets.

Billy goes without a word.

Steve flees to the freezer and only realizes after ten minutes of trying to lower his heart rate that Billy didn’t even pay.

He marches back out, marches straight for Billy and where he sits. He’s not even eating.

Steve ignores the way sprinkles and cherries mash under his shoes as he comes to a stop by his table.

Billy’s stirring the spoon around his one single, towering bowl of ice cream.

Without looking up, he says, “Sit down or take a picture, Harrington.”

“Pay up.”

Billy wordlessly tugs his wallet out, flips it open and pulls out a ten. He bypasses Steve’s hand to stuff it in the front of his apron. His hand brushes his crotch and Steve grits his teeth.

“Keep the change, king.”

Billy keeps stirring.

Good. Great. Billy paid. Time to go back to the freezer and eat his feelings.

But Steve can’t make himself move.

“What now, Harrington?” Billy sighs, and keeps stirring.

“You gonna even eat that mess?”

“Huh? Yeah.”

“Well, eat some then.”

Billy keeps stirring.

“Go on. Get to it, Hargrove.”

Billy purses his lips. “Seems to be pissing you off, this. You should go take five, keep looking for that treasure.”

“There is no treasure.”

Billy’s eyebrows lift. He shrugs. “I don’t know, man. You seem pretty high strung whenever I come in. Can’t imagine why.”

Steve’s eyes twitches. He slaps a hand on the table and it gets Billy finally lifting his head.

Then Billy lifts a dripping spoonful of cookies and cream and slips it in his awful, horrendous mouth, lets it drip down his chin. He grabs at a napkin, wipes at his skin slow.

“Oops.” Then, smirking, “Like what you see, sailor? Or should I call you seaman?”

Steve snaps.

He snatches the bowl and upends it on Billy’s lap.

Billy stands so quickly, he pushes the table back, swearing and flipping his shirt up to try and keep the cold from his skin.

“Fucking Christ, Steve!” he snaps. “What the fuck did you do that for?”

Steve gets the spoon thrown at his chest for good measure, but not before he sees the splotch of purple on Billy’s hip. Shirt up, purple, shirt down, shirt up, purple, shirt down.

“I liked this fucking shirt, man.”

Steve says, “Get out,” but it comes out too weak to be intimidating like he wants.

Billy’s a spluttering, angry mess. He grabs a fistful of napkins and wipes at himself. It’ll stain, one hundred percent.

A minute ago, if Steve had thought to hold onto a bottle of syrup, he’d have squeezed it at Billy to top it off. But now he feels a little lightheaded.

Billy’s giving him that look like he’s been talking and Steve’s been spacing out again, which, fair. He steps in close then, too close, bumps his chest against Steve’s and Steve braces himself for a hit. It doesn’t come.

Instead, Billy’s got his hand down his apron and is digging out the ten he’d put there earlier.

He digs for probably longer than necessary, and Steve isn’t dumb, okay? He knows what Billy’s doing. He’s just a little shocked resident ladies man Billy Hargrove would dare to play chicken like this.

Steve’s got a stupid crush. That’s the only dumb thing about this. Billy doesn’t want him. Steve shouldn’t want Billy.

A summer problem.

Billy finally withdraws his hand, holds up the bill so that it flaps in Steve’s face.

“Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, pretty boy,” he drawls, sugary slow. All put upon sweet. “And make sure you bring extra fucking napkins if you’re gonna pull this shit again.”

And then he’s gone, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Steve is fuming, and empty, and pissed, and sad, and he’s tired of working here.

Robin’s just shaking her head when he goes back to grab a broom and paper towels.

“You should tell him,” she says, all her earlier teasing gone. “He should know.”

“Why? So he can push my teeth down my throat? No thanks.”

“Call it intuition.”

“What?”

He meets her eyes mid sweep and Robin is giving him a familiar look. The one that was so sad in a bathroom stall on one of their breaks and she was crying over who he thought was a boy.

It was not a boy.

So yeah, Robin knows. Because they trust each other, and who the hell else would Steve ever tell?

But now that Robin’s looking so sympathetic, he feels a strange flare of…something.

“What are you talking about?”

She shrugs. “Just think he’d listen is all.”

“Have you seen the guy?”

“Uh, yeah. Which is why I’m calling it,” she says, pausing for some big reveal, he knows, “Intuition.”

And, huh.

Intuition.

–

It is a very humid ninety-nine degrees outside on Saturday afternoon in Hawkins, Indiana.

Billy shows up at his usual time. His hair is curled a little more than usual, he’s got a bounce in his step, and his eyes are scary, frankly. Zeroed in on Steve like he owes him money.

But when Billy gets to the front of the line, all Steve can manage is, “A turtleneck. In this weather?”

Billy shrugs. He’s wearing a red turtleneck and he has to be hot, he has to.”

“I felt like I shouldn’t walk around so naked all the time, you know?” he says casually. “Caught wind of somebody having a huge stick up their ass about it the other day.”

Steve bristles. “Yeah, wonder who it could have been.”

“A real mystery.” He sweeps his eyes up and down Steve’s torso, doesn’t smile. “Rumor has it the guy’s on the hunt for something buried.”

Steve doesn’t have the energy for this today. “What’ll it be, Hargrove?”

“Come on, you can manage a little fun, can’t you, Harrington?”

“No.”

Billy scoffs like he’s no fun.

“I’ll have a single scoop of vanilla ice cream,” Billy says. “Please.” And it’s said with a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Seriously?”

“Am I not a paying customer?”

“Well, yeah. But–”

“Then I’ll have what I said. A, uh.” Blue eyes flick to the menu and back. “Seafoam Special.”

“That’s not even a dollar.”

“So?”

“You–” he says, then stops. “Fine. Whatever.”

Billy slides over a dollar bill and leaves to sit at a table toward the front. His jeans are tight enough Steve can see the faded outline of where he keeps his wallet in his back pocket.

It’s so radically out of the ordinary, Steve just stands there staring at him for a long moment before his body catches up with his brain.

He grabs a cone and a scoop and thinks.

Robin slides open the pane behind him, hisses for him to turn around.

“What?”

She jerks her chin at Billy with ultra wide eyes. Frowns. “Tell him,” she mouths and slides the panel shut.

Steve sighs, world weary and tired and wanting to be off work already.

He trusts Robin. He does. If she’s right? What does that even look like?

Steve doesn’t know. He can’t even picture it. But he wants, suddenly. Chews on his lip while he decides if what he’s about to do would work or get his ass handed to him.

Only one way to find out.

–

Steve walks over to Billy to hand him his order personally when he’s done. He can feel his pulse thumping away.

“What is this?” Billy asks him, sounding more than a little wary.

“A banana split.”

Billy takes it.

A waffle cone topped with three scoops of vanilla, drizzle of chocolate syrup, slices of strawberry in a floret around a probably too big dollop of whip cream, a banana split in half stuck down the center with cherries on top in a neat spill. And sprinkles.

Billy looks at it like it’s about to bite him, and maybe it is.

“Sorry,” Steve offers. “About yesterday.”

Billy seems to weigh his words. His free hand smoothes over the formica tabletop, back and forth, back and forth. He raps his knuckles against it and takes a bite of the banana, licks at the cream. Gets some on his upper lip and looks a little shy as he swipes it away with his thumb.

“You can make it up to me,” Billy tells him, and it’s a mutter if Steve’s ever heard one.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Got any ideas?”

Steve puts his hands on his hips. “A few.”

“I have some too. Been coming up with some good ones all summer.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Billy says. “This place is good for thinking up plans.”

Steve feels his face heat with the way Billy’s looking at him. He crumbles, sliding into the seat across from him.

“Like what?”

Billy takes another bite of the banana. Licks a stripe through the syrup and cream until he gets a cherry between his teeth. He sucks it down and chews, eyes glittering.

“How’d you feel about hunting down some treasure with me after your shift, pretty boy?”

Billy’s knee nudges his beneath the table and his throat feels tight, his arms weightless. Steve laughs, surprised and relieved all at once, and doesn’t even care how red he has to be.

“It’s a date, Billy.”

Billy smiles, genuine. “Good answer, Steve.”