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wishful thinking (a steve harrington one-shot)

based on the prompt: “You come here often?” “Well, I work here. So I think I’d have to say ‘yes’.”

pairing: steve harrington x reader

word count: 1.8k

a/n: hello! i don’t bite. i promise. feel free to pick something from the prompt list and drop it on my inbox maybe? or just leave our suggestion k byeeeee enjoy

—        Of all the awful things about working at The Gap - the long hours, dealing with (annoying) people, having to fold hundreds of neon shirts countless times throughout the day, doing inventory - the thing you hated the most was closing up the store. 

      You hated the creepy, empty environment, having to check every room to see if there was anyone there (yup, like a robber would yell “hey, over here!”), and having to turn off all the lights before locking everything up. 

(Even though you were over eighteen, you still flipped the switch and ran upstairs every time you grabbed a cup of water in the middle of the night at home.)

(You did the exact same thing at The Gap. Turned off switches and just ran.)

(Good thing there was no one to watch you.)

(Except, y’know, the imaginary robber.)

      And today, it would be your lucky day to close up the shop. 

      You were dreading it. 

      And you were also regretting agreeing to see Friday The 13th with your brother that past weekend, cause now your mind was playing tricks on you. 

      First, you could’ve sworn that a blazer with very dramatic shoulder pads on the fitting room was actually a person, and almost had a heart attack. 

      Then, a hanger fell out of nowhere from a pile as you were locking up the break room and you were pretty certain that if someone, anyone, was hiding out trying to rob The Gap they’d be deaf by now, because you let out the most embarrassing, ear piercing scream you could muster. 

      And now you were hearing footsteps. 

      Taking a deep breath and praying to God it was all in our head, you hid behind a rack of ugly neon shirts, holding an iron that you found at the back to your chest. 

      Someone was approaching. 

      Someone had actually entered the store, and you hang onto the iron until you heard that said someone was close and just…

      “Hello?”

      Threw it at them. 

      “Oh my God, you could’ve killed me!” The intruder yelled, and “Oh my God, what the fuck are you doing here?!”, you yelled back, coming out of your hiding spot. 

      The intruder was wearing a ridiculous sailor outfit. 

      The intruder was Steve Harrington. 

      You let out a breath of relief. You knew Steve. You went to high school together. He was a major dick but had fantastic hair. 

      “I heard someone screaming and I came running to check out what happened.” He still seemed startled by almost getting hit on the face with an ironing device. 

      “Oh. Sorry.” You picked up the iron from where it landed, a feet away from him “I hope this isn’t broken or my manager is gonna murder me.”

      “You could’ve killed me, Y/N.” 

      “Sorry, wasn’t expecting a knight in shining armor.” You replied sarcastically and Steve rolled his eyes. 

      Typical you, he thought. Queen of Sarcasm. 

      “Anyway, is everything okay?” 

      “Uh, sure, it was just an… well, I think you deserve the truth.” You knew that if you two were still in high school you’d get mocked endlessly once that got out but, at the moment, you couldn’t care less “I got spooked by a hanger that fell. It was very creepy and I watched a horror movie on pure peer pressure so I might be traumatized for life. Sorry.”

      “You’re closing this entire thing alone?” Steve looked concerned and you guessed the rumors were true. 

      King Steve had changed from High School to now. 

      “Yes, but I am almost done. I think. I kinda got distracted after the hanger thing and I started hearing footsteps.”

      “Do you need help?”

      “Yes!” You replied, maybe a little too eagerly. 

(Not because he was King Steve With The Good Hair and all of that.)

(You hated closing so much that if Freddy Krueger had offered you help, you might’ve taken him for it.)

(Okay, maybe not.)

      Steve gave you a sideways smile - one of those that, maybe once upon a time, would’ve made your heart do little pirouettes, taking the iron from your hands “I hate closing alone too. And Ahoy is probably as big as your fitting room.”

      “You on solo duty tonight too?”

      “Yes, Robin uhm, she had to leave early” He seemed embarrassed “She had ahm, lady problems”

      You scoffed “Steve, y’know that’s a lie right?” 

      He actually looked appalled and you wanted to laugh. 

      “The girl who was supposed to close up with me beat me up to it and used the exact same excuse to our manager. I’d be mad if I hadn’t done the same thing last time.”

(You really hated locking up the store.)

      You’d feel bad for Steve if you didn’t have an amazing memory and remembered when, a long time ago, when you two were juniors, had  Science together and had to do a presentation in front of the class. 

      He bailed on your group by saying he had basketball practice every single time you guys tried to schedule a meeting. 

(Your group ended up doing the entire thing without him.)

(Still put his name on the final paper because he was King Steve and all the boys were terrified.)

(On the day of the presentation, he said three lines as charmingly as possible, made the teacher blush and got an A overall.)

      “Can you help me fold these ugly shirts? Then I’ll just lock the register and on our merry way we go.”

      “Sure thing.”

      Should you say something?, you wondered. Were you two even friends? You were friendly enough, you supposed, he may have been king of Hawkings High, but you weren’t a complete loser. 

(Or at least you hoped you weren’t.)

(Fuck, were you?)

(Hell, it didn’t even matter now.)

      And what could you even say?

      Nice hair? Nice uniform? Fun summer huh? 

      So you decided to let the comfortable silence reign. 

      Meanwhile.  

      The silence was getting uncomfortable in Steve’s head. 

      Should he say something? Robin talked about you often enough. Said you gave her all of your employees discount and were saving up money to go to some fancy Ivy League. He didn’t doubt it - he knew you were smart. You two had lots of classes together growing up. Should he ask something? About college? Well, then he’d have to talk about his disastrous acceptance experience and that wouldn’t be so nice and yup, the silence was dragging and God he hated it, he had to say something to you, had to and…

      “So, ahm… You come here often?” 

      You stopped folding one of those ugly neon shirts halfway through. 

      “Well, I work here. So I think I’d have to say ‘yes’.”

      He wanted to hit himself in the face. He’d been out of practice for so long he had to let out the most obtuse pick up line in the planet to one of the few girls who’d never let him live it down. 

(And whom, he was just starting to realize, he didn’t want to leave with the Steve Harrington is a complete Idiot impression.)

      Fantastic. 

      “I…” he started, and, eager to break the silence and noticing how embarrassed he was, you interrupted cheerfully “Best and worst thing about working at the mall, go!”

      “Erm, best: I can get all the free ice cream that I want. Worst: that’s really starting to show up on my adult size small sailor uniform.”

      “For me the best is… definitely the employees discount.” You paused “Although I wouldn’t want to use it on this ugly thing.”

(The ugly neon shirt was indeed very ugly.)

      “And the worst, wait, wait, let me guess.” Steve pretended to think for a second “closing up the store?”

      “I just think the mall gets so creepy when it’s empty.” You shuddered “I’d rather deal with a thousand stay at home moms yelling at me cause their shirt shrunk than closing this goddamn place one more time.”

      “Wishful thinking, y’know. Keep thinking that everyone else except you will get the locking duty.” He replied, with a solemn tone on his voice. 

      That was a side you didn’t know: Steve Harrington, advice master. 

      “Think that works?” You eyed him skeptically.

      “You’ll never know if you don’t really try.” He shrugged, and you two made small talk for a while longer. 

      After making sure everything was at it’s expected place (except the iron, cause Steve was pretty much sure it was broken and asked if he could give it to a “friend of his who likes building stuff and could use this”, which you agreed to, as it was always better to get rid of any crime evidence), you helped Steve close up Scoops Ahoy (and took the opportunity to try every single ice cream flavor without someone behind you breathing down your neck).

      As you said your goodbyes at the parking lot - Steve walking you to his car like the gentleman he was -, he made you promise that, if all the wishful thinking failed and you had to lock the store by yourself again, you’d hop by Scoops Ahoy to let him now. 

(And to get some free ice cream.)

      You promised, and you went for a mocking salute as he went for a hug and it was awkward and nice and little did you know that would be the last time you’d be closing up The Gap. 

      Cause on the week after, something uber strange would happen, half of the mall would get destroyed and you’d lose your job. 

      That was the thought running through  your mind as you went to the videostore to grab some movies, as you had lot of time to kill and wasn’t exactly ready yet to go job hunting on retail again. 

      You were surprisingly greeted by Steve. 

      No stupid sailor hat now, just his regular old clothes and hair in all of it’s full, tall, thick glory. 

      “Hey! At least no more closing up the shop at eleven pm!”

      “At least that! That wishful thinking thing really does work, huh?”

      Steve smiled. Behind you, Robin was mouthing “ask her out! Ask her out!”

      Noticing something going on behind your back, you turned to face her, a huge grin on her face as she spoke “So, hey Y/N! Do you come here often?”

      You laughed, Steve groaning and with a shrug you replied “Not really, but I might start showing up more.”

      “I leave at seven!” Steve quipped, and you nodded, grabbing your movies (the horror one for your brother obviously, you learned your lesson).

      “I might show up again at seven then.”

(You did.)