𝘿𝙪𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣 𝙃𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣

Scoops Ahoy looks different after hours. During the day it’s loud—kids yelling, the bell dinging nonstop, Steve pretending not to care while absolutely caring, fluorescent lights buzzing like they’re caffeinated. But now? Now it’s quiet in a way that almost feels illegal. The mall lights are dimmed, the neon sign outside casting faint blue shadows through the windows. The ice cream cases hum softly, like they’re whispering secrets. It’s 12:47 a.m. Steve Harrington stands behind the counter, keys in hand, stretching like he’s just finished a marathon instead of a six-hour shift. “Okay,” he says, clapping his hands together. “I’m gonna run to the car real quick. I forgot my—uh—thing.” Dustin squints at him. “Your thing.” “Yeah. My… guy thing. Don’t worry about it.” “That’s suspicious,” Dustin says immediately. Steve points at him. “You’re suspicious.” You lean against the counter. “How long are you gonna be gone?” “Two minutes,” Steve promises. “Three, max. Do NOT touch anything. Do NOT invent anything. Do NOT—” “We’re inventing something,” Dustin says at the exact same time. Steve groans. “I swear to god—” He pauses, eyes flicking between the two of you. “If I come back and there’s melted ice cream on the floor, I’m blaming you,” he adds, pointing at you. You raise your hands. “Wow. Betrayal.” “Two minutes,” Steve repeats, already backing away. “Do not burn the place down.” The door swings shut behind him. The lock clicks. Silence. You and Dustin stare at the door. Five seconds pass. Dustin turns to you slowly, eyes lighting up like he’s just been handed unlimited power. “…Okay,” he says. “Hear me out.” “Oh no.” “We have approximately,” he checks his watch dramatically, “however long Steve Harrington decides to abandon us.” You snort. “Which could be… a while.” “Exactly,” he says, nodding seriously. “Which means this is the perfect opportunity.” “For what?” you ask, already knowing you’re about to regret it. Dustin hops over the counter with zero hesitation. “To invent the best ice cream flavor Scoops Ahoy has ever seen.” “It’s almost 1 a.m.” “Yes,” he agrees. “Which is when all the best ideas happen.” You watch him yank open the freezer with the confidence of someone who has absolutely never faced consequences. “Dustin—” “Okay, so,” he says, rummaging through tubs. “We start with a base. Vanilla? Classic. Reliable. Like me.” “Debatable.” He gasps. “Rude. But fine. Chocolate?” “Also classic.” “Strawberry?” he continues. “Underrated.”** “You’re just naming flavors.” “I’m building suspense.” He pulls out a tub of vanilla and slams it onto the counter. “This is our canvas.” You hop up onto a stool. “I feel like Steve explicitly told us not to—” “Steve isn’t here,” Dustin says. “And also, Steve lacks vision.” He grabs a scoop, then pauses, glancing at you. “What if,” he says slowly, “we make something that should not work… but does?” You narrow your eyes. “That sounds dangerous.” “That’s innovation.” He starts listing ingredients like he’s possessed. “Chocolate chips. Marshmallows. Caramel swirl. Crushed Oreos. Peanut butter—” “Dustin.” “—and hear me out—pop rocks.” You choke. “Absolutely not.” “Absolutely yes.” “Pop rocks do not belong in ice cream.” “That’s what they want you to think.” You laugh, shaking your head. “Steve is going to kill us.” Dustin shrugs. “Worth it.” %He starts scooping with wild enthusiasm, narrating the entire process. “Okay, so texture is important. You don’t want too much crunch but you do want surprise. Life is about surprise.”** “That got deep fast.” “Everything gets deep after midnight,” he says easily. He pauses, suddenly quieter. “That’s when my brain doesn’t shut up.” You glance at him. He keeps working, but his voice shifts—still fast, still Dustin, but softer around the edges. “Like,” he continues, “during the day, there’s always noise. People. Stuff to do. But at night it’s just… you and your thoughts. And sometimes your thoughts are jerks.” You slide off the stool and lean against the counter beside him. “Yeah. I get that.” He nods, not looking at you. “I keep thinking about Eddie.” There it is. “I’ll be talking about something stupid—like science or whatever—and then suddenly my brain’s like, ‘Hey! Remember trauma?’ And I’m like, cool, thanks, brain.” You let the silence sit for a second. “You don’t have to be ‘on’ all the time, you know.” Dustin laughs quietly. “I kind of do, though. That’s my thing.” “Is it?” He finally looks at you. His grin is smaller now. Realer. “I don’t know how to be quiet without feeling like something bad’s about to happen,” he admits. Your chest tightens. “Well,” you say gently, “you’re allowed to just… exist. Especially with me.” His ears turn pink. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” He clears his throat and goes back to aggressively mixing ice cream. “Cool. Cool cool cool. Anyway. Back to the flavor.” You smile to yourself. “What’s it called?” you ask. He thinks hard. “Uh… Midnight Mayhem.” “That’s actually good.” “I know,” he says proudly. “It’s chaos, but comforting chaos.” He sneaks a spoonful and freezes. “Oh my god.” “What.” “It’s… actually amazing.” You grab a spoon. “Liar.” You taste it. Pause. “…Oh no.” “Right?!” Dustin beams. “I’m a genius.” “You’re insufferable.” “Thank you.” You both laugh, leaning against the counter, sharing spoonfuls straight from the tub like rebels. Minutes pass. Maybe longer. Dustin talks. About everything. Random science facts. How Suzie sends him handwritten letters. How he’s scared of growing up. How he hates the idea of people drifting apart. “You’re not going anywhere, right?” he asks suddenly. You look at him. “No.” “Good,” he says, relief obvious. “Because you’re kind of my person.” Your heart does a thing. “Dustin,” you say softly. He panics immediately. “Not in a weird way! I mean—it could be weird? But like—good weird? Or maybe it’s just friend weird. I don’t know. I’m bad at feelings.” You bump his shoulder. “I know.” He grins, wide and sheepish. The door finally jingles. Steve walks in, keys in hand, eyes narrowing at the scene: the mess, the ice cream, the two of you way too close. “…I was gone for forty minutes,” he says flatly. Dustin doesn’t even flinch. “Wanna try Midnight Mayhem?” Steve sighs. “I hate you.” But he takes the spoon.