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Eddie hasn’t believed in unicorns since he was twenty-three. Which is way older than anyone should probably believe in unicorns.
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Hawkins local Steve Harrington sees unicorns, and Eddie, documentary film maker, has to be weird about it.
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Finally, Eddie says, “Not into helping that crew,” he points the hand curled around his cigarette toward the house, “plot the downfall of your hometown?”
“Nope. Honestly, I’m kind of bummed we’re not filming anything about me and my unicorns anymore,” Steve says with a half-smile, eyes sad.
“Oh, I’m still filming that, princess,” Eddie says. Moves closer to see how Steve’ll react. “For my own private collection.”
“Smooth.” Steve laughs a little as Eddie settles next to him against the brick.
“You’re very pretty,” Eddie says, careful not to add: and very delusional.
Steve must hear it anyhow. “You still don’t believe me,” he says, eyes glittering with amusement.
“I believe that you believe,” Eddie says. He’s not in bad company. Eddie admires the fuck out of Nancy and Jonathan, and they believe in monsters.
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