Archive of Our Own

There was something about the Holidays that had always rubbed Steve the wrong way. When he was younger, and there were toys and sweets to look forward to, it was easier to ignore. How could he pinpoint the gnawing anxiety in his stomach when he had an air rifle to practice with in the backyard, or a plate full of ginger bread cookies to down. 

But he’s older now, and he gets it. He knows what it’s always been about. 

Steve’s never had a bad home life. There was never any specific incident he felt he had the right to complain about. His parents were there for him, they came to his games, where they cheered politely from the stands. His dad provided him with his first car, and his mother gave him awkwardly unheeded advice about girls. But they also weren’t- present. 

So much of Steve’s time is spent vying for their attention, and to a point, he’d convinced himself this was normal. You had to do good, to be seen. It changed when he started dating Nancy though; he saw the way her mother would pester her to annoyance about how her day had been, her grades, what her friends were up to. And for a brief time, Steve had been exposed to this as well.

So yeah, he gets why the holidays don’t work for him. For his family. And that one Christmas he’d had at the Wheelers seems to have ruined him completely. 

“Steve? ” He startles, suddenly aware again that he’s supposed to be stirring cheese fondue. The wooden spoon in his hand has gone slack and his mother, looking small and exhausted is watching him in worry.

“Sorry I was just- somewhere else,” he tries haltingly, gripping the spoon with renewed strength and making one large stir to get back into the flow. It smells great, it does, but his mother's face is still pinched. That expression has become more and more frequent lately, and he can never seem to get her to stop.

“Be careful not to go anywhere again, we don’t want the cheese to burn at the bottom,” she says finally, moving back to her own meal prep. A dozen doughy bread rolls are lined in front of her, and they look perfect. She looks incredibly tired.

“Yeah, I know,” he says, trying not to let his agitation show, but out of the corner of his eye, he can see his mother's lips purse. She doesn’t say anything though, just continues to butter the rolls, each now shimmering with the excess grease. 

His mother has never really been the problem, Steve knows that. She shows her affection in her own quiet way. The way she’ll run a comforting hand across his shoulders or through his hair as she passes him sometimes. The knowing looks they share when Steve’s dad falls asleep in the middle of a show on their infrequent family nights. She’s just- stifled beneath the presence of her husband's disapproval. She cares too much about his opinion to be all that Steve needs. She’s not enough of her own person, Steve thinks sometimes, to be anything more than the flat image of a wife and mother.

He knows it’s because she feels like she has something to live up to. She has to be some cookie-cutter amalgamation of the perfect wife- and it’s always worse this time of the year.

Steve has a sinking and certain suspicion it’s all his brother's fault.

Martin’s not even really his brother, not really. Maybe in other more well adjusted families, half-siblings mean something to one another- but Martin and him have never been on solid terms. Maybe it’s because Steve’s mother was half the previous Mrs. Harrington’s age. Or the fact Steve was born only four months after his parents had gotten married, and a total of seven months after his dad had split from his original marriage. There were plenty of reasons for Martin to dislike him.

Which is why Steve has never understood why they spend Christmas dinner with him every other year.

“When are Martin and Janice going to be here?” Steve asks, glancing at the clock hung beside the sink. It’s only just 2 O’clock, but already there is an anxious sick feeling hanging heavy in the air.

“Janice called about an hour ago, said they’ll be a little late, thank God, or else we’d never be ready in time.” His mother gives a strained laugh as she says it, placing her hands on either side of her baking sheet. 

“Dad should just tell them not to come- with the storm heading in and all,” he says, looking at her sideways. Her mouth quirks up, like she finds the idea amusing, but her head is already shaking back and forth.

“Your father looks forward to this meal every year, I’m not going to turn your brother and sister-in-law away,” his mother says, rolling her eyes, and Steve let's out a huff of breath, stirring the pot a little more harshly than necessary. It’s done, he needs to stop, or else the pot will burn.

“Yeah, he really loves it, I mean all they ever do is bitch at each other, what could be better. I know Martin hates it, and he definitely doesn’t like us,” Steve says turning off the burner with a little too much force. His mom’s eyes go wide, and her hands clench tighter to the baking sheet she has a hold of.  

“Stephen, don’t-” 

“What? You know he doesn’t like to be here, kinda comes with the territory of chumming it with your dad's other wife and kid,” Steve snaps, motioning to both of them, and his mother freezes.

She’s quiet for a long moment, and he knows he’s fucked up. She’s always been fragile about the topic, being the second wife has connotations she’s never been comfortable with. She won’t look at him, slowly turning around with her pan of rolls, keeping her eyes on them as she walks over.

“Would you check on the roast for me please, before I put these in?” She asks it softly and Steve resigns himself then, to shutting up for the rest of the night. This is why he does it every year- for her.

“Yeah, of course, mom.” He pecks her on the cheek as she sets down the pan of rolls.

The roast is fine, sizzling and brazed- it looks like it’s going to be delicious. He just wishes he’d be able to enjoy it tonight. 

His mother kicks him out of the kitchen soon after that, prepping the raw ingredients for the fondue pots later. There’s no reason for him to leave, there’s room for them to work together- but his mother’s had enough of him for the afternoon, Steve knows. 

So now, feeling just as anxious as before, he’s lounging on the couch trying to get through the first chapter of Persuasion. It’s on his reading list for next semester, and he thinks if he gets a head start now, his grades in English 12 won’t be so bad. But Jane Austen was alive like three hundred years ago, and the way she writes is- confusing and rambling, and Steve can’t make sense of any of it. 

If Nancy were here she’d get it, and she’d explain it all in terms I could understand.  

Steve groans, shaking his head, trying to dispel the thought. It’s bad enough he has Martin to worry about, Nancy should not be part of the equation tonight.

She’s probably curled up with Jonathan Byers right about now. They’re reading Persuasion out loud to one another, and understanding everything perfectly and laughing about it-

“Stephen, you'll need to pick up more fondue burners for us, apparently we didn’t specify clearly enough for Marta we needed more than just one for the dinner,” his father says from across the room, where he’s been silently sitting for the past ten minutes. Steve looks up from his book, trying to keep his face neutral and failing, but his father’s nose is already stuck back behind the sports section of the newspaper.

“It’s Christmas Eve the stores are going to be packed,” Steve says icely, carefully dog-earring the book and placing it on the coffee table. Nancy would’ve glared at me for that, he thinks miserably for a second, and then feels immensely better that he did it anyway.

“Which is why if you leave now you’ll beat the crowd,” his father says, not even having the courtesy of looking at Steve to tell him this. 

“I’ll have to drive all the way into Kokomo, they’re the only ones with a Walmart open right now,” Steve tries to reason, refusing to stand just yet. He’s not going to win this debate, but he at least has a bit of dignity to uphold. The newspaper drops and Steve's father is looking out from the other side, unimpressed and as grave as the dead.

“It’s a twenty-minute drive it’s hardly the end of the world- Martin and Janice will be arriving in two hours, and your mother’s been working all day to prepare. Don’t you think you’re being a little selfish arguing this with me right now?” His dad knows exactly what he’s doing, and Steve hates him for it, really he does, but he can’t refuse. 

“Fine,” he bites out, pushing off the couch with a glower, but all his dad does is pull out his wallet looking too pleased with himself.

“This should cover you for about twenty cans, clean them out if you have to.”

“Sounds like real Christmas spirit dad,” Steve says, swiping the crisp hundred dollar bill from his dad's hand. His dad’s mouth goes thin, and Steve thinks maybe he pushed it too far. They stare back at one another in stony silence, until finally his dad shakes his head with a sigh and lifts the newspaper back up. 

“I’m paying the Walmart employee's bills with that, what could be more Christmasy? Now get going before the snow starts coming down.”

“Yeah, sure,” Steve says quietly, and then goes to collect his coat and gloves.

His car door is frozen shut when he gets outside, and he nearly falls on his ass trying to pull it open. He’s shivering and pissed when he sits down and buckles himself in, and the hundred-dollar-bill is crumpled horribly in his hand. When he catches himself in the rearview mirror, he cringes. His hair which he’d even taken pains to style this morning, has deflated completely. Messed up and staticky from the wool hat he knew he’d need with the 30-degree temp.

He leans his head onto the steering wheel and groans, allowing himself just a moment of self-pity before he turns the key in the ignition. The radio crackles to life as he backs out of the drive, and Bing Crosby’s smooth, deep voice fills the rest of his thoughts.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, everywhere you go. Take a look in the five and ten, glistening once again, With candy canes and silver lanes aglow.

Frosted and grey, sowed fields pass by in a blur, and all the while Steve allows himself to be lost in the overly chipper Christmas music. The roads are thankfully sparse of any other cars, and the twenty minute drive into Kokomo is shortened to fifteen.

But as Steve pulls into the Walmart parking lot, he groans in frustration. Lines of cars are packed into each available spot, just like he’d guessed it would be. Harried shoppers are scattered about, faces red from the dropping temp, and breath hanging like fog in the air. But he has no choice but to remove his keys from the ignition and step out into the dizzying crowds.

He makes a rush for the automatic doors, feeling the cold even through his three layers of clothes. By the time he’s pushed past a family of five arguing over a shopping cart, and into the store, he’s chilled to the bone. 

The store is, unfortunately, much worse. 

As he walks he passes four crying babies, at least six or so harried parents, and a about ten weary looking employees until he feels like he’s in some bizarre version of the 12 days of Christmas via Walmart. He gets stuck in the baking aisle, as a pair of rowdy siblings knocks down a small display, and he has to quickly extract himself from the ensuing rampage of their mother before he’s safely hidden in the adjacent aisle. 

It takes a whole twenty minutes for him to make it to the fondue burners, and he spends a decent amount of that time, just trying to stay out of other people's way. It’s not much of a consolation that there are at least two dozen of the little canisters left, after all that work, but it becomes even less so when Steve remembers suddenly he should have grabbed a basket. Slowly and with very little satisfaction, he begins to pile his arms high with them, hoping for an early Christmas miracle no one sees him stockpiling fondue burners like some crazy the-end-is-near kind of bunker person.

But Christmas miracles apparently only exist when you’re not hoarding like an acne-prone Ebeneezer Scrooge. 

“Is that you Harrington?” The drawn out, almost gleeful voice that sounds behind Steve is quite possibly the last person on Earth he would've picked to have caught him at this. In fact, Steve almost would have preferred Nancy. Maybe even a tag team of Nancy and Jonathan. 

“Hargrove, it’s uh- it’s nice to- I didn’t expect to see you here,” Steve says eloquently, trying to suppress the panic rising in his chest, as he smiles tightly at Billy Hargrove. 

“Just last minute Christmas shopping,” Billy says sideling up to him, a basket of his own, tucked to his chest. All that Steve can see within is a single packet of Marlboro Reds.

He hasn’t actually spoken to Billy since early November. Since the fight that nearly got them both kicked from the Basketball team. It hadn’t been a proud moment for Steve; heartbroken over his recent breakup with Nancy, sore over the team's loss against Carmel high’s Greyhounds. Billy had made some snide comment in the locker room, and Steve had, embarrassingly, flipped his lid. He can’t even remember who’d taken the first swing, just that Billy had been there, every unflattering part of himself, and they’d finished it with bruised knuckles, split lips, and black eyes.

God, their coach had gone ballistic. 

But Billy doesn’t seem angry, nor exceptionally ready to start another fight, but it’s just the way he’s holding himself, one arm leaning against the shelving unit like he hasn’t got a care in the world that’s setting Steve on edge.

“Well it was good seeing you, happy holidays,” Steve says shortly, nodding his head, trying to signify the end of the conversation, but Billy doesn’t move. He doesn’t move and Steve has exactly twenty seconds before the fifteen fondue burners are going to topple out of his grip. 

“Do you need help with those?” Billy asks, a salacious smirk finding its way onto his face and Steve wants to die. He wants to drop all of the stupid fondue burners at Billy Hargrove’s feet, leave the over packed Walmart from Hell, and then possibly drive off the side of a bridge.

He’s probably being a bit melodramatic though.

“No I- I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your shopping,” Steve finally says, as he watches one of the burners tilt dangerously out of the pile in his arms. Billy grabs it just as it takes it’s nosedive, and then slowly raises it between the two of them with an eyebrow raised. 

“I already got what I came for,” Billy says with a shrug, dropping the saved fondue burner into his basket, and removing his cigarettes. He places the basket on the shelf next to them both, and as Steve blinks in confusion, Billy nods his head towards it for the rest to be put in.

“I can’t-” Steve tries weakly, staring at the basket because he can’t look at Billy without remembering the feel of his jaw under his knuckles. 

Steve is almost certain the Christmas spirit isn’t supposed to feel like a sinking pit of guilt.

“Don’t worry Harrington, I’m only doing this so the Walmart greeters don’t have to clean up your mess too,” Billy says, and with that leaves the basket, and a speechless Steve, to disappear into the masses of other Christmas shoppers. 

With a groan, Steve dumps the rest of the offending burners into the basket, with their fallen brethren and makes a haphazard dash for the exit. This doesn’t stop him from suffering several elbows to the ribs, a severely bruised foot from multiple misplaced shoes, and a lifelong fear of Christmas Eve Walmart. 

The line, thank God, moves rather quickly, the employees at checkout a well oiled machine of intent, for getting customers the fuck out of the store. He does get a rather venomous look from the bag girl, as she piles in one fondue burner after another and Steve tries his best not to wither where he stands. But finally, after basically being pushed from the line by a mother with a cart full of last minute Christmas feast ingredients, Steve is able to escape the store. 

The cold hits him even worse this time, and he's certain it's dropped at least 10 degrees since he's been inside. He pulls his coat a little tighter around himself, watching as his hands turn blue wrapped around the handles of the plastic grocery bags. He can't even run for his car, seeing as the parking lot is basically just ice at this point, shimmering and almost pretty in the bright, grey daylight. With a sigh, he starts picking his way across the ice patches, keeping out of the way of other shoppers fairly easily, weaving in between parked cars like it’s some kind of Christmas Eve obstacle course.

He's about fifty feet from the safety of the car, just fifty feet away from semi-decent heaters when he spots it. 

The shiny blue metal of a Camaro diminished under the thin veneer of frost, which has only been hastily scraped from the windows and mirrors. He knows that car, of course, he knows that car. Any kid at Hawkins high knows that car. If he needed any more proof, it's the owner sitting hunched in the driver's seat in clear of Steve. 

Billy's got a cigarette in his mouth, lazing back in his seat like he hasn't got a care in the world but- the car's not on, and sorry, but no one is so tough as to suffer -30 degree temps. Especially some California surfer. 

It shouldn't even occur to Steve to check in, walk further away from his car, just to make sure Billy Hargrove is alright. But for some reason, instead of his feet taking him to his actual destination, he's carefully picking his way across the icy parking lot to the Blue Camaro. Before he knows Steve is setting down one of his bags of fondue burners and he's knocking on the window of Billy's car. It's insane, and it's like he's not even in control anymore, but it's Billy who looks even more surprised as he turns to see him.  There is a pause as they look at each other, and Steve nearly comes to his senses then as Billy's eyes wide and blue stare out through the fogged glass at him. He's being an idiot, Billy won't want his concern he should just-

The window rolls down before he can even take a step back and Billy's got one eyebrow raised, face once again neutral.

"Can I help you?" Billy asks and there's that normal bite of sarcasm, but just underneath Steve can catch something weary. Steve clears his throat and then nods towards the car.

"I just- I noticed your car wasn't on and- well it’s really cold, so I thought maybe something was wrong-" Steve realizes as he's babbling that he truly is an idiot. Who makes that kind of jump? Sorry, your car wasn't on so I just assumed you were in trouble. Yeah, like Billy didn't have any other reason to think he was a moron.

There is silence as Billy blinks up at him, taking a drag of his cigarette, and Steve is ready to throw in the towel just about any second now. And then there's a stream of smoke being blown into his face as Billy exhales, and he says-

"Engine stalled.”

The feeling of vindication, that yes, Steve hadn’t been completely crazy, only lasts a second as he watches Billy's hand move to roll the window back up.

“Well wait, do you need help?” Steve asks, placing a hand on top of the car to lean in closer. Billy’s lips quirk into a small smile, not exactly friendly and more teasing as his hand draws away from the door. 

“Don't worry your pretty little head over it, Harrington, I'll call a tow truck in a bit. Just wanted a smoke first," he says slowly, leaning back in his seat, closing his eyes like he’s about to take a nap. But Steve can see the goose flesh on the exposed skin of his chest, and he knows Billy must be freezing his ass off right now. 

"Okay, you know it's Christmas eve, right?” 

"Yeah, I kinda figured," Billy says with a harsh laugh, and Steve can’t help but roll his eyes. 

"No, it's just that it could take hours for them to get here and if I’m being honest, they might not show up at all,” he says, voice more severe than he means it to be, but all Billy does is smile a little wider, a little sharper.

“So what are you suggesting?”

“I can drive you home,” Steve blurts out, the obvious solution, but Billy’s face shutters at this, and for some reason that closed off look sends Steve’s stomach plummeting to his feet. 

“Thanks but no thanks, I’ll wait it out here,” Billy snaps, and there his hand goes again to roll up the window, and Steve does the stupidest thing he’s done all afternoon and places his hand over the window glass. Billy sends him a scathing look, and Steve thinks for a second maybe this won’t stop him from continuing to roll up the window. 

“Is it because it’s me? Because I swear I won’t start anything, it’s going to storm tonight and-“ and then Steve notices it, too late, the dark sheen of a bruise on Billy’s right temple. It’s mottled, yellow and purple, half covered by curling blonde hair, and Steve can’t believe he missed it under the fluorescent lights of Walmart.

He stops speaking so abruptly that Billy actually turns to look at him, skeptical and tense, and Steve snaps his mouth shut.

“Listen, Harrington, I’m letting all the heat escape here, so if you're done being a Good Samaritan-”

“Okay- if you won’t let me drive you home, I can take you back to my place,” Steve blurts out, and it’s like the words were pulled from him, so surprised he nearly lets out a gasp himself. Billy really seems to have been thrown through a loop, as the look on his face is almost comical.

“Like your folks won’t mind me crashing Christmas Eve,” Billy says skeptically, and Steve finds his head shaking vehemently back and forth before Billy’s even finished speaking.

“They won’t- they really won’t- they’re occupied enough with my brother coming into town. If you need somewhere to wait out the storm my place is perfect.”

“I won’t be messing up any hallowed Harrington traditions? No roasting chestnuts by the fire, cuddled up in matching sweaters?” Billy asks, and it seems he’s recovered at this point, guards backup and tone mocking but Steve feels even more sure of himself by this point.

“Yeah, we don’t do that. Seriously, we’ve got a guest room, it’s supposed to snow at least ten inches tonight- it'll start anytime now,” Steve babbles, not really thinking about the implications of asking Billy Hargrove over to his house, but it feels right, it feels like a redemption of sorts. He has to make amends somehow. 

Billy’s eyes narrow, a small crease forming between his brows. His cigarette has been left to smoke in an ashtray to his right, and Steve watches it instead of Billy as he waits for an answer.

“I’ll need a ride back tomorrow,” Billy’s voice comes out like the ringing of a bell, and Steve can’t help the smile that creeps onto his face.

“I can do that.”

Steve picks back up his grocery bags, taking a step back allowing Billy out of the car. He waits patiently for the car to be locked securely till the next morning, and then their shuffling off through the parking lot together. Steve notices quickly the denim jacket Billy has himself wrapped in is doing nothing against the drafts of bitter wind hitting them. He almost wants to offer his own coat, but they’re only three feet from his own car now, and he’s sure too much abject selflessness will send Billy running in the opposite direction. 

“Well- this is mine,” he says motioning to the Beemer, opening up the back door one handed. Billy gives it an unimpressed look, and yeah, it’s not the Camaro, but it’s still Steve’s car, and he’s somewhat proud of it. Somewhat.

“I was worried about that,” Billy says as he watches Steve toss his groceries in the back. Steve lets an awkward laugh and then turns away to hide the embarrassed flush on his cheeks. 

“Just- get in,” Steve mutters as he opens the driver's side door for himself. Billy laughs but concedes slipping into his own seat, smoothly. It’s not much of a difference inside the car, but they’re now at least protected from the winds, and Steve rubs his hands together to gather some feeling back into them before he starts the car up, and more importantly, the heating. 

He sends Billy a look when it seems the other boy has decided against the seat belt, and in return is given a genial eye roll and thankfully a buckled seat belt. Once they’re both secure, Steve lets himself relax at the idea of finally getting away from Walmart, but then immediately tenses when he realizes, about two seconds into the drive home, he had Billy Hargrove in the front seat of his car. 

“I’ve got tapes in the glove box if you want to, uh pick anything out,” he tries awkwardly, and Billy turns away from the passing landscape to the glove box in front of him. Steve was not exactly a connoisseur of good music, as Robin would usually point out, but the look developing on Billy’s face is nothing short of hurtful. 

“Don’t tell me this entire tape is Cyndi Lauper Harrington- even you have better taste than that,” Billy says aghast, as he flips the tape over to read the hastily scribbled song titles. He seems disappointed to find this query is in fact true.

“What if it is?” Steve snips even more embarrassed and still trying not to show it. The tape had been a gift from Dustin, and apparently, a lot of time had been put into it, and the kid cared so much, and yes maybe Steve really loved Cyndi Lauper.

“Then the little respect I held for you has plummeted,” Billy says evenly as if he had any respect for Steve, to begin with. The thought almost puts a smile on Steve’s face as he quips-

“Who’s car is this, huh?”

“Apparently a teenage girls’,” Billy says, tossing the tape on the dash with little care, and Steve eyes it worriedly, fearing permanent damage.

“Doesn’t Max listen to Guns N’ Roses?” Steve asks, and while it does get him a scathing look from Billy he can see the corners of the other boy's lips rise into the ghost of a smile.

“Yeah well, she’s barely a girl.”

“Okay, if you're going to make fun of my music taste we’ll listen to the radio,” Steve grouses, non too seriously, and makes a move for the dial. He stops just shy of it when he hears Billy groan, and turns to see his head tipped back into the seat with an air of distinct dislike. 

“Please, all they're playing right now is Christmas jingles.”

“Oh come on, don’t tell me you have a problem with Christmas music?” Steve balks because even with his mixed feelings about the season, he can’t help but think some of them are kind of catchy.

“I don’t know about you man, but I don’t buy into that whole Christmas is the best time of the year thing. The music’s fine, but it’s all fake.” The repeated sentiment almost makes Steve do a double take, and he can’t help but pause a moment to think.

“No I- I get that,” he finally says, and even though he keeps his eyes on the road, he catches a look of surprise on Billy’s face in his peripheral vision. 

He doesn’t know how but- the silence the rest of the drive is easy. Steve remembers the drives he would take with Nancy sometimes, usually to play hooky, but any time silence seemed to be approaching she’d launch into some long winded speech as if scared of what the quiet would reveal. At the time Steve had found it kind of endearing, he liked hearing her talk but he supposed it was just another sign of a failed relationship he hadn’t caught in time. 

He tries not to over analyze why he’s comparing Billy of all people to Nancy.

But then they’re pulling into the driveway of Steve’s house, and there are much more pressing matters for him to think about. Mostly the fact he has brought Billy Hargrove over, unannounced, on Christmas Eve, an hour before his half-brother and family arrive. 

Billy is out of the car as soon as Steve puts it into park, like he can’t stand to spend a minute more cooped up in a Beemer. Steve clambers out after him, haphazardly grabbing the grocery bags from the back on his way out, and turns to Billy with a frown. 

“What are you wearing under that?” Steve knows it is wrong the minute it leaves his mouth, and Billy’s eyes widen in surprise. The look is quickly masked however by a slow grin that makes Steve want to face plant into the frosted, dead grass.

“Whoa Harrington, I’m not that kind of girl. You gotta at least buy me a drink first,” Billy says with that disarming grin, and Steve nearly falls over himself trying to correct his phrasing. 

“No that's not- I didn’t mean- I meant for the dinner, if you're wearing something, like- nice,” he tries again, and the look Billy sends him makes him want to die on the spot. 

“What’s nice in the Harrington household exactly?” Billy asks, gaze sharp on Steve, 

“Uh- shirt buttoned all the way to the collar?” Steve says with a shrug, knowing even asking for this, it makes him seem like some stuck up asshole, but if he can keep his parents from freaking out about one less thing then it’ll be an easier evening for them all.

There is a moment of tense silence as Steve stares back, trying not to look pleading, and Billy halfway between defensive and unsure. Finally, with a sigh of obvious aggravation, Billy unbuttons the denim jacket to reveal a soft looking navy sweater over a nice white button-up shirt. It’s so the opposite of what Billy normally wears that it takes Steve a moment to process what he’s seeing.

“This good enough?” Billy prompts, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, and Steve nearly gives himself whiplash with how quickly he nods his head. 

“That’s uh- it looks-” Steve can’t even finish what he’s trying to say as Billy pushes past him with a sigh, clearly ready to get out and away from the cold.

“Susan forced me into it,” he says in an explanation thrown over his shoulder as Steve scrambles to catch up. 

“Well it’s- it’s nice,” Steve sputters, and when Billy glares over his shoulder at him, all he can do is shrug, because it’s true.

Billy steps aside for Steve as he opens the heavy wooden front door, and it swings out revealing the looming and elegant entryway. It’s modern and large, and Steve thinks he remembers his dad saying it’s supposed to be reminiscent of Frank Lloyd Wright’s earlier works, but mostly he just thinks it’s ugly. 

He watches Billy taking it in for the first time, and unlike showing Tommy, or Carol or even Nancy, for the first time, he does not feel proud of it. He wants to tell Billy that this isn’t really his, all this excess. That 600 dollar impressionist painting on the wall is something he detests, and the rug at their feet shipped all the way from Italy has always seemed like a waste when dirty shoes will always be walking over it. It’s not him, but it is, and he wants to explain.

But he doesn’t say any of that, just lets Billy take it all in silently, judging, as he kicks off his shoes and closes the door one handed.

His dad is thankfully nowhere in sight, and so Steve ushers them through the living room, footsteps echoing around the lofted ceilings. He takes them to the kitchen first, because he knows if he has to break the news to anyone, his mom will be his best bet first.

She’s right where he left her last, although there is seemingly more food piled around than last. The roast is out of the oven cooling on the counter and the rolls are already placed in a bowl under a towel to keep the heat trapped. His mother is in the corner, next to the sink whisking a bowl of what Steve can only assume is cream cheese icing.

“Hey, mom,” Steve says as casually as he can, placing down the grocery bag full of fondue burners. This, of course, doesn’t stop his mother from turning from her mixing bowl to look over at him and in turn Billy. She very nearly drops her whisk when she catches sight of the second boy in her kitchen but she catches herself expertly. The confusion and shock are clear though. 

“Oh- uh, Steven who is-” 

“William Hargrove Ma’am,” Billy says, stepping forward to offer his hand before Steve can even get a word in edgewise. 

“It’s- wonderful to meet you,” his mother says without missing a beat, but sends a worried look in Steve’s direction.

“Billy needs a place to stay tonight,” Steve says in a rush, hoping maybe if he gets it out quick enough his mother will be caught so off guard she’ll let it slide. From the look she gives him though, this had not worked.

“Well I-” she begins unsettled, placing her mixing bowl down, but she’s interrupted by the heavy footfalls of Steve’s father walking in. He has his newspaper held under his arm, and his eyes immediately go to Steve

“There and back in 30 minutes Steve, really you wasted more time complaining than actually-Oh,” Steve’s dad stops in the middle of his lecture, looking now between Steve, his wife, and Billy in some pinball effect of surprise. 

“Billy needed a ride!” Steve blurts out, so panicked that he’ll have to send Billy away he can barely process the nerve to be agitated with his dad for not even thanking him for the last minute shopping trip.

“And he’s here now because-?” Steve’s father questions, not even looking at Billy as he asks. It makes something in Steve’s chest tighten in dismay and anger. 

“There was a roadblock- because of the- the storm heading in,” he defends nonsensically. His father raises an eyebrow, imperious and threatening and he feels like he’s already lost the thread of the situation when Billy steps in to save the mess.

“I’m William Hargrove, Sir- I can’t thank you enough for giving me a place to stay tonight. I know it’s an inconvenience,” Billy says as he holds out his hand to shake, and Steve’s dad looks down at it like it might bite him.

“John Harrington,” Steve’s father says, his glasses perched on the edge of his nose, so he looks even more like some wizened old professor than a dad. There is judgment in his gaze as he assesses Billy, and then finally he holds out his hand.

“You said, Hargrove? You’re a power forward on Steve’s team aren’t you?” Steve’s dad asks, latching onto this tidbit like a life preserver. The tension seems to immediately melt from the room at the mention of Basketball, and Steve is nearly unsuccessful in stopping himself from sighing in relief.

“Yes Sir,” Billy says, with an easy grin falling onto his face, that Steve has seen a thousand times around school. It’s disarming, and incredibly charming and God knows how many people Billy Hargrove has duped with it.

“Well,” he coughs gruffly, indicating to Steve he’s pushing everything else under the rug with great generosity, “You played a fantastic game in Columbus. If the rest of the team could move more like you, they’d really go places- I hope you give them lots of pointers,” his father enthuses, clapping a hand on Billy’s shoulder like suddenly their old chums and Steve balks in surprise. He covers the reaction quickly though, by turning back to the counter as he’s unloading the fondue burners.

“Oh, I do, Sir,” Billy says, and the grin on his face becomes much more of a smirk as Steve’s dad leads them into the living room.

“I’ll just- stay here and help mom,” Steve calls, and Billy sends back a wink before he disappears around the corner. Steve rolls his eyes and drops his plastic bags on the counter with a thud. 

His mother is watching him with an unconcealed smile, as she fills an icing bag near the sink.

“Sorry for the late notice on this mom- his car wasn’t starting and when he said his folks were out of town well-” He shrugs his shoulders but all his mother does is nod quietly, smile growing.

“It’s wonderful you invited him Steve, but- aren’t you worried he might feel awkward at dinner?” 

“I’m not sure if Billy is capable of feeling awkward mom,” Steve says, removing the fondue burners one by one from the bag. 

“Your father seems charmed at least,” she says grinning behind her spatula, as Steve’s dad lets out a raucous laugh from the other room. It’s not like he should be surprised, he’s seen Billy charm the most frigid of teachers before- his dad shouldn’t be any different.

“Yeah, I should go save him before dad starts talking his ear off,” he says, quickly stacking the rest of the burners neatly on the counter before shooting his mom a small smile and heading into the living room after his dad and Billy.

Steve finds them in the living room, his dad hunched over the T.V manhandling the antenna as Billy watches from the couch calling out helpful tips. 

He goes to sit by Billy, but it’s a two seater, and he doesn’t quite think it through until he’s thigh to thigh with Billy. Even through his jeans, Steve can feel the heat emanating from him, and he has to stop himself from moving in even closer. 

“He didn’t say anything stupid, did he? About crashing dinner?” Steve asks quietly, and Billy shakes his head, a small smile flitting onto his face.

“No, but speaking of stupid- a roadblock?” Billy leans over questioning and Steve presses a hand to his face as whispers back.

“I panicked.” Billy snorts softly at that but keeps his attention forward to where Steve’s dad is still messing with the antenna of the T.V.

“I mean I kind of expected it from you, Mr. Goody Two-Shoes,” he says back, and his breath ghosts over Steve’s neck, making him shiver. 

“Goody Two-Shoes? Jesus, my reputation really did take a nosedive,” Steve mutters back, ignoring the closeness of them on the couch, the plush cushions making them slide together into the middle.

“That’s beside the point, the fact is your parents bought it, which is- I don’t want to say impressive,” Billy says, with a smirk, and Steve elbows him. It takes him off guard for a second, the good natured push, that had felt so natural, but Billy doesn’t look phased by the touch so Steve just sinks back further into the couch with a sigh.

“I don’t lie to them, like ever. They have no reason not to believe me.”

“Must be nice, being able to talk to your parents like that,” Billy replies, but his face has shuttered and he’s turned away from Steve looking at the giant, manufactured Christmas tree in the corner. 

“I don’t really-”

“There we go!” Steve’s dad shouts as the image on screen comes out clearer, and both Steve and Billy jump, landing further away from each other on the couch. Steve has to tell himself he doesn’t miss the warmth at his side. The Notre Dame Christmas Eve game plays in front of them, the sports commentator’s voices loud and manic as they come through the fancy surround sound speakers.

“You play football, Will?” Steve’s dad asks, hands on his hips as he watches his work in content. 

“No Sir never had the chance. More of a basketball and baseball fan myself,” Billy says quickly with a shrug.

“Shame, you have the build for it.”

“Thank you,” Billy says, after a very slight awkward pause. 

Steve sinks lower into the couch, practically as far he can without slipping on to the ground. Thankfully his dad takes a seat of his own, and his attention is turned to nothing but the game. 

Steve stays, pressed into the couch, keeping his eyes forward, not willing to catch Billy’s eyes again. The game passes, and he doesn’t retain anything. He only knows Notre Dame is winning because his dad isn’t cursing up a storm yet. 

When the doorbell rings, echoing through the whole house, Steve almost falls on his face with how quickly he jumps from the couch. His dad and Billy both turn to him in bewilderment, and he gestures vaguely to the door as he backs up out of the room.

“Martin- it’s probably Martin.”

His dad gets up, eyes still on the T.V, but Steve is the first one to the door. It’s then that Steve remembers who he’s greeting here, the person he’d been anxiously awaiting.

Martin is taller than him, just by a few minor inches, and he uses those inches to the best of his ability. He practically lurks in the doorway, with Janice and their daughter Jenny nearly dwarfed in comparison.

“Hey!” Steve puts on a brave face, and Janice for her part returns the greeting, reaching forward to hug him one armed. Martin watches, unsmiling and as soon as Janice pulls away he’s pushing past Steve into the house.

“Where’s John?” Martin asks as Steve crouches to talk with Jenny. He turns back to his brother, and considers just not answering, realizes it’s very much not worth it, and points in the direction of the living room. Martin nods, motions Janet to follow, and heads that way, neither removing his shoes or coat.

Steve resolutely does not glare after them and then turns back to Jenny who is carefully removing her black, satin ballet flats, and he waves her over with a smile.

“How are you kid? First grade been treating you well?”

“Yeah, I have a new teacher, Ms. Fawn, and she’s the prettiest person on Earth. She says I draw butterflies really, really well, so I love her,” Jenny enthuses, letting Steve hug her close. 

“You love her huh? Sounds like it’s been a good year,” he grins pulling away, and she nods her head enthusiastically. There’s a cough from behind them and Steve turns on the balls of his feet to find Billy, who's leaning against the wall with a smile.

Steve stands quickly, rubbing at the back of his neck as he lets Jenny go, to run after her parents. The smile does not leave Billy’s face.

“Sorry, I- I shouldn’t have left you alone back there,” Steve motions to the living room and Billy just shrugs.

“It’s fine, they barely noticed I was there.”

“Yeah, they do that,” Steve lets out a hollow laugh, and that’s when Billy stops smiling, stepping forward, not much closer, but a friendly distance.

“Things always that tense?” 

“Usually worse, kind of surprised they haven’t started yelling at each other yet,” Steve says wearily, running a hand through his hair. Billy nods, a deeper understanding in his eyes than Steve expected from him.

“He’s older than I thought he’d be,” Billy muses, turning to look back down the hallway, and Steve frowns down at his socked feet.

“Mhmm,” he hums noncommittally, hoping that Billy doesn’t push it, doesn’t ask about the messy tangle of Steve’s family. 

“So you want to finish the game or-?” 

“My mom’ll probably want help setting the table now that they’re here- if you don’t mind?” Steve asks, hoping he’s not coming off as too needy, but knowing he can’t face both his brother and his dad right now. Billy looks at him, quiet for a moment, and then nods his head.

“Not a fan of Notre Dame anyway,” Billy says with a sigh, pushing away from the wall and heading in the direction of the kitchen without Steve’s prompting.

His mother is putting the finishing touches on a set of beautifully iced gingerbread cookies when they make it into the kitchen, and she turns to them with a smear of green food coloring across her cheek.

“Anything we can help out with Mrs. Harrington?”

“Oh, I don’t- well we do need the fondue pots set up,” his mother says with a sigh, staring forlornly at the still unpacked fondue pots. 

“We’ll get them ready, don’t worry mom,” Steve says quickly, pecking her on the cheek and motioning for Billy to pick up the gallon carton of oil they’ll need. He grabs the boxes, and Steve shuffles them into the dining room. 

Thankfully the table is already set- in fact it’s been set for a week now. A centerpiece of bright red Poinsettias and the themed Christmas plates lined carefully down the large mahogany table. Steve rarely comes in here, usually eating his meals perched on the couch while his parents are away, and even he’s impressed by the display his mother has created. It does mean there is very little room for fondue pots.

“We have to move the flowers,” Billy says, looking vaguely put out by the whole thing and Steve bites down in his bottom lip trying to figure out how it all can work. 

“We can’t move them- they’re the center piece,” Steve tries, setting the boxed fondue pots down on one of the chairs. 

“Okay- I think we can fit two over there, and one on this end. I don’t think it will look quite as pretty but, we keep the flowers that way,” Billy says setting down the cooking oil, and adjusting several of the place settings. It’s definitely not pretty, but the table is packed with stuff and there’s really no other option.

They get to work setting up, carefully arranging the pots, Steve taking great pains to make sure his mother's work isn’t completely destroyed. Throughout, Billy keeps sending him these looks, slightly confused and almost envious, and Steve isn’t sure at all what to make of them. 

“Alright well- I’ll just grab the burners, but- thanks for helping with this,” Steve says, stepping back finally to survey their work. It still looks nice, nice enough that even Martin couldn’t complain about it, and it makes some of the tension building in Steve’s chest ease. They just needed to make it through the dinner now.

“Would’ve gone faster if you’d let me move the flowers,” Billy quips at his side, and Steve turns to glare at him, but sees Billy is grinning back.

“It’s a centerpiece, you don’t move the centerpiece,” Steve says, easing back the glare into something more playful and Billy just shakes his head.

“Well, now I know that for the next time I handle a dining table emergency,”

“Boys, you wouldn’t mind helping me set up a cookie decorating station for Jenny would you?” Steve startles as his mother appears in the doorway behind them, looking more put together than she’d been before. The flour dusted from her skirt, and the red food dye washed from her cheek.

He nods automatically and is surprised when Billy agrees just as quickly.

“The table looks nice, thank you for the help William,” his other says with a soft smile and then turns back towards the kitchen.

They finish the rest of the prep work rather quickly. The cookie decorating station for later is set up in the kitchen as Steve’s mom sets three plates with sliced, marinated chicken, meatballs, and steak for the fondue. As they work, Steve finds himself enjoying himself, unlike any other holiday where he would have been dragged to the living room to withstand the scrutiny of his brother and dad.

And then the game ends, and the real work begins. 

Jenny is the first one to appear in the kitchen, right at Steve’s elbow, her eyes immediately finding the cookies. 

“Are those for me?” She asks, hand already reaching for a gingerbread woman, and Steve has to scoop her up before she can grab it. She doesn’t seem to put out by it as she giggles, and he holds her at his hip as he watches Janice and Martin walk in.

“They are, but they’re for after dinner,” he explains, and she nods solemnly as she stares hard at the bowls of multicolored icing.

“Is dinner ready?” Martin asks, stuffing his hands into his suit jacket pockets, and Steve almost asks if he wanted to help with the set up if he was so ready to eat. But he doesn’t, he just sets Jenny back down, making sure to step in front of the decorating station.

“Yeah, we’re all set. Right?” He turns to Billy, who appears from the dining room entrance having been moving the fondue plates to their correct places.

“Yeah, we’re good to go,” he says moving over to stand by Steve.

“And who are you?” Martin asks, not even trying to be polite.

“Marty,” Janice hisses at his elbow, but Martin ignores her continuing to stare pointedly at Billy, who does nothing but smile politely back.

“I’m a friend of Steve’s,” Billy says, charming as ever, smile and gaze not wavering an ounce in the face of Martin’s cold severity. 

“Well if I’d known this was a potluck I wouldn’t have dressed up so much,” Martin says, and Steve can feel the moment his blood begins to boil. 

“He needed a place to stay Martin, it’s not like you even-”

“Gosh I’m starved- Linda hon, are we ready to sit now?” For once in his life, Steve is glad for his father's interruption, and his mother’s voice rings out in the affirmative from the dining room. With his dad in the lead, the tense little party shuffles in to eat.

Steve takes a seat at the left end, next to Billy farthest away from his brother. 

They all settle in, Jenny next to her mom, just tall enough to handle the utensils. Steve’s dad at the table, his wife on one side and Martin on the other. 

The problem with fondue is, you have to cook your own food before you eat it, and because of this, there is plenty of time to speak instead of stuffing your face. Steve has always found this to be a problem, and he has always been proven right.

As soon as everyone has speared their chosen meats, and shoved them into the pots to cook, his mother tries to broach the silence.

“How long will you be staying in Hawkins? There’s a wonderful little Christmas market that I thought Jenny might like to see tomorrow,” his mom asks politely, shooting a small smile in Jenny’s direction, who’s currently playing with the fondue tongs like mini swords.

“We’ll be leaving early, we still have my mother to visit,” Martin says, not looking up from his plate, the word mother falling from his mouth like an insult. Steve wants to leave, wants to shove the stupid fucking tiered cake back in the kitchen into his brother’s face, as he watches his mom’s face go pale.

“Oh- of course. I should have considered that.”

“We could stay the afternoon couldn’t we Marty? It is a pain waking up so early,” Janice says, and Steve just about kisses her for it. Martin does glance up this time, but his expression leaves no room for argument.

“It would be rude not to arrive on time,” Martin says coolly, and Janice’s mouth puckers, but her eyes drop back to her plate and the table is silent again. 

“Uh- we have cheese fondue and sliced bread in the kitchen, for a starter,” Steve tries, and his mom shoots him a grateful look.

“I’m fine thank you,” Martin says, and then promptly removes his first skewers and lowers them onto his plate. Janice frowns and then grabs Jenny’s hand, standing from the table.

“That sounds wonderful Stephen, would you mind showing us where?” 

“Yeah, sure,” he grabs his own plate as well, and then motions to Billy who hands him his with a nod of thanks. 

He leads Janice and Jenny into the kitchen and watches them fill their plates high with bread cubes, drizzled heavily with the melted beer cheese. Janice helps Jenny patiently, picking her up so she can spoon in her own helping of cheese, and Steve can’t help but smile. If it was just these two they had over for the holidays he wouldn’t mind so much. Janice has always seemed too good for Martin.

As if she’s read his thoughts, Janice turns to him once he begins to get Billy and his helpings. 

“You know, the holidays are a really stressful time at the firm for Martin. I know how much he appreciates the time he gets to spend with you guys,” she says softly, petting Jenny’s head as the little girl stuffs her face with cheesy bread. They both know she’s lying, but it’s a nice lie from a nice woman, and it makes Steve reconsider shoving a cake in his brother's face. At least in an effort not to embarrass Janice.

He tries to keep it in mind once they get back to the dining room.

“So, Steve, I hear you applied for Indiana University? I thought you were considering Perdue the last time we saw you,” Martin starts in immediately, as soon as Steve hands Billy over his plate. He grimaces and lowers himself down into his seat, and tries to keep a cool head.

“Well, that was two years ago, and I’ve applied to both actually- just to keep my options open,” he says quickly, shoving a piece of bread into his mouth in panic. Of course, Martin waits until he’s done chewing before he pushes again.

“And you're still doing Basketball? You know I was just telling Dad, how rare good sports scholarships are. For your last semester of high school you might want to consider other extracurriculars, something more eye catching,” Martin says, stabbing a piece of chicken with his fondue skewer more violently than Steve truly felt necessary.

“It’s kind of late for that, they don’t look at anything in the second semester of senior year,” Steve says, trying not to let himself be pulled into the anxious back and forth of ‘have I done enough to be noticed? ’

“Well, that seems defeatist, you know my last year of high school, I ran for student body and was part of the debate club and I know it had an effect on my college applications,” Martin says matter of factly, and Steve can see his dad nodding along as if he’s thinking ‘Yes, I remember when I had a competent son around’ .

“I don’t know how many times he has to say it, the applications have been sent, there’s nothing else he can do right now,” Billy says suddenly, and the whole table turns to him in shock. Martin’s face darkens immediately.

“See, this is where this country is heading, we’re not teaching kids how to take initiative. You know once you leave high school, the real world isn’t going to coddle you,” Martin says sharply, and Billy laughs, head thrown back full belly laugh and Steve should be embarrassed, but he’s really, really not. Mostly he wants to stand up and cheer.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever had that problem, but really, by all means, tell me what the real world is like,” Billy says with such confidence it even makes Martin speechless. The table goes quiet, besides the sizzling of the oil in front of them.

“Right well, I think I’m due for a smoke break, so I’ll just excuse myself,” Billy says, with such a polite smile and affectation that all the rest of them can do is watch him fold his napkin, and leave the room. 

Steve blinks down at his plate for a second, as Martin scoffs in disbelief. And then he’s standing from his chair as well.

His mother looks at him worriedly, but it wasn’t like she spoke up either, so if he’s not exactly feeling magnanimous to her either, it’s in her.

“I’m going to- yeah,” he doesn’t finish the thought, just lets his napkin fall to the floor and then he’s out of the dining room's oppressive atmosphere and it’s like he can breathe again. 

He finds Billy out on the back porch, looking at the closed pool, and the frozen woods beyond. He is actually smoking, the thin tendrils curling up into the air like some kind of warning signal. 

Billy doesn’t turn around when Steve shuts the door behind him. 

He lets the quiet permeate the air, not sure what it is he wants to say. What he needs to say to make this better. If anything is even wrong to begin with.

Billy Hargrove, it turns out is a mystery to Steve.

“Martin’s a dick you know. Always has been,” he finally ends up saying, and this at least gets him an acknowledgment.

“Doesn’t look like he gets called out on it enough,” Billy says, taking a deep drag from his cigarette after. Steve huffs a laugh, and shuffles a little closer, just now starting to feel the cold biting through his layers of clothes.

“Yeah, you regretting taking me up on this offer?” Steve asks, and he’s waiting for the affirmative, because it hasn’t been a great afternoon, and it’s not looking like it’s going to be a great night but Billy shakes his head.

“Best Christmas Eve dinner I’ve had in years. I’m just glad it’s not my family there at each other's throats,” Billy says with a shrug, and Steve nods like he understands, but he doesn’t think he does, not quite. Not all of it.

“You don’t have to go back in there, I can get you settled in the guest room, and you can just ignore us-”

“And leave you to the Wolf in a bad suit? No, I think I’m good,” Billy says with a shrug and then he turns to look at Steve and something in his chest shifts. And for some reason, maybe by that very late Christmas miracle, he trusts Billy Hargrove.

“Sometimes I,” he pauses, looking down at his feet, feeling stupidly vulnerable, but he continues nonetheless. “Sometimes I feel like I’m trespassing in my own house. The way my dad talks about Martin, and his accounting firm job, and his house in Carmel and his wife- I know exactly who he’d rather have living in the house. And the worst part is- Martin doesn’t give a shit what my dad thinks. He’s an adult and he doesn’t care anymore, and I wish-”

“You wish you didn’t care either,” Billy says, leaning heavily on the porch railing, eyes glued to the barren forest ahead of them. Steve pauses, his mouth dipping into a frown as he tucks his hands under his arms to fight the cold.

“Yeah. But I do. I don’t know if that makes me an idiot for trying but- I do,” Steve breaths out, following Billy to the railing and resting his elbows down beside him.

“You’re not.”

“What?” Steve turns confused, but Billy is still very purposefully not looking at him.

“An idiot. You like to act it sometimes, but- you’re not.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, and there is so much more he can say but thanks is enough for now.

They stand in silence for a bit, soaking up the heat of each other, elbow to elbow, as Billy tries to blow out rings of smoke. He’s mostly unsuccessful, but it makes Steve smile.

“You know, it’s pretty amazing with how much of a dick your brother is that he has such a cute kid,” Billy says suddenly, and Steve snorts out loud, his smile growing into a grin.

“Yeah, Jenny’s great, an aspiring artist you know,” he says fondly, and Billy nods, smiling.

“I’m sure she’ll go great places- you do really well with her.”

“Well I’d hope so, wouldn’t be much of a babysitter if I couldn’t even handle my own cousin,” Steve says casually, but the omission of his kind of secret part time job just sort of slips out, and he cringes softly as Billy’s face brightens in semi-malicious glee.

“You’re a babysitter? Didn’t know this hick town was so progressive,” he says with a grin and Steve shoots him a hard look over the ‘ hick ’ comment, but Billy only huffs a small laugh, breath hanging visibly in the frigid air. 

“It’s Ms. Henderson who’s the progressive, I don’t think the Sinclairs would’ve given me a chance if she hadn’t waxed poetic for me,” Steve says with a shake of his head, still kind of surprised by her show of generosity even now.

“And that’s how you know my sister, you babysit her little boyfriend?” Billy asks, nudging his shoulder, and Steve nods.

“Mostly it’s his sister, Erica, who I’m looking after. Lucas and the others tend to stick to his bedroom when I’m over- but uh- not just him and Max- I mean they’re all together so-” Steve stutters out, realizing his mistake too late, but Billy just laughs until Steve quiets.

“Chill, I get it, I’m not that protective of the little shit head,” Billy says, waving off Steve’s stumbled reply, but he’s not done yet.

“I know when we uh- had that fight you kind of- you said some stuff about not wanting me to hang out with her- I don’t , just so you know, maybe I hang out with Dustin, but Dustin’s like a brother to me- but Max, I just look after her when she’s around ya know.” He finishes with a shrug, and Billy finally turns to him completely, his face honest for once, no show-offy smile, or comically raised eyebrows.

“I get it, Harrington, I was being a dumbass. I think we both were. But if it makes you feel any better I don’t think you’re a pedophile. Anymore ,” he says, tilting his head at the end, and Steve can’t help but let out a laugh in response.

“Oh yeah, I feel all warm and fuzzy, thank you,” but truthfully, having that uncomfortable misunderstanding out of the way does make him feel better.

“How’d you get the job anyway? I have to imagine there’s a story here,” Billy asks, dropping his spent cigarette into the deck, and it sizzles on the wet wood. Steve shrugs, turning so he can lean back against the railing. 

“You uh- you know Nancy Wheeler?”

“Yeah, the chick you were dating back in October,” Billy says with a shrug, and Steve thinks for the briefest of moments something unhappy crosses his face. But it’s gone so quickly he can’t really be sure.

“Yeah well, she babysits a lot, like a lot, a lot, just so she has the money around, and most of our date nights would get canceled so she could work. At some point I figured, why not just go along with her, get the kids to bed faster and you know, actually spend time with my girlfriend-”

“Sounds smart,” Billy concedes, and Steve rolls his eyes at how desperate he had been before.

“Yeah well, Nancy got this really nasty flu, and Ms. Henderson was just dying for a babysitter, and Nancy just happened to let slip that I helped her out sometimes, so I get a call, and she’s begging me to go watch Dustin, and it’s money and he’s a cool kid so I agree. After that it kind of just, became a routine. Dustin likes me, and I don’t have as much going on as Nancy so-”

“You stole your ex-girlfriend's babysitting gig?” Billy asks with a grin, and Steve stops, mouth falling shut to think about this.

“Uh-yeah, I guess I did,” he says after a moment, head nodding slowly, and Billy lets out a low whistle.

“Seems like just desserts then.”

“I hadn’t really thought about it like that,” Steve says, a smile of his own slipping into his face. 

“Steve?”

“Hey mom, listen I’m sorry, if you want me to go apologize I-”

“Oh don’t worry, your father and Martin got into a completely different argument right after you left, it’s practically forgotten,” she says hurriedly, with a tiny wave of her hand.

“Oh,” Steve says, and he doesn't even know why he feels disappointed. Maybe that he’s so easily forgotten, that a hurtful disagreement for him is just commonplace enough to not be of note.

“We need your help with Jenny, she zoomed through the cookie decorating, and we need you to watch her for a bit. We’ve got her in front of the T.V now but if you two will-?” She motions inside vaguely, and Steve automatically shrugs his shoulders in admission.

“Yeah, yeah sure,” Steve says, mostly just glad the evening with Martin will be cut short.

“Thank you,” she says, then pats the door frame awkwardly before making her exit. Steve lets out a sigh, letting his chin drop down to his chest. 

“You don’t mind do you?” Steve asks, cutting his eyes over to look at Billy. 

“No, preferable to spending more time with the lovely Martin,” Billy says, mirroring Steve’s shrug from before.

Jenny is already perched on the couch when they find her, face lit by the blue glow of the T.V. “The Year Without Santa Claus” is already well on its way, with Mrs. Claus and the two elves on their way to see the kooky Snow Miser. And as soon as she sees them she forces them down onto the couch, her squeezed between them both. 

Her eyes light up the minute the music begins to play.

“You have to sing Steve!” Jenny whines, pulling at his hair as she scrambles into his lap. Steve’s eyes skirt to Billy who is hiding his mouth behind his hand but Steve knows he’s grinning.

“They’re singing for me aren’t they?” Steve tries, as the beginning chorus of Snow Miser begins. Jenny’s mouth droops, her blond curls arranged just so that she looks like a pouting cherub.

“Sing along!” Jenny says, yanking again, and the image of serenity is ruined as Steve cringes in pain.

“He’s- Mr. Icicle,” Steve sings, already off key and feeling a flush crawl up his neck as Jenny grins at him.

“He’s Mr. Ten Below!” She yells back, and next to Steve Billy lets out a snort of laughter. But this was a mistake on Billy’s part as Jenny’s eyes are drawn in his direction at the noise.

“You have to sing too,” she sing-yells, and Billy’s eyes widen in fear. He’s shaking his head even as Jenny climbs over the sofa to his side to shake him with her tiny little sugar covered hands.

“Sing together!” 

“She won’t stop until you do,” Steve mock whispers and Billy glares over Jenny’s head at him, but in the next moment he’s joining in on the chorus.

“I’m Mr. White Christmas, I’m Mr. Cool. I’m Mr. Icicle, I’m Mr. Ten Below!” Billy sings louder than even Steve, and Jenny very nearly cackles with glee, like the little dictator she is. 

Thankfully, the song itself is not very long, but both boys end it red faced. Unfortunately, it’s accompanied piece is right after, and they don’t have to be told twice for a repeat performance with Heat Miser’s song. 

Jenny settles down after that, her feet swinging lazily off the side of the couch, as Santa continues to be a phenomenal asshole about everything. The man has to work one day a year, he can suck it up for the kids, can’t he?

Jenny falls asleep before the credits roll, hand planted in Steve’s lap, her hair a messy tangle of blond curls fanned out around her. He doesn’t have it in him to move her, so when the next Rankin-Bass film begins to roll, he leaves it, shrugging to Billy in apology. 

Billy waves him off quietly, courteous of the sleeping little girl next to him, and turns to watch an elf who wants to become a dentist.

Steve can apparently fall asleep to this too. A smiling Billy Hargrove tucked comfortably into his couch, is enough to set any man or child at peace. He’s awoken by the soft footsteps of Janice, and he blinks up at her owlishly as she waves silently with a tiny smile. 

She crouches down and gently shakes Jenny’s shoulder, as Steve rubs at his eyes to wake up.

“Jenny, honey, it’s time to go,” Janice soothes, and Jenny only lets a soft whine of protest, before she lets her mother pick her up.

“Well- thank you for the meal Linda, I hope you all enjoy the rest of your evening,” Steve can hear Martin’s say, still unenthusiastic as ever, from the other room. He stands, stretching up, and looks down at Billy who apparently never went to sleep.

He’s watching Steve with this, soft look, and either it’s the Christmas Spirit, or he actually likes it, he returns the look as Janice collects her coat and shoes from the entryway.

He starts walking that way, to say his goodbyes, and Billy gets up to follow, their shoulders bumping companionably.

“Bye Jenny,” Steve says with a little wave, and Jenny, still not fully awake, just blinks at him. He considers that a good enough farewell.

When Martin enters the scene, he doesn’t say goodbye either, just nods his head towards Steve and Billy, like he’s not even taking a chance at letting them ruin that . Janice however does press a kiss to his cheek before she’s leading a very drowsy Jenny out the door.

And with that, the night is over, and Steve realizes, all in all, it hadn’t been the worst Christmas Eve he’s experienced before. 

He leaves Billy in the living room to finish off Rudolph, and finds his mother in the kitchen, Saran wrapping everything in sight. 

“Where’s dad?” Steve asks quietly, and his mother doesn’t look up.

“He already said goodbye to Martin if that’s what you're wondering. He’s taking a call in his study.”

“Hmm,” he hums, because it’s not an unusual occurrence for nights to end like this, all of them sequestered off to different parts of the house after too many hours of having to play nice. 

“Steve, could you take out the trash while I finish up here?” She asks, her voice tight, and he gets the warning there that she wants to be alone. 

“Yeah, course,” Steve says, shuffling back from the counter stuffing his hands into his Jean pockets.

“I’ll help- just these two Mrs. Harrington?” Billy says, suddenly appearing at Steve’s elbow, and both he and his mother startle in surprise.

“Yes, thank you, William,” she says, waving to the overstuffed black bags, and each of them grabs one to drag out to the trash cans. 

It started snowing sometime as they were watching the movies inside, as there’s already a light dusting over everything. The trees and ground sparkle like they’ve been dusted in diamonds. Steve lets out a breath, watching it hang in the air, and Nilly nudges him to keep moving.

“So, on a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate a Harrington Christmas Eve?” Steve prompts as they reach the trash cans, and he lifts the lid for them to dump their bags. Billy heaves in his first and then tilts his head to the side to think. 

“Solid 7, I think,” Billy answers, and Steve’s eyes widen. 

“That good?” Steve intones, laughing slightly, and Billy rolls his eyes.

“What can I say- you’re better company than I thought,” Billy shrugs, dipping his head, but not before Steve catches the smile on his lips.

“Hey- why did you come up to me- in the Walmart this afternoon?” Steve asks hesitantly, and Billy’s head whips up to look at him in surprise. There’s a pause as he looks Steve over, blue eyes piercing in the dark. As the tension reaches its peak, Billy finally turns away with a huff of laughter and leans against the porch railing.

“I owed you,” Billy says with another shrug, voice hushed in the cool night air. Steve turns to him with a raised eyebrow, searching for some explanation.

“Owed me? The last time we talked I gave you a black eye, I didn’t think that counted as a favor.”

“That wasn’t the last time we talked, asshole,” Billy says, rolling his eyes, but the aggression in his voice is no match for the guarded look in his eyes. 

“What do you- oh, oh yeah- ”

It’s stupid how easily it had slipped Steve’s mind, but there had been so much else going on. The blur of November, of everything that happened that last month before the break, is still unclear in his mind. But he remembers now what Billy meant.

The last game of the season, the one Steve’s dad had complimented Billy on against Columbus- Steve had caught Billy crying in the locker room. He had forgotten something in his locker, but it hadn’t mattered what once he’d stopped dead in his tracks in front of Billy, who had already started wiping at his tears, too caught off guard to really hide what he’d been doing.

He isn’t really sure what he’s been thinking, just knew that he wouldn’t want anyone to see him like this. He’d seen Billy tense, getting ready for a fight, and he’d told him not to worry. Told him he’d watch the door- to take his time.

He’d left, watched the door like he promised, turned away a few confused teammates. And when Billy finally exited, the only thing left in his eyes determination- neither of them mentioned what had happened inside.

“Yeah- so maybe I felt like I owed you, or something, but- I’m glad I did either way,” Billy says, shaking Steve from the memory, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched defensively. 

“So- so am I,” Steve says, cautiously stepping forward to place his hand on Billy’s shoulder. He feels like he needs to confirm this with touch, and once his palm is placed firmly on Billy they look back at one another in a quiet, thoughtful silence. A frozen moment in time.

Billy is the first to look away. And Steve drops his hand.

“We uh- we should probably head back in, didn’t mean to keep you,” Billy says, nodding his head towards the door, and Steve nods stiltedly.

“Yeah, yeah your right,” he mutters, letting Billy take the lead in their trudge back inside.

He doesn’t know what makes this time different, what makes him notice, tilts his head up just a little bit more. But it is- it’s different this time when he catches sight of the mister toe just as Billy’s hand grabs the door handle.

And Steve definitely doesn’t know why he points it out to Billy. 

“It’s mistletoe,” the words come out of him suddenly, like a whispered creed. Billy’s eyes go up, and he licks his lips when he sees it. Steve wishes he wasn’t watching Billy’s mouth.

“Well, I guess we’re stuck,” Billy says, voice hushed, as he lowers his head again, eyes bright, and Steve swallows nervously.

“We don’t- no one will know if we don’t.”

“No one will know if we do,” Billy interrupts, and his hand is on Steve’s wrist, thumb on his rapidly rising pulse.

“We don’t have to Billy, you don’t have to,” Steve says, shuffling closer, and Billy’s mouth splits into a taunting smile.

“What are you chicken Harrington?”

“No, I’m not chicken it’s just we don’t have to-" except, however Steve was going to finish that sentence is cut off by Billy’s lips on his.

Despite the cold, the kiss is warm, and Steve instantly melts into it. The hand he has wrapped around Billy’s wrist slides up till it’s grasping his bicep, pulling just him millimeters closer.

And then it’s ending, too quickly, as Billy steps away to take a breath, his eyes half lidded, still staring at Steve’s lips. But he sees there, for the first time since meeting Billy, hesitancy in his eyes.

“It’s getting pretty cold, we should-”

“I think it’s usually for longer,” Steve blurts out, and Billy stops.

“What?”

“I think Mistletoe kisses are supposed to last longer- it’s like the rule,” Steve says quickly, feeling himself losing his nerve, but thankfully Billy catches on this time.

“And uh- how long do they last?” Billy asks, voice lower, stepping close once again. Steve’s hand moves up his arm, to Billy’s neck tugging him forward carefully, but Billy is already leaning in of his own accord.

This kiss is like an electric shock to his system, knowing they both want it- that’s it not really the mistletoe that made them do it. Steve tangles his hand in Billy’s curls and pulls, and grins when he feels Billy gasp against his mouth.

This kiss is much longer, but the snow is falling down around them, and Steve’s fingers and toes are going numb.

“Okay- it might be too cold now,” Steve says, pulling away with a smile, as snowflakes glisten in Billy’s eyelashes. 

“Inside would be warmer,” Billy says, and Steve feels a thrill rush through him. His hand is already grasping for the door handle, and Billy presses one last kiss to the side of his mouth before their stumbling back inside.

His hand slips from Billy’s carefully, the tips of his fingers dragging against his pulse as he pulls away. He can see Billy smiling out of the corner of his eye as they enter the kitchen again. The sight there though stops them in their tracks.

“What are you- doing?” Steve asks the broad smile on his face faltering as he looks at his mother and the suitcase displayed in plain view at her side. 

She’s putting gloves on, her hair up in a tight bun. She looks like she’s ready for a business trip like she’s ready to run out the door. 

They hadn’t been gone that long had they?

“Your dad got a call from head office, we’re headed to Indy,” his mother says loftily, her eyes not meeting his as she begins to button her fashionable, red winter coat.

“What-right now? ” He asks, as if it isn’t already obvious, as if there isn’t a suitcase at their feet right now.

“It can’t be helped Steve, I’m sorry,” she says, distractedly, as she grabs the handle of her suitcase. She presses forward, towards the living room, and entrance and Steve is close at her heels as she goes. 

“It’s Christmas Eve,” he says as if that has ever been a reason for them to act more like a family. His mother stops though, just before they reach the entryway, and she turns to him with a sigh. 

He thinks for a moment, that maybe he’s said the right thing this time.

“I’m sorry, your fathers waiting in the car,” she says, and the thing is, she does look sorry, just not sorry enough to stay. She kisses him on the cheek, and then she’s gone, disappearing around the corner, only the opening and closing of the door indicating her exit.

And the blooming joy in his chest is snuffed as easily as a candle. 

“Steve?” Billy’s voice sounds from behind him, and Steve turns, feeling numb. Unsure how he could have possibly felt anything but this just moments ago. Billy seems to see this, his eyes shuttered, face neutral. Steve lets out a quiet sigh, his shoulders dropping.

“I’m sorry I- let me show you to the guest room,” he says softly, and Billy nods stiltedly. 

“Alright.”

Billy is silent as they walk through the now empty and dim house, and all Steve can think of is putting one foot in front of the other.

But when they reach the guest room, a secluded spacious bedroom, that has no more personality than anything else in the house, Billy turns to him to speak.

“We should talk about what happened,” Billy says, leaning against the doorframe, and Steve doesn’t mean to but he can feel himself grimace. Billy’s eyes flash with something hurt, and then it’s gone just as suddenly.

“I- we will Billy. I just um- I’m tired, and I’m gonna go to bed now,” Steve says, voice right, keeping his head bowed and arms crossed over his chest.

“Right, well, don’t forget I need a ride tomorrow,” Billy says softly, and Steve looks up, trying to communicate that he doesn’t mean to be like this right now, that he wanted this to be different, all in this one look. 

“I won’t,” he says out loud and Billy nods, lips pursed, and then leans forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek, and Steve reaches out to hold his wrist, loose but secure. He pulls away after a moment, and they leave each other for the night.

~~~

Steve wakes the next morning, with the bright winter sun in his eyes, and he knows that at least he’s not completely alone this Christmas. It makes it that much easier to pull himself out of bed then.

He takes longer than normal getting dressed, overthinking each article of clothing he pulls from his dresser and closet. He finally settles on a maroon sweater, and pair of dark wash jeans, feeling frustrated with himself in the thirty minute deliberation period. 

By the time he makes it downstairs, after a call through the upstairs office phone, it’s nearly 10 o’clock. The sight of Billy sat the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee is what greets him.

“Hey,” Steve says startled, stopping awkwardly at the edge of the kitchen, and Billy raises his mug in hello. He looks normal perched there, like a fixture of the house, and it makes something happy flit about in Steve’s chest when he notices this.

“Sorry about rummaging through your cupboards, I didn’t think you’d mind though,” Billy says, and Steve waves the concern away immediately, already having spotted the second cup at Billy’s elbow. He walks over slowly, slipping his hands around the warm mug, keeping his eyes on Billy the entire time.

“You woke up earlier than me,” he says quietly, stating the obvious, but he doesn’t want to ruin this. It all seems fragile, and untouched like the glistening covering of snow outside.

“Yeah, still on a schedule I guess,” Billy says with a shrug, and Steve takes a sip of the coffee, still hot enough to burn, but delicious enough to be worth the hurt.

“I uh- I called a tow truck, so the Camaro is taken care of- I gave them my dad's credit card number so all you need to worry about is picking it up on Monday,” Steve says casually, and Billy looks up from his mug with a raised eyebrow. He doesn’t argue with the payment method but voices another concern quickly enough.

“I won’t have a car to get there.”

“Well I’ll- I’ll drive you,” Steve says, and a small smile flits onto Billy’s face.

“You ready to talk about last night?” He questions suddenly, taking a sip of his coffee, eye contact still intact and Steve can already feel a flush spreading up his neck.

“Is it enough to say I liked it?” He asks, running his index finger along the rim of his mug, and Billy’s hums quietly for a moment. 

“Yeah, I think for now,” he says, 

“I did- I did like it,” Steve says leaning in a little bit closer, noticing immediately as Billy’s eyes drop to his mouth.

“I need to get home Steve,” Billy says softly, and his eyes are off of Steve, and towards the clock over the sink.

“Yeah, yeah sure,” Steve says, stepping back with his mug clutched tight to his chest.

Billy lets him listen to Christmas music this time around, claiming he may have felt the Christmas Spirit a little more this year. 

So instead of the silence, Steve had been expecting, the drive is filled with the crooning of Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas , and he half believes he will. 

Through the years we all will be together, If the fates allow. Hang a shining star upon the highest bough, And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.

The parking is the worst part of the trip, as they both look out to the quiet, sleepy looking house in front of them. 

“You gonna be okay?” Steve asks, eyeing the front door of the Hargrove household warily. 

“It’s Christmas, not even my dad would want to ruin that for Max and Susan,” Billy says with a distracted shrug, and Steve reaches forward to place his hand on Billy's shoulder.

“I’ll call you, okay? To check in,” he says carefully, and Billy looks at him, mouth pressed thin, and then with very little warning, he leans forward, closing the gap between them with a kiss. Somehow it is soft, but there is so much intent behind it, that Steve knows it is a promise.

“Merry Christmas,” Steve whispers, just barely pulling away, leaning his forehead against Billy’s. Billy laughs softly, and then he’s pressing a kiss to Steve’s forehead before pushing open the car door.

Steve watches him exit, and then before closing the door he leans in with a smile.

“Merry Christmas Steve.”

He closes the door then, but Steve waits patiently, car still running until he makes it to the door. He stays and he watches the windows of the house just to be sure. 

Finally, Steve lets out a sigh and goes to shift into drive when he notices it.

There on his dash is a little piece of wrapped newspaper. In smeared blue ink, is his name, and a smile begins to creep onto lips as he picks it up and gingerly unwraps it.

Inside a Christmastree car freshener sits, and a laugh immediately rises up, until Steve is doubled over in his car, feeling more like a kid on Christmas than he has since he was eight.