Chapter Text
Steve had never really thought about what he looked like, his hair sure, but clothes? His wardrobe is full to the brim of clean polos and khakis, he's sure once he graduates it will be filled with pressed suits like his father's. It's the way it's always been and always will be, why fight it?
“Shall I go with the navy blue one or the navy blue with stripe one today? Really spoiled for choice here,” he mutters to himself as he tries to prolong going downstairs to the kitchen where his parents inevitably are.
“Steven! Hurry up your breakfast is going cold!” he hears his mother call from downstairs. Oh yes can’t wait to have your dry “sorry we’re leaving again” French toast mother, he thinks. Sighing he grabs the first shirt he touches and trudges downstairs.
“Oh dear finally, you know your father doesn’t like being late to the airport,” his mother says as she places the, yep definitely dry, French toast down in front of him. His father sits across from him reading the newspaper, breakfast untouched. “Steven,” he father places down the newspaper and looks at him the way he always does, like he’s picking Steve apart, every flaw, every disappointment. “I expect good results from your schoolings this year, in a couple years you’ll be joining me, and I can’t look like I’m playing favourites if your grades start slipping,” he says in a tone that makes it sound like an order rather than speaking to your only son.
“Yes, sir,” Steve’s picking at the food now trying to appease his mother, as if she’s paying attention to him in the slightest. “Good, and don’t forget about basketball, you know I was captain by my junior year, and I expect you to be too,” Steve thinks there’s plenty of players worthy of captain next year but he’s not about to tell his dad that.
His father has decided that’s enough of a conversation this month and leaves to go upstairs. “Steven, before we go, I almost forgot, I bought you something yesterday, thought you’d look nice in it,” his mother says grabbing a small package wrapped in green tissue. “Thanks, mom,” Steve strains a smile, he knows what it is, he knows his mother is trying, it’s her classic attempt at being a mother. He doesn’t blame her, he wouldn’t want to stick around either, especially if his husband had a habit of taking his secretaries on his trips.
He's got time, he doesn’t rush to leave for school. Tommy and Carol won’t even show up until second period anyway, no one’s waiting for him. He raises a hand when his mother calls out her goodbye. Sits as his breakfast, now cold, almost taunts him with a vision of a family that cares, a family that’s home. Doesn’t touch the package until the sound of his father’s car has long since left his senses.
With a deep breath he reaches for it, unwrapping it slowly. A brand-new polo.
Well, at least it wasn’t navy this time.