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“Steve Harrington, don’t tell me that you’ve never decorated a Christmas tree.”
Gravel crunched beneath the huge cardboard box Eddie Munson dragged from the tiny crawl space underneath the trailer. The contents inside of the conspicuous box shuddered and clinked and jingled—were there jingle bells in the box?—and Steve had half a mind to help Eddie lug it from under the spider-infested crawlspace, but Hawkins was cold during the winter and he rather enjoyed the way Eddie grunted with effort. "I've never decorated a Christmas tree," Steve confirmed.
He watched as Eddie ducked back into the crawlspace, ringed fingers fastening another worn cardboard box—smaller this time, with less ridiculous jingle-bell-clinking sounds from inside, but instead with strings of loose lights spilled from the sides. Steve shuddered in the cold, huffing a breath of crystallized air in front of him, nestling deeper into his jacket. Eddie's jacket. It was heavy, with a thick layer of wool lining the inside of the jacket paired with lightly stained brown corduroy on the outside. It smelled like Eddie: spicy vanilla lightly mixed with cigarette smoke and weed. It was a smell that Steve knew well. A smell that comforted him, the same way he was comforted by the smell of old books and crackling fires.
Eddie had invited Steve over to the trailer that morning during Steve's shift at Family Video. There was no particular reason for it; since they'd started dating a few months ago, it became the routine to spend an ungodly amount of time hanging around the other doing... absolutely nothing. Watching movies, listening to music, talking. But today, when Steve had showed up on the Munson's doorstep, he was greeted with a rosy-cheeked, grinning Eddie who raised a bundle of fake mistletoe over their heads and pulled him into a cold-nosed kiss. Steve could feel himself falling in love all over again as Eddie brought his hands down around Steve's shoulders, mistletoe still loosely hanging between his fingers, the plastic leaves of the mistletoe tickling the base of Steve's neck.
It hadn’t snowed yet, but Steve was expecting a white Christmas. He was so sure of it that he’d made a bet with Dustin: twenty bucks for whoever predicted the weather on Christmas, but Dustin seemed a little too smug when they’d made the deal—he’d said something about meteors and weather balloons and other sciency shit that Steve totally spaced out on. Steve had told him that science had nothing on a good Christmas wish. Haven’t you watched “It’s a Wonderful Life?” Steve had asked. At that, Max looked up from her conversation with El. That’s not what that movie is about, dipshit.
Not that Steve would know. He wasn’t even sure if that movie was a Christmas movie—which, he probably should know, because the holiday season was coming up and he worked at a movie rental store. But nobody could blame him. He spent most Christmas seasons as an accessory to his father’s work’s holiday parties, bored out of his mind, being lightly scolded behind everyone’s backs when he didn’t smile or say hello when he was supposed to. And when he was old enough, they forgoed the week of Christmas spent with family to instead take a vacation. A real vacation. Not just a work vacation.
(Steve had asked his father why they’d left him alone every Christmas with a mountain of presents and a ‘be back later!’ note on the kitchen counter. He must’ve only been ten or eleven when they’d started leaving him home by himself for Christmas; the next year he’d asked his father why they’d left, and if they could stay home together that year, but his father had said something along the lines of aren’t you grateful for all the presents we’ve given you? Do I not deserve a break after I’ve worked so hard to provide you with everything you could possibly need? )
(He hadn’t asked again after that.)
Eddie gave him a dashing smile as he pulled back from the two boxes, hands sitting accomplished on his hips with cheeks flushed red from both the cold and from the effort of dragging the boxes out of the tiny crawlspace. “That, my dear, is sacrilege of the highest sort.” He blew a strand of hair out of his face. “Christmas sacrilege. C’mere, big guy, help me get these bad boys into the house.”
Steve sighed, watching the cloud of air puff in front of his face. “Fine.” Steve teasingly pouted and reluctantly dug his hands out from where they were buried in his pockets before scooping the bigger box into his arms, grunting with effort as he tried to balance it in his arms. Eddie steadied it with his palm before picking up the smaller box full of lights. They trudged into the house.
A wave of relief crashed over Steve as they shut the trailer door behind them. Summertimes in the trailer were gross—the hot-as-balls weather paired with no AC was a horrible recipe for sweaty armpits and hair sticking to scalps—but the heater in Eddie’s trailer worked flawlessly. Even Steve’s big, fancy house didn’t have good enough heating to make the whole house cozy and toasty, but the warmth of Eddie’s trailer was the perfect remedy to spending a whopping six minutes out in the cold.
Steve rubbed at his icy nose as he stared down at the two big boxes now on the floor of Eddie’s carpeted living room. A freshly cut tree was already in the front window—illegally cut in the woods behind the park, Eddie had told him with a proud smile and a wink—and the room smelt of pine needles and sap. “Ya know,” he started, looking up at the tree. Eddie was by the door, taking his own coat off, but he looked up when Steve spoke. “I never really took you for the Christmas type.”
Eddie’s lips quirked into a smile. “No?”
“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’
“Well,” Eddie said, hanging his coat up on the coat rack next to the door. He came behind Steve and lightly tapped each of his shoulders, indicating that he wanted to take Steve’s jacket. Steve easily slipped Eddie’s jacket off his shoulders. “I’m not the religious type, but you knew that. I fuckin’ hate Catholics. Both my parents were raised Catholic and they still tried to teach me about God while they were out cheating and stealing and lying.” Eddie shrugged as he took Steve’s coat (Eddie’s coat?) into his hands and walked back to the coat rack. “But since I moved in with Wayne—who also hates Catholics, by the way—we made Christmas our own again. It became less about Jesus and stuff and more about… I dunno. Spending time together. Decorating. Watching dumb Christmas movies.”
Steve hummed and squatted down beside the boxes. “Still. You’ve got a lot of stuff in these boxes, Munson.”
Eddie shrugged. “Just bits-n-bobs that we got here and there. We like exchanging ornaments every year, and Wayne especially likes the multicolored lights on the tree. Tons of ‘em. So I make sure that we’re fully stocked with working lights, plenty of ornaments, and so many of those little-wire-ornament-hook-thingies that a person could go insane.” The kettle on the stove started whistling.
Steve smiled. It was such a genuine sentiment, so sweet, that Steve wanted to melt into the floor. He was hit all over again by how much he loved the person standing at the coat rack, smoothing out the creases in the jackets before dilly-dallying to the kitchen and pulling out two mugs and a canister of cocoa powder. “That’s really sweet.” Steve liked to voice his thoughts—he was getting better at it, too. Telling Eddie whenever he was reminded that he was handsome. Telling Eddie that his hair smelled nice. Telling Eddie that he thought his heart might explode if he told Steve about another Munson Christmas tradition.
But Eddie didn’t have his usual reaction of blushing and firing a compliment back at Steve. He didn’t drop the spoon back into the can of cocoa to walk over to Steve and press a kiss to his forehead; didn’t smile or crack a joke. Instead, he simply raised an eyebrow and paused, a small and slightly confused frown on his face. “What, you think having Christmas decorations is sweet?”
Steve met Eddie’s eyes from across the room. “Do you think… it’s not sweet?”
Eddie eyed him, suspiciously. It made Steve suddenly self-conscious, defensive. “No, I guess not,” Eddie said slowly. “It’s just… normal. And it isn’t even that much stuff.” He gestured to the two boxes in front of Steve.
“Oh.”
Eddie gave him a hint of a reassuring smile as he continued to stir in cocoa powder to two steaming mugs of water. His eyes were trained steadily on Steve, brows furrowed, like he already knew the answer to the question he was about to ask. “What were your Christmases like?”
Something in Steve’s chest sank. If it were anyone other than Eddie—or maybe Robin, too—he’d dodge the question. Pretend like the Harringtons were just like every other family on the face of the earth. Pretend like the word “Christmas” wasn’t associated with the aching feeling of being alone for the holidays and having no one to share sentimental thoughts with; no one to have a huge feast with, no one to sit around the fireplace and share memories. He’d never owned Christmas pajamas. Never once had his parents even tried to fool him with the whole Santa Claus thing. But he’d tell people that he’d believed in Santa ‘til he was twelve; he’d tell people that his mom would cook wonderful lasagna every Christmas, and they’d all sit around the table and chat about normal people things. Things that weren’t only about his dad’s work.
But it was Eddie, and Steve trusted Eddie. He loved Eddie. Eddie was the one that was there when his parents left for good; Eddie was the one that Steve knew he could talk to about these kinds of things.
“I dunno,” Steve said. He idly twirled a strand of Christmas lights between his fingers. “We never really… did Christmas.”
Eddie cocked his head to the side. “What’s that mean, you didn’t do Christmas?”
“Most years, it was just me,” Steve elaborated. His tone was meant to be casual, just a comment in passing; but he internally cursed when he saw Eddie’s hands still once again, each muscle in his body locking up and tensing. Steve was quick to recover. “But it was fine! It was fine. They left me with a ridiculous amount of presents and enough food to last a lifetime. I’d sit around and watch Christmas movies until three in the morning and eat junk food ‘til I was sick. Nothing to complain about, really.”
“Nothing to complain about?” Eddie’s tone was dangerously soft as he spoke. “Nothing to complain about? Steve, they left you alone for Christmas .”
“Really, it’s not that big of a deal.”
Eddie’s mouth dropped open. “It’s a huge fuckin’ deal. You don’t just leave your kid during Christmas just so you can go get day drunk on margaritas in Cancun for a week.” Steve’s lips lifted into an amused smile as he watched Eddie angrily scoop a heap of marshmallows into each mug. He hadn’t known someone could be angry when putting marshmallows on hot chocolate. “Your parents better watch their asses when I meet them. They’d better watch their asses.”
Steve bit his lip to conceal his smile as Eddie indignantly scooped the two mugs into his hands and walked over to where Steve sat next to the two Christmas boxes. “You can’t beat up my parents when they come back.”
Eddie raised a brow and extended the hot chocolate. “Try and stop me, big boy.”
Steve hummed in thanks as he took the mug of hot chocolate. He started to say something, beginning to change the subject, but he stopped when he noticed Eddie hovering over him for a second too long. Eddie’s brows were creased the way he did when he was thinking. “What’s wrong?” Steve asked idly.
Eddie paused for only a second longer before letting out a long exhale and sinking to the floor next to Steve. He plucked the hot chocolate mug out of Steve’s hands and set it on the coffee table next to them. Steve almost commented on the fact that Eddie didn’t use coasters for the drinks— it’ll leave cup rings, Eds, it looks tacky— but didn’t get the chance to open his mouth before Eddie was taking his face in his hands and pressing a firm kiss to Steve’s forehead.
Steve’s brow creased in mild surprise. His lips stretched into a small, bewildered grin as Eddie pulled back. “Is everything okay?”
“You know that I love you, right?” Eddie’s stare was so intense that Steve thought Eddie could see into his soul. He’d learnt not to cower from the sheer gravity of Eddie’s love—being the object of such strong and direct feelings had always scared Steve, but Robin had claimed that was the result of lacking real parents—and instead embraced the fact that Eddie liked being open with the depth of his emotions. Steve liked that Eddie was so unashamedly in tune with his own feelings. Almost envious of it, in fact.
Steve stared back up at Eddie. Even though they’d been dating for a few months, the words still never failed to send his heart racing and butterflies batting wildly in his stomach. Especially when Eddie said it like that, with raw devotion that could challenge any character from a soap opera. Steve smiled. “I do,” he said, brushing a stray strand of hair out of Eddie’s face. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to ever forget it,” Eddie said. He took a shuddery breath, intense gaze softening into something of concern. “It’s just that… sometimes I worry about you, Stevie.”
Steve’s mouth pressed into a small frown. He shifted forward on his knees, sidling up into Eddie’s space, lacing their hands together as he prepared himself for one of those conversations. One where he’d have to be open about his feelings. Admit to stuff he normally wouldn’t admit to. “Worry about me?” Steve said, dread pooling in his chest. “Why?”
“I worry that you don’t take care of yourself sometimes,” Eddie said. He looked at Steve, soft eyes begging him to understand. Steve’s eyebrows gathered at the center of his forehead. Eddie chewed on his lip before continuing. “I worry that you don’t think you deserve the stuff you do deserve. Like, you deserve having good Christmas memories. You deserved to have a family during Christmas.”
Steve rubbed circles on the back of Eddie’s knuckles. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, guilt gathering in his chest.
Eddie sharply lifted his eyes. “What? No. No, Steve, that’s not what I meant,” he said, disconnecting their fingers to cup Steve’s face. “You don’t have to be sorry for anything, love. I just… I need you to know that you deserve so much more than your shitty parents. You deserve everything.” Steve’s lips parted. You deserve everything. The words sank into his ears, simmering in his heart. He wasn’t sure he believed it, but god, he’d take it as the Bible if Eddie kept saying it like that. “I just… I need you to promise me that you’re taking care of yourself in that big, empty house of yours, because I can’t be there all the time even though I wish I could.”
Steve set his hands over Eddie’s and brought them down into the space between them, looking into Eddie’s eyes with an intensity that he hoped matched Eddie’s. “I’ll take care of myself,” he promised. He gave Eddie a small, earnest smile. “You don’t have to worry about me. And besides,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “I’ve got everything I need for new Christmas memories right here.”
At that, Eddie dissolved into a smile. “You’re such a sap,” he said. He dropped Steve’s hand in favor of sliding his hands around Steve’s midsection, gathering him into his arms.
Steve dropped his head into Eddie’s shoulder. He sucked in a breath of Eddie’s shampoo—vanilla and cinnamon—and reveled in the way comfort washed over him. “I love you, too,” Steve mumbled into Eddie’s shirt.
They stayed like that for a few precious moments, listening to the Christmas music whispering through the tinny television speaker and basking in the cozy warmth of Eddie’s trailer. The smell of hot chocolate mixed with the pine of the tree mixed with Eddie’s conditioner was lulling Steve into sleep. It would be a first, Steve thought, to take a nap on the floor of Eddie’s trailer, wrapped in Eddie’s arms, surrounded with boxes of Christmas decorations and an undecorated tree looming above them. It sounded nice. It sounded… peaceful. Loving.
But it all came to an end with the sound of a key sliding into the lock on Eddie’s door, shortly followed by the heavy footsteps of boots against the floor. Steve would be disappointed had Eddie’s face not brightened in excitement, a boyish grin spreading across his face.
“Wayne!” he said, pulling back—just a bit—from Steve. Steve blinked himself awake, wiping away the drool that had fallen onto his cheek. “We were just about to decorate the tree. Steve’s never decorated one before.”
Eddie’s uncle kicked off his boots at the door and took off his baseball cap, running a hand over his bald head. Piercing gray eyes met Steve’s from across the room. “That true, kid?”
It was far from the first time Steve and Wayne had interacted. Steve had spent plenty of nights at Eddie’s trailer, which often included run-ins with Wayne in the morning as Steve started the coffee pot and Eddie scrambled eggs. There would be few words spoken, here and there—Wayne Munson was a gruff man of few words—usually about basketball or work or whatever the hell else Steve could come up with to fill the silence. Eddie obviously had no trouble talking to Wayne, but for Steve, it was calculated. Nerve-wracking. Especially since the time Wayne had a later shift at ‘the plant’ and had accidentally walked in on Eddie and Steve… getting intimate in the late hours of the night without Steve or Eddie knowing that Wayne was home. Nobody wants their boyfriends’ parents to walk in on them, but that was worse because it was Wayne. Steve could hardly look the man in the eye since that incident.
“Yeah,” Steve responded, pulling back from Eddie. Even though Wayne was supportive of Steve and Eddie’s relationship, Steve couldn’t help but put distance between them whenever Wayne was around because of flashbacks from the incident. “My mom never let me within a ten foot radius of any Christmas decorating. She always put up the tree by herself. It was an artificial one, with those time-controlled white lights and about a hundred fragile ornaments I was forbidden to touch.”
Wayne sighed and walked over to the fridge before pulling out a beer. He popped the cap off and sank into his recliner, turning on the television to a hockey game. “Always knew the Harringtons were a stuffy bunch,” he mumbled.
“Rich people are fuckin’ weird,” Eddie agreed, playfully poking Steve’s side. Steve sneered and batted his hand away.
“Anyway, don’t mind me,” Wayne drawled, taking a long sip of his beer. His gray eyes met Steve’s once again, and Steve swore he saw the glimmer of a smile in his expression as he continued. “But no snoggin’, neither. I’d like to get a full nights’ sleep without hearin’ no suspicious bumps or creaks in the night.”
Steve’s face was the color of rubies as Eddie amusedly twirled a strand of hair in front of his lips. Wayne was definitely making fun of him.
(And what was worse was that he’d much prefer this humiliation over any of the Harrington family Christmases. Like, a thousand times more. After all, the Harringtons were a stuffy bunch.)
Eddie chuckled. “Merry Christmas, Stevie,” he teased, bumping his shoulder against Steve’s. “Welcome to the family.”
____________________________________
They spent the entire evening going through all the ornaments in the box. Eddie taught Steve how to string the warm, multi-colored lights on the tree—three meticulously untangled strands of them, in fact—until the tree was an explosion of festive, twinkling lights that was much different than the proper white Christmas tree his mom had put up every year. And sure, the classic tree with the white lights and red ornaments looked nice, but Eddie’s tree had love in it. There were stories and memories accompanied with each ornament, stories about decorating the tree in years past. Wayne laughed—a real, genuine laugh—as he told the story of how preteen-Eddie burnt himself on an empty socket when he tried to replace a bulb while the lights were plugged in.
It was messy, and Steve thought the star on top was a little lopsided, but it was perfect. Eddie stood back and admired their creation after Steve stepped down from the kitchen chair he’d used to put the star on top of the tree. His hands were on his hips—strikingly similar to how Steve usually does, he thought—and a proud smile was on his face as he looped an arm around Steve’s waist and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“It’s perfect,” Eddie said, echoing Steve’s thoughts.
Steve grinned at him. “I love it,” he responded. “It’s so… festive.”
“Festive,” Eddie repeated. He chuckled. “Yeah, that’s a word you could use for it. I’d probably call it totally and awesomely insane, but festive works too.”
Steve laughed. He met Eddie’s eyes, melting in Eddie’s fond gaze, sinking in the amused little smirk on Eddie’s face. A current of warmth swept through him, so strong and potent that he could probably light a firework with a touch of his finger. He could explode from the syrupy goo that had found a home in the bottom of his chest. “I love you,” he murmured. Eddie’s amused smile softened into something sweet and genuine.
But they were swiftly interrupted with Wayne’s gruff voice calling to them from his spot in the armchair. “Hey,” Wayne called. Both their heads snapped up. Wayne raised an unimpressed brow. “I’m tryna watch a hockey game. You mind?”
“Sorry,” Steve mumbled, cheeks red, but Eddie just rolled his eyes.
“Can it, Wayne. We’re celebrating.”
Wayne scoffed. “Celebrating what? Jesus?” Steve felt his lips quirk into a smile at Wayne’s stony and unchanging expression. “You don’t believe in Jesus, son. Go ‘celebrate’ somewhere else.” His icy gaze drifted to Steve. Steve swore he saw Wayne’s eyes widen in—panic, maybe?—but the change was so subtle he might have imagined it. “And don’t go thinkin’ it’s because I don’t like y’all homosexuals or whatever. It’s ‘cuz I missed a fuckin’ impossible block by Pang in penalties ‘cuz I was too busy bein’ distracted by you two bozos.”
Steve’s eyes drifted to the Chicago Blackhawks game on the television before Eddie was pulling at his hand. “C’mon, Stevie. Let’s let Wayne watch his hockey game in peace.”
Steve followed Eddie to his bedroom. His face was in flames as Wayne called to them as they walked down the hallway: “Behave yourselves.”
Eddie rolled his eyes as he tugged Steve into his room and shut the door behind them. Steve immediately collapsed on Eddie’s bed, burrowing beneath the mountain of blankets on Eddie’s bed and reaching for the Lord of the Rings book on Eddie’s nightstand. Eddie’s face crinkled into a smile. Steve preened in satisfaction as Eddie sank into the space beside Steve, nestling next to him like that was where he was meant to be, and taking the book from Steve’s hands.
It had become a routine: Eddie reading to Steve, voice soft and lilting, changing his voice for each new character in an attempt to make Steve smile. It always worked. Eddie would have the book in his right hand, his left hand buried in Steve’s hair and threading the soft strands through his fingers. Steve laid his head on Eddie’s chest. He’d be half asleep only a chapter into Eddie’s reading—and it wasn’t because the book was boring, or that he thought that the Lord of the Rings series was for nerds, but because Eddie’s voice was just so damn relaxing and the bed was just so warm.
And maybe Steve was extra tired that day, for some reason. After all, he’d nearly fallen asleep in Eddie’s embrace in the middle of Eddie’s living room. But he’d fully dozed off only a few pages into where they’d left off. He vaguely registered a kiss being pressed to his forehead before there was the sound of a few pages rustling. Eddie shifted to put the book back on the nightstand, instead wrapping both his hands around Steve. Steve roused from his sleep, only momentarily, just to bury his face back in Eddie’s chest and mumble a soft, “I wish my house had a Christmas tree like yours.”
Eddie’s fingers stilled in Steve’s hair, just for a second, before he lightly hummed. He dropped a second kiss to Steve’s forehead. “I know, Stevie,” he whispered. “I know.”
____________________________________
A few days later, Eddie demanded on taking Steve out for lunch.
Steve moped and whined about it, albeit teasingly, grumbling about how he’d rather stay at home out of the cold with Eddie instead of around people. It was his day off, and he’d have to put on jeans to go out to lunch—which was an actual crime, in Steve’s book. Days off were meant for sweatpants and cuddles. But there he was, slipping into a pair of jeans while Eddie lightly chastised him for being such a homebody.
“C’mon, Stevie,” Eddie said, grabbing Steve’s coat from where it hung in his closet. “It’ll be fun. We haven’t been on an actual date in a while.”
“We’re gay in Indiana,” Steve mumbled. He stuck his tongue out while he buttoned his jeans. “An ‘actual date’ for us is just two guys eating shitty burgers at the local diner.”
“And what’s wrong with that, hm?” Eddie tutted.
“Nothing, I guess,” Steve said. He begrudgingly took the coat Eddie offered him and slipped it over his shoulders. “But what’s wrong with staying home instead? I bet I could make better burgers. And I could pull out all the stops—candles, bouquets, wine. And we could stay in sweatpants.”
“Shut it, pretty boy,” Eddie said. He pecked a kiss on top of Steve’s lips as he walked by, brushing past him with a smile. “We’re going, whether you like it or not. And we’re gonna have fun, too.”
“If you say so,” Steve mumbled.
“I do say so,” Eddie responded. “C’mon. I’m hungry.”
____________________________________
Lunch was... pretty okay.
Steve actually enjoyed getting out of his house, much to his surprise. He’d basically been living in a limbo between his own house, Eddie’s trailer, and Family Video, so it was refreshing to have some new scenery. Even if the new scenery was the diner in the not-so-great part of downtown, next to the shitty dive bar and a liquor store, where the alleyways all smelled like old grease and cheap beer. Steve still had a good time. After all, the well-respected people of Hawkins didn’t come down that street with the diner often. There would be no judgmental eyes staring them down from across the room, nobody turning red in the face with cartoon steam coming out of their ears at the sight of Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson with King Steve. And it was hard not to have fun with Eddie because Eddie made everything fun—even gross diners with sticky tables and ketchup bottles that haven’t been cleaned since the ‘50s. Even the sad little Christmas tree in the corner and Christmas music playing in the tinny speakers seemed somewhat festive.
Besides, although the burgers had soggy lettuce and the fries dripped with oil, the milkshakes were addicting. As an ex-ice-cream-connoisseur, Steve was impressed with the peppermint bark milkshake he sipped on as Eddie played footsie with him under the table. He didn’t need his Scoops Ahoy outfit and an ice-cream-themed treasure map menu to know when X marked the spot, or whatever the phrase was.
And Steve almost complained about the tomatoes on his burger—he hated tomatoes—but the middle-aged waitress with bright blue eyeshadow and a mole on her left cheekbone had pretended not to notice the telltale brush of hands and prolonged eye contact that Steve and Eddie shared, so Steve had let the tomatoes slide. Just that once. In any other world, he’d tell Eddie about the tomatoes, and Eddie would make a scene about King Steve and his royal pickiness before he called the waitress over and made another scene about how deadly allergic Steve was to tomatoes.
Steve would be annoyed at Eddie’s gloating if their date hadn’t been so… refreshing. “I told you, Harrington,” Eddie said. They were walking back to Eddie’s van. The winter air was crisp, and their breaths crystallized in the air in front of them; it was the time of year when the sun set at four in the afternoon, and Christmas lights lined along the buildings twinkled in the soft lighting of the street lamps. Steve scoffed as Eddie nudged his shoulder. Eddie spared a look around the barren street before lacing their hands together. “You need to get out more.”
“Only if it’s with you,” Steve mumbled, childish.
Eddie’s face stretched into a sly, cat-like grin, eyes sparkling with affection. “God, I couldn’t get rid of you if I tried.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“You’re right, I wouldn’t,” Eddie agreed, squeezing Steve’s hand. “I mean, someone’s gotta look after you. You know—buy you milkshakes and force you to listen to actual good music. It’s a daunting task, but…” He tutted. “Worth it, I think.”
“How noble,” Steve said dryly.
“Noble indeed, Your Majesty,” Eddie said. They rounded on Eddie’s van, and he dipped into a low bow as he opened Steve’s door for him. Steve rolled his eyes and playfully flicked Eddie’s forehead as he hopped into the car.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You love me.”
“Mm, debatable.”
“I’m never buying you a milkshake ever again.”
“No, wait, I take it back.”
Eddie hummed in satisfaction. “That’s what I thought.” He shut Steve’s door and rounded to the driver’s side. Steve contentedly watched as Eddie hopped into the car, limbs flying loose and gangly—Steve had grown quite fond of Eddie’s exaggerated, ragdoll-like movements—before he plopped down into the driver’s seat, ringed fingers dangling off the wheel as he put the key into the ignition. Eddie then turned his attention to the explosion of tapes he kept in his center console.
Steve watched as Eddie rummaged around in the pile of tapes, plastic clicking against each other as Eddie searched. Unsatisfied, he leaned across Steve and rummaged through the piles of tapes in the glove box.
Steve had stopped making fun of the sheer amount of loose tapes in Eddie’s van. It was just another fact about Eddie that Steve got to file away in the back of his mind—Eddie liked DnD, his favorite flavor of ice cream was moose tracks, and he kept about two thousand tapes floating around in his van. “Let me guess,” Steve mused as Eddie searched. Steve set an absentminded hand on top of his head, idly toying with Eddie’s hair, mostly because Steve was in love and Eddie’s hair was soft. “You’re looking for some metal Christmas album that only you and about three other people on the planet have listened to?”
“Shut your mouth, Harrington,” Eddie said. “You’ve already admitted to liking my music.”
“Like, tolerate,” Steve teased, twisting a strand of Eddie’s hair around his forefinger. “One and the same, right?”
(The cassette Eddie triumphantly pulled out was, in fact, a mixtape of a bunch of different classic Christmas songs like Silent Night and Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town remade as heavy metal songs. He had to admit, the metal version of The Little Drummer Boy wasn’t half bad.)
Driving had become a routine since they’d started dating. It came as easy as breathing. When Eddie was in the drivers’ seat, Eddie’s right hand would rest on top of the gear shift until Steve started mindlessly toying with Eddie’s rings. Without either of them realizing, their hands would suddenly be laced together, Steve’s thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of Eddie’s knuckles. And when Steve drove, Eddie would dig through the tapes he’d left in Steve’s car—a small collection was growing in Steve’s own glove box—and pop it in the stereo before leaning his seat all the way back.
It was easy. Familiar. Comforting. It made Steve feel like he belonged; like he was loved. And even if Steve didn’t know a lot of things—didn’t trust a lot of things—he trusted Eddie. For some crazy reason unbeknownst to him, he believed Eddie when Eddie told him that he loved him. The mere thought of a world without Eddie’s love made him queasy.
So he’d keep holding Eddie’s hand and praying that the way it was is the way it always would be. He’d swear on his life that he’d take Eddie’s hand and never let it go.
But the day was coming to an end, and Steve didn’t want to muddle his head with thoughts of what the future held and crippling fear of what changes loomed in his periphery. Robin had started applying to colleges for the following year. Colleges outside of Hawkins— far outside of Hawkins. A few days ago, Eddie had joked about ‘getting the hell outta this shithole,’ but there was something in his gorgeous chocolate brown eyes that suggested that Eddie didn’t think it was much of a joke. It wasn’t like Steve didn’t know he had bigger, better things waiting for him outside of Hawkins, Indiana; in fact, it was only since a certain metalhead held a broken bottle to his throat and called him big boy did he actually believe that his life was destined for more than becoming a shitty PE teacher at Hawkins junior high. Maybe he could become a shitty PE teacher somewhere else. And oh, boy, that was dreaming.
(Eddie made him feel like he could dream. Like he didn’t have to immediately squash all the thoughts that didn’t follow the standard trajectory of his life.)
But those were thoughts for another day. They were still in Hawkins for the foreseeable future—it’s where the kids were. It’s where familiarity was. Whether they liked it or not, it was their home; Steve would be trauma-bonded to his big, empty house for the rest of his life. It was where he grew strong. Where he learned how to sharpen his blade of empathy with love; where six nerdy teenagers and a boy he fell in love with spun his world on his axis with talk of danger and death and monsters. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
He absentmindedly brought their intertwined fists to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss on Eddie’s knuckles. Mostly because he was in love with him, and a little because he was afraid of losing the love. He’d cherish it. Make the most of it and dare the universe to try and take it from him.
Eddie gave him a sideways glance, lips quirking in a small smile. “You okay over there, Stevie?”
“Mhm,” Steve hummed. “Just thinkin’.”
“Dangerous,” Eddie teased. They turned into Steve’s neighborhood, and Eddie squeezed Steve’s hand. “The day’s not over yet, so try not to get too lost in that pretty little head of yours.”
Steve’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean, the day’s not over yet? Because I was one-hundred percent planning on putting my sweatpants back on and watching one of those grossly romantic Christmas movies you secretly love, and if you have other plans, I’d like to know.”
Eddie’s leg was bouncing even as he drove down the well-kept streets of Steve’s neighborhood. There was a twinkle in his eye that immediately made Steve suspicious. “We can still do that, but…”
“But what?” Steve’s house came into view, and his brows somehow scrunched tighter in confusion when he saw two awfully recognizable cars sitting in his driveway—a Surfer Boy pizza van and Robin’s shitty little faded red Chevy that she’d just bought last week. He glanced back over at Eddie, who had his lower lip between his teeth, biting on it to conceal a shit-eating grin. “Care to tell me why you’ve invited people to my house?”
“Calm your tits, darling,” he said, teasingly emphasizing Steve’s pet name that Eddie never really used seriously. “Ever heard of something called patience? ”
Steve mockingly scrunched his nose. “Actually, no.”
Eddie hummed. “Figures.”
“Asshole.”
“Brat.”
“Dickhea—wait, what the fuck did you do?”
As his house got closer, he could clearly see a ladder propped up against the side of the house. Dustin’s unmistakable form was at the base of the ladder, arms held out to hold the ladder steady, and Lucas was at the very top of it, a long string of lights bundled in his arms as he precariously balanced on the top rung. Mike and Will stood next to Dustin, shouting words of encouragement up to Lucas with huge smiles across each of their faces. Steve’s heart dropped—both in fear of Lucas’s life and out of shock that Eddie had coordinated something. He wasn’t quite sure what yet, but it was definitely thoughtful. Dangerous, maybe—Lucas didn’t seem like he had good footing on that ladder, and the drop to the ground was significant, to say the least—but that didn’t seem like Eddie’s fault.
Eddie had to park on the curb, because his driveway only fit three cars—Robin’s, Argyle’s, and Steve’s own. Steve’s mouth dropped open when he looked through the front window to see a brightly decorated tree in his own window, an explosion of both white and multicolored lights and tinsel. Max and El stood in the window, mouths moving at one hundred miles an hour and laughing as they hung ornaments from the branches.
Steve was surprised to feel the sting of tears on his lashes. “Jesus fucking Christ, Eddie. What the fuck did you do?” he repeated. He ran a hand through his hair.
Eddie just grinned at him. “Merry Christmas, Steve.”
Steve stared, open-mouthed and stupid. He couldn’t quite process what had happened. Eddie tilted his head, about to say something, and then—
A shout. Of triumph, of panic, Steve wasn’t sure. He whipped around to see the bundle of lights in Lucas’s arms swinging out of his grip and off the edge of the roof; Lucas’s fingers gripped the top rung of the ladder tightly, and both Will and Mike had their hands on the base of the ladder, too, helping Dustin keep it steady.
Steve had never gotten out of his seat so quickly.
He left the passenger door to Eddie’s van open as he stormed across the lawn. “Hey! Get your ass down from there.”
“I’m fine, Mom,” Lucas called back, sneering. He wobbled as he reached out for the strand of lights, now dangling on the ground. Steve grimaced as Lucas scooped the lights back into his arms.
“Seriously, Sinclair, if you’re not on the ground within the next two seconds I’ll—”
“Chill out, Steve,” Dustin cut in. “We’ve got it all under control.”
“Under control? Lucas nearly just fell from twenty feet in the air and if he’d gotten hurt, I’d be the one in trouble for it,” he said. He heard the sound of Eddie shutting both the driver’s door of his car and also the passenger door that Steve had left open before he sauntered up behind Steve.
“Actually, I’d be the one in trouble for it,” Eddie corrected. He slid a hand across Steve’s lower back. “I’m the one that asked ‘em to do it. Granted, I’d expected some adult supervision, but…” He shrugged.
Steve huffed, breath fanning out in the air in front of him. He started forward. “Get down, Lucas. I’ll do it.”
The entire group of boys broke out into protests. Even Eddie made a small sound of disappointment, hand darting out to grab Steve’s wrist and pull him back to where he was. “Aww, Stevie,” Eddie whined into his ear, a wide grin on his face. He slipped his cold fingertips under Steve’s shirt, and Steve shivered. “It’s one of your Christmas gifts, and they’re doing just fine.”
“They’re not, though,” Steve mumbled, sending a worried glance up at Lucas.
Eddie just sent him a smile filled with soft, almost sympathetic adoration. He tapped Steve’s back. “They’ll be okay, Steve,” he said. He slipped his hand out from under Steve’s shirt and instead laced their hands together, starting towards Steve’s front door. “C’mon, mama bear. We should go say hi to the others. They’ve been expecting us.”
“Don’t call me that,” Steve mumbled, but followed Eddie anyway. He tossed the group of teenage boys one last warning glance as Eddie led him up his porch stairs. “Don’t get yourselves hurt, alright, dipshits?”
There were murmured words of agreement before they resumed stringing lights on Steve’s roof.
Eddie tugged Steve inside the house before Steve could protest further. “We’re ba-aack!” Eddie called, voice sing-songy and light, and the worry in Steve’s chest melted ever so slightly. Steve drew in a deep breath of air that smelled sweetly of pastries and fresh pine. It warmed his chest from the inside out, and not just because the cozy warmth of his house was a striking difference to outside’s bitter cold; it was mostly because Eddie Munson was the sweetest, most thoughtful man in the entire universe.
Max and El were the first to look up when Eddie and Steve appeared in the door. An ornament that hovered midair suddenly dropped, shattering on the hardwood floor, as El’s head snapped up. Her face was painted in rosy red and unadulterated joy as she absentmindedly wiped blood from her nose. Max turned around—posture as unbothered and steely as ever—but there was a small smirk on her face that suggested that she was, in fact, glad to be there.
“Steve!” El practically shouted. Steve couldn’t help how his face immediately melted into a smile. She gestured enthusiastically at the tree. “Do you like it? It’s my second time decorating one, ever, and Max said that she couldn’t even tell that I’d only done it once before.”
Steve’s eyes wandered to the tree. Warm rainbow lights twinkled within its branches, illuminating the room in a gentle glow, sparkling against the glassy baubles that spanned every inch of the tree. The tree was slightly too tall, straining against the ceiling; the tree itself was slightly bent to one side like the leaning tower of Pisa. Some of the lights were out, and some of the baubles were cracked.
It was so much different than the perfect artificial tree his mom put up every year. Its branches were caked with fake snow— flocked, his mom had called it, but Steve just thought it was another word to describe something pretentiously expensive. It was decorated with nothing but cold white lights and blue and silver ornaments that Steve was forbidden from touching. He never got to help her decorate; hell, they’d kept his Christmas presents in a different room just so he couldn’t get too close to his mom’s precious tree. It was displayed proudly in the front window. Growing up, Christmas was always a show, Steve decided. It was a performance. A competition his mother had to win. A competition she valued over giving her son what he really needed during the holidays.
This tree was the exact opposite. It was imperfect, and messy, and an explosion of lights and colors and love. Sure, it was displayed in the front window, but not to boast about wealth or status. It was in the window—proud, bright, and boisterous—to show off the family that Steve had found for himself.
“I love it,” Steve said, grinning at El. Max crossed her arms and stared proudly up at the tree. “It’s perfect, guys. Thank you.”
“It was Munson’s idea,” Max said. She nodded her head towards Eddie, a smug and knowing smile on her face. “He picked out all the lights and ornaments and stuff.”
“We were just Santa’s elves,” El added. Steve glanced at Eddie, whose cheeks were a special shade of red. Steve could die, right then and there—but then, El brightened, easily keeping the conversation flowing. “But! We all picked special ornaments to put up. I got you a baseball bat ornament and then Max helped me put tiny nails in it.” Wordlessly, a branch on the tree began rustling, and an ornament about the size of Steve’s palm hovered across the room. A tiny replica of Steve’s favorite weapon dropped into his hand. El wiped her nose.
Max reached into the tree and grabbed an entire bottle of Steve’s hairspray that had a pathetic little ribbon tied around its cap. “Here,” she said, amusement dancing in her smug eyes as she handed it to Steve. It looked ridiculous next to El’s precious little ornament. “That’s what I picked.”
Eddie snorted from beside Steve. “Christ, Mayfield, I underestimated you,” he said. Max just shrugged and took it back from Steve, hanging it back on the tree. The branch dipped under its weight, and Max had to shove it way back in the tree to stop it from slipping off. Steve rolled his eyes.
“Thanks, El,” he said genuinely, handing the ornament back to El, who smiled and put it back on the tree. He raised a brow at Max. “And this is… thoughtful, I guess. This stuff is expensive.”
She scoffed. “Don’t kid yourself. I didn’t spend any money. I stole it from the stash you keep under the sink in your bathroom—you have a serious problem.”
Eddie outright laughed then, and Steve elbowed him in the ribs. “What?” Eddie defended through his smile, rubbing his side. “You do!”
“Whatever,” Steve mumbled.
Just then, a crash came from the kitchen, followed by a loud bout of laughter. Eddie tugged at Steve’s wrist. “That’s probably Robin and the others,” he said.
Max and Eleven wasted no time in resuming their tree-decorating-endeavor as Eddie led Steve from the room and into the kitchen, where Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle huddled around the shards of a broken ceramic bowl on the floor. The Waitresses’ “Christmas Wrapping” played from the stereo system in the corner.
(To their credit, the song was good and whatever they were making smelled amazing, so Steve could probably forgive the broken dishware.)
Jonathan was the first to notice they’d entered the room. “Oh, hey, guys,” he said, looking up from where he held a trash bag for Argyle and Robin to put the shards. Nancy had gone looking for the vacuum, opening the doors to Steve’s pantry, his dad’s office, and, finally, the broom closet. She triumphantly pulled out the vacuum.
Robin brushed off her hands and stood as she dropped the last shard of ceramic into the bag. She nodded at Steve, a sly grin on her face and a sparkle in her eye. “Hey, dingus. How was your date?”
Steve felt the blush creeping up his neck. Sure, they’d been dating for months now, but questions like that always seemed to turn him into a second grader who’d just gotten a boyfriend. “Good,” he said. Eddie grinned at him. “I’d say it ended too soon, but…” His eyes drifted to the fireplace, where there were about a dozen stockings crammed onto the mantle along with a garland of evergreen branches, decorated with lights and ornaments. A wreath hung above the mantle and a fire was crackling merrily in the fireplace. Steve had never known that the fireplace even worked. “This is pretty damn cool.”
“It’s sweet,” Nancy said. She flicked on the vacuum, and Eddie used the distraction to huddle closer to Steve, wrapping a casual hand around his waist. A light flush was on his cheeks. The entire room seemed to settle when the loud noise of the vacuum finally stopped. “It was all Eddie’s idea, since your family would be gone for Christmas.”
Words sprung upon Steve’s tongue, but he bit them back. They were gone for Christmas even when they weren’t, Steve wanted to say. You guys are my family. They never were.
Instead, Steve cleared his throat. There were a lot of things he could say—a lot of things he felt inside—but he’d save them for later, when he was alone with Eddie. “What are you guys making?” he said, easily changing the subject.
Argyle’s spacey face suddenly snapped to focus, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Cookies.”
“Yeah, Argyle got really into baking when we were experimenting with pot brownies,” Jonathan explained. “He makes a mean apple pie. Made it for Thanksgiving and my mom practically begged him for the recipe.”
“Don’t have a recipe,” Argyle drawled, the lazy smile back on his face. He brought a finger up to his temple and lightly tapped it twice. “I do what feels right. I just know.”
“That’s… impressive, dude,” Eddie said.
“It’s nothin’,” Argyle dismissed. He slid on a pair of baking mitts and pulled the perfectly baked chocolate chip cookies out of the oven.
Robin hopped up and sat on the counter, eyeing the cookies and licking her lips. “I’ve eaten so much cookie dough that I feel sick, but those smell amazing. Steve, do you regularly buy milk?”
“Um,” Steve blinked. “I don’t know?”
Nancy smiled and gestured to the giant conglomeration of steaming mugs she had on the far counter, obscured behind the fridge. “You do. Well, at least, you did,” Nancy said. She pulled a bag of marshmallows from her tote bag. “I made everyone hot cocoa, because Christmas decorating isn’t Christmas decorating without hot chocolate. Everyone knows hot chocolate is made best with…” She held up the empty milk carton and crushed it with her hip against the counter. “Milk.”
“And I made everyone a stocking here, because we’re all over here as much as we’re at our own homes,” Robin added, gesturing enthusiastically to the stockings hanging from the mantle. “I embroidered all of our names on them.”
The sheer number of them crammed onto his mantle looked ridiculous, but his heart warmed at the sentiment. It was perfect. The decorations were perfect, the sentiment was perfect, and Steve felt… loved.
“Thanks, guys,” he said. He leaned over the counter and grabbed a scalding hot cookie, breaking it in half and giving the other half to Eddie. “This is amazing. I can’t believe you did this for me.”
“Like I said, it was all Eddie,” Nancy said with a warm smile.
Steve teasingly bumped into Eddie. “I’ll thank him later,” he said, giving Eddie a subtle wink and relishing in how Eddie’s cheeks dusted a light pink.
“Gross,” Robin said.
“Hey, don’t dunk on their love, man,” Argyle drawled, frowning at Robin. He gave an affirming nod towards Steve and Eddie. “Love is love, dude. It’s the eighties.”
Robin’s brows pinched together. “That’s not—I’m not—me and Nancy, we’re—”
Jonathan easily cut Robin off with an amused smile and a short shake of his head. Argyle was completely oblivious to the subtle exchange, and a small, content smile was on his face as he moved the cookies from the hot pan onto the cooling rack. “Isn’t that right, Jon?” Argyle said. At that, Jonathan affectionately rolled his eyes.
“Anyway,” Steve continued. “It’s really cool that you guys spent all day decorating my place. Eddie’s not the only one I should be thanking here.”
Jonathan gave Steve a curt nod. “Don’t mention it, dude.”
“It was out of selfishness, honestly,” Robin said with a shrug. “I got tired of coming over here and seeing your place all sad and un-festive.”
Steve sneered at her.
“To repay us,” Nancy cut in, her face curled into that tight-lipped smile. “You could go call the kids over for hot cocoa. It’s too dark for the boys to keep putting up lights.”
Almost on cue, there was the sound of the door slamming open in the foyer followed by the sounds of four excitedly chattering boys. “Speak of the devil,” Eddie murmured.
“They’re done!” Mike hollered. “Come outside, we’re gonna light ‘em up!”
“Come grab your cocoa first,” Steve called back.
And so, everyone piled in the kitchen to grab one of the mugs of cocoa Nancy had made before they all paraded out to the street. Eddie was behind Steve the entire time, strangely watchful, a soft but proud grin on his face all the while. Steve craved the closeness. He wanted to get Eddie alone; to lick his words of thanks into Eddie’s mouth, to kiss down Eddie’s neck until Eddie lit up like the Christmas tree in his front window. To tell him what it meant to him.
Although Steve wanted Eddie alone , he absolutely would not make anyone leave. They’d all pitched in to make Steve’s holiday one full of love and family rather than one filled with lonely memories and cold nights. Any of them could stay for as long as they liked. After all, they each had a stocking on Steve’s mantle. They each belonged there.
The night air was cold as Steve stood on the sidewalk, but his insides were warm and fuzzy. The mug of cocoa in his hands was hot, and Eddie’s body was pressed against his back, Eddie’s chin resting on his shoulder. Will had been tasked with plugging in the lights when the group’s countdown got to zero.
They counted from ten, and then the single strand of multicolored lights flickered to life. It was nothing extravagant—hell, if only they’d seen the Harrington house most years, decked out in professionally hung white lights in their pretty rows—but this was perfect. It was obvious that a teenage boy had strung them up, with each bulb sticking out in every direction. Some of them weren’t even clipped onto the house.
Even though the lights were on this side of lackluster, there was still a loud fanfare when Will plugged in the single strand. The entire group whooped and cheered for the shitty lights on his house. Steve had a dizzying smile on his face as Eddie pressed a kiss against his cheek. Swept up in the love and the laughter that threatened to swallow him whole, he thought he might faint or pass out or something, because nobody had ever done something like this for him. Nobody had even asked if he wanted something like this.
But that was just the thing about Eddie. Eddie knew. Eddie knew before Steve even had to ask, and he’d go above and beyond. Eddie was off the fucking charts with how he showed Steve he loved him. No, Eddie didn’t just help put up a Christmas tree in Steve's front window; he recruited the entire group to decorate his house while they were on a date, just to surprise him with it when they got back. It was so considerate that Steve felt lightheaded.
After the single-strand light ceremony, the group paraded back inside, where they put on a cheesy Christmas movie and drank cocoa until the kids’ parents started calling and demanding them to go home. They begrudgingly untangled themselves from the thousands of blankets that Steve had dragged down from his linen closet and set their empty mugs on the coffee table before tiredly marching to the door. Robin and Nancy took half of the kids, while Jonathan and Argyle took the other half.
Robin was the last one out the door. She turned around at the last second. “Happy Christmas, Steve,” she said, giving him a sincere and knowing smile. She took one more step out the door. “And don’t forget to use protection!”
Steve was rolling his eyes as he watched the door slam closed. Eddie snorted from where he watched in the foyer doorway. “Use protection. She acts like we haven’t been dating for months.”
Steve whirled around on his heels. “What the hell, Eddie.”
(It was not a question, but a statement.)
Eddie froze. He cowered under Steve’s expressionless stare. “Did you… did I cross a line?”
“Yes. Abso-fuckin-lutely.” Steve sharply nodded. His hand darted out, and he grabbed Eddie by his collar before yanking him into his space. Eddie went willingly. Once their faces were only inches away, he hesitated for a moment, trying to gauge Steve’s emotions before his face split into a small smile. Steve’s brows furrowed as he stared into Eddie’s eyes. “You’re not allowed to do this. Makes me feel like I’m actually going to puke or pass out or something.”
“Yeah?” Eddie mused, eyes dropping to Steve’s lips.
“Mhm.” Steve let go of Eddie’s collar. His hands instead decided to wander up Eddie’s neck to tangle in his hair. “Christ, Eddie. I love you so goddamn much that it scares me.”
“You don’t have to be scared of it. I’ve got you.” The smile from Eddie’s face had vanished, melting into something more genuine, more caring. The dark mahogany of his eyes sparkled in the soft rainbow glow of the Christmas tree. Steve let his eyes drift to Eddie’s pretty pink lips. “I’ve got you,” Eddie whispered again, sliding his hands around Steve’s waist and pulling them flush together. He said it with such quiet conviction that Steve had no choice but to believe him. Eddie pressed their foreheads together. “I’ve got you.”
Steve inhaled, eyes fluttering closed. His house still had the sweet aroma of chocolate chip cookies and fresh pine needles and a crackling fire. “You’ve got me,” he murmured back, not really sure what he was saying. He nudged their lips ever so slightly closer, and when he spoke—voice barely above a whisper—their lips brushed, soft and teasing. “You’ve got me.”
(And then the dam broke.)
They both crashed their lips together at the same time. Steve’s fists balled in Eddie’s hair, and Eddie’s fingers squeezed Steve’s side, never allowing a centimeter of space between their bodies. Eddie’s kisses were familiar. Steve knew every curve of his mouth, how Eddie liked it when Steve tugged at his hair or nipped at his bottom lip. But this kiss had something more than passion behind it; it transcended their softly spoken words of devotion, transcended how they kissed like it was the air they breathed. And although it scared him—the sheer weight of the love—Eddie has him, and they’d brave the depth of their love together. Courageously. Boldly. Gently, because love—with all its harsh lines and boisterous reds—was, at its core, a delicate thing.
“I can’t believe you did this for me,” Steve breathed against Eddie’s lips between kisses.
Eddie’s hands slipped beneath Steve’s shirt. “It was nothing, Steve.”
Steve kissed down Eddie’s neck, leaving a trail of saliva where his mouth had been as he went. “I don’t like it when you do that,” he said. He liked how Eddie shivered beneath him.
“Do what?”
“Dismiss how wonderful you are.” Steve pulled back, eyes lust blown and dark. “Nobody has ever done something like this for me.”
“They’re crazy,” Eddie hummed. He traced small circles on the scarred skin of Steve’s waist. “You deserve this and more, Steve.”
Steve shook his head. “Eddie…”
“That reminds me.” Eddie pulled back, and Steve hated how much his body ached at the loss of contact. He watched as Eddie went to his bag, the one he’d left at the door earlier that day, and pulled out a small wrapped box. Eddie led him to the couch. They both eased down as Eddie handed him the present. Nat King Cole drifted through the stereo in the other room as Eddie spoke. “I got you something.”
Steve scowled. “You’ve already given me plenty, Eddie,” he scolded, starting to give the box back to Eddie.
Eddie placed his hand on top of Steve’s. “Steve,” Eddie murmured, voice soft and pleading. “Take it. Please.”
Unsurely, Steve let Eddie push it back into his hands. He carefully undid the wrapping. He pulled out a box, which had an ornament, which had…
“Why is… John Travolta’s face on this?”
He peered down at the small, flat ceramic ornament in his hand, with a picture of John Travolta as Danny Zuko in Grease on it. Eddie’s face split into a shit-eating grin. “Flip it over.”
Steve gave him a long, hard stare before he eventually obliged.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Eddie.”
There, on the back of the ornament, was a small printed message that read: Danny Zuko was my gay awakening and now I know what real greased lightning is like. And then, written below the printed letters was Eddie’s unmistakable script: Love Eddie, xmas 1987.
Eddie snickered and gathered Steve into his arms, pressing kisses across Steve’s face. “It’s good, right?”
“I hate you.”
Eddie just smiled and affectionately brushed Steve’s hair out of his eyes. In the soft glow of the Christmas tree, Eddie looked especially pretty, with his hair cascading in raven waves down his shoulders and the sparkle of his eyes. Steve couldn’t believe his luck.
It would be the best Christmas ever. Steve just knew it.
(Even if Eddie had given him the dumbest ornament known to man.)
“Merry Christmas, Stevie,” Eddie preened, raking his hands through Steve’s hair. Steve sighed and sank into Eddie’s touch. He flipped the ornament over in his hands and allowed the small smile to cross his face.
“Merry Christmas, Eds.”