Archive of Our Own ^beta

Steve hates the lock on their apartment door.

He hates it. Always has, always will.

The key goes in easy — at first. But about halfway into the lock it catches. He and Robin (and even the landlord) have yet to figure out what, exactly, it catches on, but boy does it catch. It makes unlocking the door feel like Steve’s fighting for his life. (And he’s got a bit of experience with that, so.)

Once it’s in this far, the key has to be jimmied and jiggled, shoved and twisted around until finally finally it sinks past the problem spot and slides home.

By the time Steve finishes wrestling with the god damn key to unlock the god damn door, all he wants to do is kick his shoes off and crash.

Except the universe has other plans for him, because the first thing he sees when he swings open the door is Robin “self proclaimed klutz” Buckley balancing precariously on the top step of a ladder, one hand bracing herself against the wall — her only stabilization, and a weak one at that — while she stretches the other out further and further towards a spot just slightly out of reach. 

She must have heard the doorknob rattling, because she doesn’t flinch at the sound of the door opening, but she does throw her chin over her shoulder so she can confirm it’s actually Steve walking in.

“Oh good, you’re home,” is all the greeting she gives before she turns back to the task at hand, the ladder wobbling beneath her the whole time.

The protective gene practically coded into Steve’s DNA flares up, and the sirens in his head start to scream: danger, danger, danger . His bag falls from his shoulder without a care in the world and he darts across the room in record speed. “What the hell are you doing?” He all but hisses, grabbing onto Robin to act as her anchor.

“Decorating, duh,” Robin replies, putting a hold on her stretching so she can gesture broadly around at the rest of the work she’s done since he’s been out.

Secure in the fact that Robin isn’t going to fall to her untimely death now, Steve finally takes a second to look around, to see what he hadn’t had the chance to in his haste to help.

Which is that the apartment looks like the set design from that cheesy Christmas romcom they’d watched the other night threw up all over the place .

Shining tinsel lines the upper trim of their walls. Multicolored lights are thumbtacked just below in looping dips. Giant wreaths hang from both of their bedroom doors. A waist-high plastic tree sits in the corner of the living room, right by the single window, tipping dangerously to one side under the weight of the too big ornaments Robin decked the flimsy branches out with.

But what catches Steve’s attention the most is the mistletoe. All of the mistletoe.

“Jesus, Robin,” he blurts, a little awed, a little scared. “How much mistletoe did you put up?”

Because Robin didn’t just put one up over the front door and call it a day. No, she put it everywhere . Steve’s eyes bounce from sprig to sprig like a goddamn pinball machine; each time he thinks he’s spotted the last one, a new one seems to crop up somewhere else. 

Above the front door, hanging from the archway to the kitchen, dangling from the tall floor lamp next to the record player, in the entranceway to the hallway. Steve is sure that if he pokes his head into the hallway he’ll see some outside of the bathroom , and he wouldn’t be surprised at all if he finds some inside his bedroom too.

It makes Steve think of that one monster Eddie put in the last DnD campaign he ran out of their kitchen for the kids. What was it called? Oh, right, a hydra. The kids kept trying to cut its head off in battle, thinking that would kill it, but each time they did, three more would grow back in its place.

That’s a little bit what it feels like here.

And then it occurs to him — there’s only one reason why Robin would put up that much mistletoe.

God, he’d thought that she’d forgotten. 

Well, he’d hoped anyways.

Apparently, he isn’t that lucky.

It had come up when Steve was drunk. When they were both drunk, actually, so he’d kind of banked on Robin not remembering. She wasn’t so great with her liquor that way.

The two of them had been wallowing. Crowded together on their tiny little couch in front of their tiny little tv with a not so tiny bottle of Peppermint Schnapps being passed between them. They’d been more than halfway to sloshed and trading a running commentary on just how stupid and unrealistic the cheesy holiday romcom playing in front of them was. It had been all too easy to commiserate over just how unattainable that special brand of Christmas Magic these movies pedaled was considering they were both tragically single this holiday season, with no prospects on the horizon to change that.

Of course, that was when Robin smacked Steve across the shoulder and pouted at him, cradling the bottle to her chest as she pointed out that, actually, Steve’s prospects weren’t shot to hell — because of course drunk Robin would still remember his massive, all consuming, frankly a little embarrassing crush on Eddie Munson.

Robin had gone on a very long, surprisingly coherent rant about how she was so sure Steve’s feelings weren’t one-sided, and how Eddie was just as coo coo bananas over Steve as Steve was over him.

Steve had tried to argue some of her points (because, really, Robin, Eddie was touchy with everyone and Steve was far from the only person Eddie had cute little nicknames for — those were not signs of anything! ), but this was no debate, and Robin had reached over to pinch his lips between her fingers to stop him from saying another word.

Somehow along the way Robin had convinced him that he had to tell Eddie about his feelings. It could probably be chalked up to the fact that, if pushed hard enough, drunk Steve could be talked into just about anything, and drunk Robin? Well, she was nothing if not persistent as hell.

Steve thought he’d be able to hold out against her, only then Robin had mentioned her own love life again and how it was in hopeless shambles. She’d looked at him with her big wet eyes and pushed out her bottom lip in a pout and pleaded for Steve to at least let her live vicariously through his love life.

Somehow, that had been the sinker.

Somehow that had god damn worked .

Robin had talked him into it. Into telling Eddie — into confessing that he’s in love with him.

She’d made Steve promise that he would do it, too. Pinky promise . And Steve had never broken a pinky promise before. Not to her, not to anyone.

He wasn’t about to start now either, but, god, was it tempting. Because the prospect of telling Eddie was terrifying . A little exhilarating, too, but mostly terrifying. And the more sober he got, the more terrifying it seemed. 

Especially when just before Robin passed out for the night, she’d patted him on the shoulder and made her own promise to help make sure it happened.

It was only a little ominous, and Steve had no idea what she could mean by it.

Apparently, this is what she meant.

“You like it?” Robin asks from her perch on the ladder, grinning down at Steve. She doesn’t wait for Steve’s answer, probably didn’t want one anyways. She looks far too pleased with herself to care what he actually thinks of this spectacle. 

Robin climbs down the ladder — far too quickly and carelessly for Steve’s poor heart to handle; he can only breathe once both of her feet hit the ground — and she sticks her hands on her hips. “I put it up for you. For tomorrow.”

Yup. Just as he suspected. Only one reason .

Hang on — “For tomorrow?” Steve repeats, eyebrows shooting up.

Robin’s grin grows. “ Yes , tomorrow. He’s coming over for the Christmas party, is he not? It’s the perfect time to tell him, Steve. What’s more romantic than Christmas?”

Steve narrows his eyes at her. “Oh, so now you think Christmas is so romantic?” He asks, memories of the other night’s rants and raves about how lonely and depressing Christmas could be still fresh on his mind.

Robin makes a face at him, like he should know better. “I was drunk and sad, Steve,” she brushes off with a wave of her hand. “You can’t hold anything I said then against me.”

“So you’re taking it all back then?”

“I didn’t say that,” Robin clarifies. “It’s still true. For me,” she punctuates. 

“But for you ,” she sticks her finger into Steve’s chest, “it’s not. Christmas will be romantic for you. That’s why I hung up so much mistletoe.” 

She holds her arms out and tilts her head. “There’s no way you won’t get caught up beneath it with Eddie at some point.”

And, well, she’s kind of got a point. Statistics was never Steve’s thing, but even he can admit that there is a very real chance here that he will be kissing Eddie Munson tomorrow night thanks to the sheer amount of mistletoe covering their apartment.

It makes his heart rate kick up a little just thinking about it. Tomorrow night . Jesus, that’s soon.

The curve of Robin’s mouth sharpens into a smirk and she leans back to knock her shoulder into Steve’s. “And just think, when that goes well the first time, you can spend the rest of the night getting real acquainted with the rest of the mistletoe.” She gives him an overexaggerated wink for good measure.

Steve can’t stop the flush from creeping in as he pictures it —  catching Eddie by the hand to tug him into a kiss under the hallway arch, blocking the whole path to the kitchen as they kiss in the entranceway, sharing a kiss beneath the soft glow of the lamplight while something smooth spins on the record player.

There’s an undercurrent of nervousness fizzing in his veins, but there’s excitement too. Like he’s ready to make this happen, for better or for worse.

(But, god, does he hope for better.)

The dawn of the Christmas party comes way too soon.

Before Steve knows it, he’s bustling through the apartment, making last minute rounds to check that everything is in place for tonight.

From her perch on the couch, Robin tells him to stop running around like a chicken with its head cut off. It’s a chill little gathering between friends, not some stuffy, fancy dinner party. As long as there’s food (check), booze (check), and festive fun to enjoy (check), they’re going to have a great time.

Steve sighs and lets Robin pull him onto the couch with her. He leans his cheek against her shoulder, trying and failing to avoid getting a mouthful of silver puffball from her sweater (which looks like a first grader’s art project, really).

He can’t help it if he wants everything to be perfect. It’s an important night, after all.

Nancy is the first one to arrive. She shows up five minutes early with a tin of cookies in hand, and her most festive sweater vest buttoned over her turtleneck. It’s not quite what Robin had in mind when she requested everyone show up in ugly Christmas sweaters, but what it lacks in sweater, it certainly makes up for in ugly, so she lets it slide.

(She’s only so lenient because she thinks Nancy is cute though, Steve’s sure of that. There’s no way he would have gotten a free pass if he’d worn a sweater vest.)

Jonathan and Argyle arrive together fifteen minutes later. True to their character, Jonathan’s sweater presents on the subtler side —  just a simple snowy mountainscape across the front. But Argyle’s sweater looks like the topside of a present, complete with a big gold bow that protrudes right from the center. He’s also wearing a reindeer antler headband with little gold bells stuck all over that jingle whenever he moves, and it delights Robin endlessly.

The only party member still absent from the festivities is Eddie.

“Did, uh, did Eddie ever let you know when he was planning to get here?” Steve asks Robin as casually as he possibly can. 

He’s not too sure he was all that successful given the way Robin’s lips curl up at the corners. She looks far too amused as she says, “He’ll be here, loverboy. Don’t get your panties in a twist. Relax.”

But before he can defend himself (or tell Robin to never say panties again), the doorbell starts to go crazy. 

As it rings out once, twice, three times, four, five , Steve almost wishes that he and Robin hadn’t lobbied their landlord so hard to get it fixed. 

Robin beats him to the door, and when she swings it open, Steve is embarrassed by how quickly his heart rate kicks up at the sight of Eddie standing on the other side.

He’s grinning wide, like he wasn’t actively being a total menace mere seconds ago, and he holds up the carton of eggnog he’s got with him as if it’s some sort of peace offering. His hair looks soft and fluffy, haloed behind him in the shoddy hall lighting, and he has, delightfully, followed Robin’s instructions (read: vaguely threatening demand) to come wearing his ugliest Christmas sweater.

Eddie’s is a festive candy cane red and white, with thin stripes of green to split the colors up. Within each panel, there’s a pattern of snowflakes and a cute scene of reindeers— oh. 

Of reindeers fucking .

Steve snorts as he realizes, and Eddie’s eyes sparkle mischievously when he catches Steve’s.

It takes Robin a second longer than him to notice herself, but when she does, her mouth drops open in a gasp.

“That is so not what I meant when I said ugly Christmas sweater, Eddie!” She exclaims.

“Buckley, Buckley, Buckley,” Eddie tuts. “You indeed said ‘ugly Christmas sweater’. Period. No fine print. This,” he gestures down to the front of his sweater and his canines flash, “is well within that dress code.”

Robin scowls, mostly just for show at this point, and Steve stifles another laugh into his sleeve.

“It’s not like there are any kids around to scandalize, Rob,” Steve tells her, unable to stop himself from chiming in. Not like they wouldn’t already know what sex is anyways, even if they were around . They are in high school, after all. Surely Robin remembers what that was like.

Eddie tucks the eggnog beneath his arm and claps hard twice, then points at Steve. Triumph and satisfaction spread across his face. “Great point, excellent point, thank you, good sir,” he says in a goofy voice.

Robin sends her sharp elbow into the soft spot between Steve’s ribs and huffs out. “Don't encourage him!”

Steve shrugs helplessly, rubbing at his chest. What can I do ?

Using Robin’s distraction to his advantage, Eddie squeezes past her into the apartment. He struggles briefly to kick off his shoes without having to bend over and undo the laces, and when they finally go flying from his feet, he’s left in mismatched socks against the hardwood floor — one blue one with tiny little snowmen all over, the other red with a giant santa claus face over the top.

Steve has to bite his tongue so he doesn’t do something stupid like tell Eddie how cute that is.

It occurs to him then that he could actually say that considering he wants Eddie to know about his feelings by the end of the night. 

Only the realization comes a second too late. Eddie’s already breezed right past him into the living room, a chorus of cheery hello’s greeting him.

It’s fine. It’s fine . He’ll have plenty of other opportunities all night for that.

When Steve and Robin join him in the living room, Eddie holds up the eggnog again and gives it a little shake. “You want this in the fridge or are we mixing drinks already?” He asks, then doesn’t wait for an answer before turning towards the kitchen.

Robin’s mouth turns sharp as she lifts both eyebrows at Steve, silent encouragement to kick his plan — whatever it is — into action. “Mm, I dunno,” she says, projecting her voice. “Steve, why don’t you go help him figure it out?” She gives him a not-so-gentle, not-so-subtle shove after Eddie.

Steve shoots Robin a bug-eyed ‘cool your jets’ glare over his shoulder, but she just rolls her eyes in response.

A silent little argument breaks out between them, full of pointed eyebrows and scrunched up noses and pursed lips, until Robin finally makes a shooing motion with her hands, and Steve has no choice but to follow Eddie into the kitchen.

“Hope you’ve still got that bottle of Peppermint Schnapps you were so excited about,” Eddie comments in a teasing tone, setting the eggnog on the counter before reaching for the handles on the cupboard above the fridge — their makeshift liquor cabinet — to go looking for it.

Steve absolutely does not tell Eddie that it’s actually not the same bottle he’d made fun of Steve for adding to the shopping cart when he’d tagged along on his trip to the grocery store two weeks ago. He doesn’t need to know that he and Robin finished that whole bottle off themselves in just one night earlier this week.

So Steve just crosses his arms over his chest and rolls his eyes. “Oh, so now my taste in liquor’s good enough for you,” he says.

Eddie spots the Schnapps easily and curls his fingers around the neck, carefully pulling it from the shelf. “If it puts me in the Christmas spirit…” he replies, already working on unscrewing the cap.

While Eddie opens the Schnapps and the eggnog, Steve fetches six mugs from a different cupboard and lines them up on the counter for Eddie.

“Perfect, thanks, Stevie,” Eddie says, smiling sunnily at Steve before he picks up the eggnog and starts to pour.

He fills the mugs a little over halfway, then adds a generous amount of the booze to each one. Steps back. Eyeballs each cup. Then goes back to add a little more. Satisfied, he sets the bottle down, then dunks a finger into the closest mug to give it a mix.

“ Dude , ever heard of a spoon?” Steve asks, already moving to fish one out of the silverware drawer and hand it to Eddie before he can dip his finger into the next one. “That one is yours, man,” he adds, jerking his chin towards the first mug.

Eddie laughs and accepts the spoon, but not before sticking his whole finger into his mouth to suck off the sticky, frothy mess. 

The room feels suddenly ten times hotter, and it has absolutely nothing to do with his own thick knit ugly sweater. (Though it certainly is not helping.) Steve has to turn away and pretend to busy himself with recapping the Schnapps and closing up the eggnog so he doesn’t make a fool of himself.

Once the drinks are ready and Steve’s gotten himself back under control, he offers to help Eddie carry them to deliver to the rest of their merry band of misfits. He and Eddie each take two mugs and file out of the kitchen and into the connected living room.

“Milady,” Eddie says in one of his famous voices, kneeling into a curtsey as he presents Nancy with one of the mugs. She accepts with gratitude.

Eddie turns to Jonathan beside her. “Milord,” he addresses, holding the other mug out, and Jonathan takes it with a quiet chuckle.

Steve, much less theatrically, hands his mugs off to Robin and Argyle each.

The four of them raise their mugs in a silent toast before bringing them to their lips to taste Eddie’s concoction.

The verdict is — well, it’s varied.

Nancy’s sip is small at first, just a taste test, but she comes away from it with a pleasantly surprised expression before she takes another, this time bigger. She’s always had a much better penchant for strong alcohol than the rest of them, though.

Jonathan winces when his first sip hits his tongue, but, conflict-avoidant soul that he is, he just offers Eddie a smile and a thumbs up.

Robin ends up coughing immediately after her swig, and she turns huge eyes on Eddie. “Jeez Munson, did you even put any eggnog in this?” She asks, goggling down at the mug as if the eggnog to alcohol ratio will stare her back in the face.

That makes Eddie crow with laughter and he shakes his head at her. “Don’t tell me you can’t handle your Schnapps, Buckley,” he teases.

Robin’s eyes flicker over to Steve and they share a mixed half smile, half grimace, memories of two nights ago and the pounding hangovers the following morning still etched into their brains.

“Me and Schnapps’ve got a history, that’s all,” Robin mutters before lifting the mug to her lips for another sip. Her face looks less twisted when she lowers the mug this time, as if maybe the taste is starting to grow on her already.

She sure bounces back fast.

“Oh you’ll have to tell me all about that,” Eddie says with a devious smile, raising his eyebrows.

“Maybe later,” Robin replies, dodging the request easily — something Steve is grateful for. Eddie does not need to know the course their drunken conversation that night took.

“I think it’s totally tasty, man,” Argyle chimes in, holding his mug between two hands. He’s got some eggnog on his top lip, but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care because he makes no move to wipe it away as he grins at Eddie. “It’s like Christmas in my mouth.”

“I knew I liked you,” Eddie responds, pointing right at Argyle with his own grin.

“Okay, after that description I think I really need to try this for myself,” Steve laughs.

Eddie takes a small step back. “After you, my liege,” he says with a sweeping bow. His hair falls in front of his face, like a curtain, and Steve has to resist the urge to brush it back and tuck it behind Eddie’s ear.

He doesn’t stop himself from grabbing one of Eddie’s outstretched hands, though, tugging him along to get his own mug.

But right as they reach the threshold to the kitchen, a loud cry comes from behind them.

“Wait! Stop!”

Steve immediately freezes, his body seizing up in the automatic fight or flight instinct he’s half sure he will never be able to shake. He doesn’t want to, but he lets go of Eddie’s hand.

“What?” Steve asks, eyes flickering around the perimeter of the room quickly before settling on Robin. “What’s wrong?”

Except nothing is actually wrong, because the look on Robin’s face isn’t one of panic or fear. It’s one of mischief and meddlesome trouble . And oh. Oh no . She’s not — she is .

“Mistletoe!” Robin cheers, and Steve’s heart stutters so hard in his chest that he thinks it might crack his ribcage and drop right out the bottom of his stomach.

His eyes fly up, and, sure enough, there hangs one of the many sprigs hung all around the apartment. Small and inconspicuous, but unmistakable. That ridiculous little plant has no idea that it’s just turned Steve’s entire world on its axis.

Because, fuck . Even though it is Steve’s intention to tell Eddie about his feelings tonight, and even though it is part of his plan to use mistletoe and its lovely Christmas tradition as a means to an end, he thought he’d have more time before it happened. He thought he’d be able to psych himself up for it more, to relax into himself and the night and Eddie a little more first.

Steve should have known Robin wouldn’t just leave it at decorating. He should have known she’d nudge him into ripping the bandaid off before he could chicken out.

(Which, Steve supposes he should be at least a little grateful for. She’s always looking out for him like that, even if he can’t fully appreciate it in the moment.)

Across from him, Eddie’s eyes are trained up too, big and round and wide where they stick on the mistletoe. 

His lips are parted in surprise, and Steve can’t help but stare, can’t help but think oh, am I going to get to kiss those now? Will I finally know what they feel like? What they taste like?

When Eddie finally tears his gaze from the plant and lets it flicker down to Steve, a pretty pink dusting blooms across the bridge of his nose and spreads into the apples of his cheeks when he finds Steve already looking back.

Steve spares the mistletoe one last quick peek before he takes a deep breath and steels himself. This is it. He sticks his hands on his hips, aiming for casual, and asks, “What do you say, Munson?”

The deer in the headlights look disappears from Eddie’s face, quickly replaced by that calm, cool, collected demeanor from before. But before Eddie can give Steve his answer, though, the peanut gallery chimes in. 

“Mistletoe!” Argyle cries out. “Pucker up, brochachos!”

Jonathan and Nancy join in on the cheers, shouting out their own encouragements to egg them on too.

“Kiss him! Kiss him!” Jonathan chants.

“You know you want to!” Robin shouts in a sing-songy voice (and oh , Steve is going to kill her for that one). 

Eddie takes it all in stride, though. He grins out at their friends before taking a step towards Steve.

Steve’s heart jackrabbits and he thinks oh fuck, it’s about to happen only — rather than cradling Steve’s face or cupping his cheek or skipping past all that preamble and just swooping in for the kiss, Eddie ends up dropping his arm around Steve’s shoulders instead.

“Friends, friends,” Eddie addresses, shaking his head as an amused smile tugs at his lips. “You know I can’t.”

Wait — what ?

In that second, Steve’s heart gives the Titanic a run for its money. Hurt and confusion churn in his stomach, and he tries so hard not to let them show on his face as his head snaps towards Eddie to see if he’s joking.

Except he’s not . Despite the playful twist to his mouth, he is entirely serious about his answer.

Jonathan cups his hands around his mouth. “Boo!”

“But it’s tradition!” Nancy says, tutting at him.

“Why not?” Robin demands, righteous on Steve’s behalf. If she had something throwable nearby, like popcorn or a pillow, Steve is sure she would have chucked it at Eddie by now.

Eddie just laughs again and pulls Steve into his side. He tips his head so his temple knocks gently into Steve’s, then tells them, “Well, I wouldn’t want Stevie here to fall in love with me. That just wouldn’t be fair.”

It takes everything in Steve’s power not to burst out in the most ironic laughter of all time. Wouldn’t want him to fall in love? Too fucking late for that, pal! He’s already ass over god damn tea kettle for Eddie. He’s as far fucking gone as he can get.

Part of him wants to blurt this out, right then and there. But, god, this is already embarrassing enough. Steve can’t even imagine telling Eddie and still getting rejected afterwards. It would be embarrassment on top of embarrassment. He’d never be able to show his face again.

It’s way too much to even think about. He needs that drink in his hand, like, yesterday.

Steve gives a slightly stilted chuckle and ducks out from under Eddie’s arm. “No need to worry about that!” He says on just the right side of way too frenzied. 

He doesn’t stick around to find out if anyone notices, though, disappearing around the corner and into the kitchen.

He beelines for the counter with his and Eddie’s drinks, snatches his up, and downs half of it in one go, ignoring the familiar burn of the Schnapps.

Eddie follows him into the kitchen a moment later, because of course he does. Steve stifles a sigh — they had been on the same mission before they’d been interrupted. It only makes sense that Eddie would end up here too.

“Hey,” Eddie says, sidling up to Steve to grab his own mug. He bumps his shoulder into Steve’s. “You good?”

Steve nods and flashes Eddie a tight smile. Hopes it’s reassuring as he tells him, “Yep. Peachy.”

Eddie buys it — or, if he doesn’t, he has the decency not to say anything or ask any questions. Steve’s grateful for that much.

He picks up his own mug and holds it out so Steve will clink his against it. “Let’s have a holly jolly night then,” Eddie toasts.

“To a holly jolly night,” Steve echoes. And yeah, Steve thinks, the night is still plenty young. He can totally bounce back from whatever disaster that mistletoe was. Before long it’ll be totally forgotten. He could use another minute alone, though, to kickstart that forgetting process.

“Hey, I’m going to start on the popcorn while I’m in here,” he says, gesturing at the kitchen around them. “Why don’t you go figure out what movie everyone wants to watch first and get it set up?”

Eddie hoists his mug in a mock salute and starts to back out of the kitchen. “Aye aye captain,” he says. He pauses in the doorway. “Any special requests?” He asks.

Steve shakes his head. Then, “Actually, I second whatever Robin picks.”

The sound of Eddie’s laughter lingers even after he disappears into the living room.

Steve only gets a couple of seconds to himself before knuckles rap against the archway and the soft rustle of clothes as someone moves closer tell him that he is, once again, not alone. He doesn’t turn right away, but takes one last moment to collect himself as best he can before he pastes his happy face back on and starts to look for the popcorn like he said he would.

A hand touches his elbow then, and Steve instantly recognizes it as Robin.

Thank god.

“Hey buddy,” Robin says lightly as she comes up beside him. “How you hangin’ in there?” She asks, a mix of joking and sincere. She playfully socks him in the bicep, then ducks her head around his shoulder to get a good look at him.

Steve groans, mask slipping and whole body sagging forward like a puppet with its strings cut. “That was a total disaster, Robin,” he says, letting just a hint of a whine into his voice.

Robin loops her arm with Steve’s, tugging him to face her. “Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad,” she says, trying and failing to sound all that reassuring.

Steve fixes her with an unimpressed look. “Be real, Rob,” he tells her. “It was a trainwreck. Eddie— he rejected me before I even got the chance to tell him anything!”

“If you never got the chance, was it really even a rejection then?” Robin questions, and Steve huffs in response.

He’s about to tell her yes because why else would he feel so rejected? when she barrels right on.

“But Steve, no , that was not a rejection,” she says, shaking her head. “That was clearly him turning the whole situation into a joke.” 

She says it like she’s proud to have drawn that conclusion, and Steve is sort of baffled.

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

It’s Robin’s turn for the unimpressed look, and she crosses her arms over her chest briefly. “Steve, who else do we know who makes jokes in the face of discomfort and nervousness?” She asks, staring at him hard like the answer should be obvious. 

She doesn’t wait to see if he’ll get it right, though, and sticks both of her thumbs out before jabbing them directly at herself. 

“Turn the scary into a joke,” Robin recites. “Make it something that can’t hurt you.” She pauses. Stresses, “ He said no before you could.”

Steve pouts. “But I wasn’t going to say no.”

“He doesn’t know that, Steve,” Robin points out.

When Robin puts it like that, though, Steve can kind of see her point. He hadn’t really given much thought to Eddie’s side of things.

But, “He didn’t exactly give me the chance to tell him otherwise.”

Robin shrugs. “Maybe not, but — don’t give up on him just yet, is all I’m saying. Give him some time. Try again later.” 

Steve sighs softly, but nods. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I won’t give up yet. Even if— even if he doesn’t feel the same, he should still know.”

Robin squeezes back up to his side and tugs him into a half-hug. “You’ll have better luck next time, I’m sure of it.”

At this point, Steve’s more convinced that reindeer can actually fly, but hey, Christmastime is supposed to be a season of hope and miracles, is it not?

Maybe the universe will take pity on him and send a little of both his way.

He sure could use it.

“Well, that was depressing,” Eddie declares as the credits for It’s A Wonderful Life start to roll across the screen.

Murmurs of assent go through the room.

Even Steve has to agree, and part of him wishes he hadn’t taken himself out of the movie draft earlier. He definitely would have pitched something better than this. 

“Who exactly did we let pick that one?” He asks, glancing around as if he’ll be able to scope out the culprit on his own.

No one hesitates to point fingers. “Robin,” they all chorus.

Beside him, Robin throws up her hands. “Hey! I picked a classic!” She defends. “And the only reason it even won in the first place is because Steve seconded it,” she adds, pretty mercilessly if Steve has any say.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Steve cries, sitting up straighter. “Don’t drag me down with you! I didn’t know you’d pick that !”

Robin frowns and smacks him on the arm for not having her back like she thought he would. Maybe if she hadn’t just thrown him under the bus.

On Steve’s other side, Eddie snorts, clearly amused by the whole quarreling display.

Robin turns back towards the group to plead her case some more. “It’s not even that depressing, guys, come on! There’s a happy ending!”

“You gotta swim through a whole sea of sad to get to that happy shore, my friend,” Argyle points out, and Jonathan nods along sagely from his spot next to him.

“Yeah, and a guilt tripping angel’s divine intervention isn’t exactly a sound cure for depression,” Nancy adds, giving Robin a sheepish smile.

Robin’s head snaps towards Nancy so fast Steve can hear her neck crack. It has to have hurt, but Robin seems totally unperturbed. 

Betrayal streaks across her face. “I thought you liked this one, Nance!”

Nancy shrugs, apologetic. “I do,” she says, “but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a little sad.”

Robin slumps back into Steve’s side, defeated. “You all suck,” she says without any real heat.

Everyone laughs, and Steve pats her shoulder in consolation.

“Why don’t we get some music going in here or something?” Jonathan suggests. “Something to lighten the mood again.”

Robin perks back up at that, and, being the closest to the record player, starts to jump up.

But Eddie practically lunges across Steve’s lap to catch her ankle and stop her. 

He’s close, so close, his body warm and solid where it presses right up against Steve’s. His hair smacks Steve in the face a little, but Steve doesn’t even care; it smells too nice, and it’s so soft, too.

Steve forgets entirely why Eddie’s just spilled himself so gracelessly over his lap until he opens his mouth.

“Nuh uh, no way Buckley, you are not picking the music after that,” Eddie says without releasing her ankle. “Your decision privileges are revoked until you learn to make better choices.”

Oh, right. Robin’s poor taste.

The room seems to agree, and Robin relents with a huff, falling back into the cushions to pout even more.

Eddie extracts himself from Steve’s lap then, but he doesn’t go far. He sways back until he’s on just the inside edge of Steve’s personal space, then claps his hand over Steve’s knee. His fingers splay wide enough that his pinky is almost encroaching into thigh territory. 

Steve’s so distracted by it that he nearly misses what Eddie says to him. 

“Leave the music to the pro, right?”

Steve just manages to laugh and agree before Eddie’s hand is gone and so is he, already up and stepping over Steve and Robin’s legs so he can maneuver over to the record player. 

Steve blows out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding, then runs his hand through his hair.

A foot connecting with the side of his thigh makes him look up to see Robin lifting her eyebrows pointedly at him. She tips her head back slightly, a subtle nod towards Eddie where he stands behind her. She makes a kissy face, then gives Steve another weighted look.

Her little game of charades clicks then, and Steve remembers the mistletoe stuck to the obnoxiously tall lamp that bends above the record player.

He also remembers telling Robin he’d try again later.

And, well, it is later.

Alright, okay, yeah, he can do this.

Steve drags his palms down his thighs, nods his head, then rises to his feet. “Let me help you find the Christmas albums,” he says to Eddie, moving to join him.

Eddie’s balancing one of the crates of records against the corner of the table the player sits on, and his fingers fly through the vinyls.

He throws Steve a cheeky little grin when he sidles up and uses his hip to bump Eddie aside to make room for him.

Steve starts to work his way through the albums from the opposite end.

“What, you don’t trust me to find the Christmas albums myself?” Eddie teases. “You think I’ll just go straight for the metal?”

“Please,” Steve says, trying to play it cool, “as if me and Robin would have any metal.”

Eddie’s eyes twinkle.

“Oh, but I know you do, Stevie,” he tells him. “I am the one that set this bad boy up when you and Robin moved in,” he reminds, jerking his chin towards the player. “Don’t think I haven’t seen the Judas Priest vinyls in your collection. The Black Sabbath.”

The only reason Steve has those vinyls is because he knows how much Eddie likes them. He’d specifically bought them so that Eddie could listen to them when he came over.

To be fair, Steve does have a bit of everyone’s favorites in his collection — but it is Eddie’s music he has the most of.

Steve fights the blush that so desperately wants to burst across his cheeks, and he decides not to deign Eddie with any sort of response. No use trying to deny something they both know is true.

He spots the mistletoe out of the corner of his eye and thinks this lull in conversation might be the perfect moment to point it out.

Only right as he opens his mouth to do so, Nancy unfolds herself from the cozy armchair she’d been curled up in and announces, “I’m getting a refill.” She holds her mug up and glances around. “Anyone else want one too?”

Jonathan and Argyle shake their heads, but Robin holds her mug up for Nancy to come grab.

The thing is — their living room isn’t big. They’d sacrificed general living space for two bedrooms over one, and the couch takes up a good portion of that living space.

So in order for Nancy to make it to the kitchen and pass Robin in the process to collect her cup, she has to walk around the back of the couch and eventually pass Steve and Eddie at the record player.

“‘Scuse me,” Nancy says as she approaches the boys, a mug in each hand. “Sorry, can I just squeeze by?”

Eddie takes a tiny step towards the couch, leaving Steve to press closer to the record player so Nancy can slip through the gap towards the kitchen.

Naturally, it happens right as Nancy steps between them.

“Woah, hey, would you look at that!” Argyle cries out.

Nancy and Eddie freeze, but Steve already knows exactly what is about to happen.

And shit. Shit, shit, shit . This is not how Steve wanted it to go this time. Nancy is not supposed to be part of this.

“More mistletoe!” Argyle says excitedly, pointing past the three of them.

Eddie and Nancy glance up to see the abominable little sprig dangling right there off of the stupid, tall lamp.

“Wow and all three of you landed under it,” Jonathan says with a chuckle. “Does that make this, like, a triple kiss situation?”

“Or do you stick to tradition and only two of you get to smooch?” Argyle asks.

“Well, Steve and Eddie were technically under it first, so if anybody is going to kiss it’s got to be those two,” Robin points out.

Devious girl , Steve thinks, even though he knows she’s just trying to help him. (Though, there’s no denying she’s also trying to help herself. No way does she want to see her crush macking on two of her closest friends.)

Nancy glances between the two of them, and Steve can see clear as day that she’d be more than happy to duck out and let them have their moment. “Why don’t we let the people doing the kissing decide?” She suggests.

It’s the perfect opportunity for Steve to steer things back onto course. He can play it up, give some excuse about how kissing his ex is just too awkward for the both of them (which isn’t even a lie!) or he can say that Nancy is only passing through here, so how can she get caught under the mistletoe if didn’t mean to stop? 

Anything to get Nancy off the hook.

Except Eddie, as it is, seems to much prefer keeping Nancy on the hook.

“No, no, there’s nothing to decide here!” Eddie tuts, spreading out his hands and shaking his head. “I mean, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” He gestures towards Steve and Nancy. “Call it what you want, but I call it destiny, these two landing under the mistletoe together.” He slaps his palm over his heart and flashes doe eyes at the pair of them. “Don’t let little ‘ol me get in the way of that.” 

He reaches out to steal the mugs right from Nancy’s hands, cradling them to his chest. “I’ll take care of these,” he tells her.

Then before either of them can formulate any sort of response, he dances out from under the mistletoe and disappears into the kitchen, leaving Steve and Nancy standing awkwardly together beneath the mistletoe.

Steve’s heart plummets. As does all of his renewed hope. So much for a do-over. He tries not to let his dejection show; he doesn’t want it to seem like he’s this bummed out about the idea of kissing Nancy. Once upon a time he liked doing that. 

When he finally glances over at Nancy, she doesn’t look offended in the slightest. She looks sympathetic , actually. Like she gets why Steve’s so bummed. Steve hasn’t told Nancy about his feelings for Eddie, but it doesn’t surprise him that she’s picked up on them. It’s not like he’s the most subtle —  at least that’s what Robin tells him. 

Besides, Nancy has always been far too perceptive. Far too observant. 

“Look, Nance—” Steve starts, about to give her an out.

But Nancy just shakes her head, and sends him an apologetic smile. She pats him on the shoulder, a consolation, then rises up onto her tiptoes and leans in to kiss his cheek.

When Steve sits back down, his cheek feels the same as it always does, but there’s still a lingering warmth over the top of his knee.

He sighs softly. Maybe it just isn’t the right time.

Steve doesn’t let himself wallow for long. The night’s supposed to be fun. It’s supposed to be about spending time with friends, about laughing and smiling and spreading holiday cheer. About having a good time.

So he pushes his two strikeouts to the back of his mind and he does just that: he has a good time.

They play just about every Christmas album Steve and Robin own (even the Wham! one), and the six of them sing along, loud and obnoxious, and swing each other around the room. Robin and Eddie perform a rousing duet of Baby It’s Cold Outside, with Robin begging Eddie to stay while Eddie twirls his hair around his finger and bats his eyelashes and croons that he really can’t.

Eggnog soaks the rest of the evening too, though there’s no more Schnapps to give it that special little kick. They don’t let that stop their fun; they get drunk off laughter and each other’s company instead.

At one point Robin decides to judge their ugly sweaters and announce a winner. No one knew that there was going to be a competition, not even Robin. But they all go along with the impromptu event anyways. Robin is accused of favoritism when she deems Steve’s multicolored, multipatterned monstrosity of a sweater the winner and crowns him as such with a gaudy gold gift bow stuck to his forehead.

They exchange gifts too, mostly silly little things since the real gift exchange is set to take place at the big Christmas shindig the Hopper-Byers clan is hosting for the whole party and all their families closer to Christmas.

Steve opens a baby pink mug boasting “World’s Best Mom” in looping cursive. He thinks it’s from Robin until Nancy opens a pair of chunky, brightly colored earrings that couldn’t have come from anyone but Robin. He’s stumped for a second before Eddie winks at him from the armchair opposite and Steve realizes the mug was from him. He rolls his eyes back at Eddie, but he’s already planning on using it everyday.

Soon enough, the night starts to wind down.

Steve sees Jonathan eyeing his watch, catches him tapping Argyle on the shoulder, and mumbling something about heading out soon.

Nancy’s supposed to spend the night, and when Steve glances over at the couch he finds her curled up with Robin. They look cozy, tangled up like that, heads bent together as they whisper back and forth and giggle into each other’s shoulders.

He hates to admit it, but a pang goes through his chest at the sight; he wishes his night was ending like that. It almost makes him laugh, Robin making more progress with her crush than him. She’d been so convinced that it was Steve who would come out victorious this Christmas.

How the tables have turned.

There’s still time , the Robin in Steve’s head insists. The tiny bloom of hope that’s somehow stayed burning in his heart, despite the night’s failures, seems to agree. It sparks in his chest, licks at his ribs, urges him to not give up just yet.

Because the party may be dying, and Steve’s time may be running short, but it isn’t out yet. 

Eddie hasn’t left yet.

Forget mistletoe. Forget grand romantic gestures. Forget the magic of Christmas.

Steve just needs to tell him.

Only problem is, he doesn’t know where Eddie is.

He’s not in the living room with everyone else, and Steve has been so lost in his own moping mind that he didn’t even notice him slip away. His shoes are still by the door, though, so Steve’s sure he’s somewhere in the apartment.

The kitchen is empty when Steve checks there, so he heads for the hallway next. There aren’t many hiding spots in a place as small as this one, so it really only leaves three possible options: Steve’s room, Robin’s room, or the bathroom.

Steve pokes his head into Robin’s room first. The lights are still off, and nothing seems out of place, so he shuts her door and moves on to his own bedroom. Just like Robin’s, his bedroom is empty too.

That just leaves the bathroom.

Steve feels a little awkward as he approaches the door. He doesn’t want to ambush Eddie if he really is in there, but impatience thrums through Steve’s veins, and his insatiable need to know for sure that he didn’t miss his chance wins out in the end.

Just as he’s reaching for the doorknob, it twists open.

“Woah,” Eddie says, holding his hands up as he nearly runs straight into Steve. “Shit, hey. Eggnog hit you that hard or something?” He asks with a teasing little lilt.

Steve snorts and shakes his head. “No, no, sorry. I was just looking for you,” he says.

“Well, you found me,” Eddie replies, wiggling his fingers like tada . He jerks his chin towards where Steve’s blocking the whole doorway. “Mind if I get by?”

“Right, yeah,” Steve replies.

But as Steve steps back, a little bauble of green catches his eye. 

“Oh, look,” he says and points up at the holly jolly sprig of mistletoe taped right above the bathroom door. It’s got to be the seventh or eighth one Steve’s seen tonight, and the third one he’s been caught under with Eddie. Robin wasn’t kidding when she said she was making sure it happened.

“More mistletoe,” Steve laughs.

This time has got to be it. Third time’s the charm and all, right?

Eddie’s eyes follow the line of Steve’s gesture, but he doesn’t look so amused by the plant. He kind of looks like he wants to tear it down and squash it. “More mistletoe,” he repeats.

Maybe Steve should feel bad, subjecting Eddie to the same silly song and dance so many times tonight, but he’s determined, dammit. He has a good feeling about it this time. They’re alone, with no watchful eyes or teasing jests from the peanut gallery. Steve thinks maybe that’s all they need — a little privacy. That’s the magic key to unlocking the real deal. No more of that chivalrous, goofy bullshit Eddie’s been pulling all night.

“Y’know,” Steve starts, gearing up to ask for it, for the kiss he’s been chasing all night. 

But before he can, Eddie interrupts.

“You know,” Eddie starts himself and gestures around the empty hallway. “There’s no one else around,” he points out.

And Steve thinks holy shit, yes , it’s going to happen . He doesn’t even care that Eddie’s sort of stealing his thunder here. Not if that means he finally gets to kiss him. 

“You don’t have to, like, put on a show or whatever. We don’t have to, y’know,” Eddie flails his hand around, looks like he’s trying to find some way to get his point across without having to actually say it, “ follow tradition ,” he finally settles for. “We can just ignore it. Pretend we didn’t see it.” 

He mimes zipping his lips. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Disappointment and frustration flood through Steve in equal parts. Until it suddenly clicks.

Eddie doesn’t want to kiss him.

That’s why he’s been avoiding it the whole night. That’s why he’s brushed it off every time the two of them have landed beneath the mistletoe.

It stings, Steve can’t say that it doesn’t. 

But, jesus, how could he be so stupid? How could he be so self-centered ? 

Shit. Steve had been so determined to get that kiss that he hadn’t even stopped to consider Eddie not wanting it in the first place. He’d been so sure… but it wouldn’t be the first time he was wildly off base about this kind of thing.

To Eddie’s credit, he’s handling the whole thing really well. He’s been awfully nice about his rejection, even in the face of Steve’s apparent clueless persistence.

“Oh. Oh . Oh my god, okay, yeah,” Steve says, holding up his hands. “No, I’m— I’m really fucking bad at taking hints, huh? Okay, jesus, I’m sorry. Shit . I’ll just—” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder and starts to back away, to leave Eddie alone and quit bothering him. 

Because that’s what he’s been doing, isn’t it? Bothering him. Jesus. Some friend he is.

“Wait, no, what?” Eddie asks, shooting forward to stop Steve in his tracks.

He reaches out, like he’s going to grab Steve, but seems to think better of it at the last second, so his hand ends up hanging suspended between them instead.

“What hints? What are you talking about Steve?”

It’s bad enough that Steve misread the entire situation so poorly, but now Eddie wants him to acknowledge it like this? To spell it out for him? It’s so embarrassing.

But he feels like he owes Eddie that much at least.

“The hints that you don’t want to— kiss me,” Steve answers, and he can’t meet Eddie’s eyes. He feels so pathetic as he says it, feels like such a child . For being so upset about it, but also for being too thick to pick up on what Eddie’s so subtly been trying to put down for him all evening in the first place.

When he does finally chance a glance Eddie’s way, he doesn’t find him looking vindicated or relieved like he thought he would. He just looks perplexed, with his furrowed brow and his mouth turned down in an, admittedly, adorably confused pout.

“I’ve been hinting that?” Eddie asks, tilting his head. That paired with that little pout makes him look like a god damned kicked puppy. What the hell.

It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair at all for him to look so cute when he’s in the middle of crushing Steve like this.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve replies, like it’s obvious. “I mean, you’ve been trying to tell me all night, haven’t you? With the— the excuses and the thing with Nance, and the, y’know, general not wanting to land under the mistletoe with me.” Steve shakes his head and gives a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m so stupid. I should’ve caught on earlier. It’s so obvious, but it didn’t even occur to me until now…”

Eddie’s frown deepens. “Hey, no. Stop it,” he says firmly. “You’re not stupid. I didn’t— I never said I don’t want to kiss you.”

“You didn’t have to say it,” Steve replies, and he thinks maybe he spoke too soon about being let down easy. He’s never considered Eddie to be cruel, but this — this false hope Eddie’s stirring up — it feels a little bit close to it. The knife just keeps twisting and it’s Eddie’s grip on the handle here.

“Or I guess maybe you did . It might have gotten me off your back sooner if you did say it.”

Eddie lets out a noise of frustration, pulling on his hair. He takes a faltered step closer, then another, only this one is solid. It’s sure. And this time, when he reaches out, he doesn’t hesitate. His fingers close around Steve’s wrists and he holds on. Doesn’t let go and doesn’t let Steve squirm his way out of it.

“Steve,” Eddie says slowly, purposefully. “I wasn’t dropping hints,” he tells him. “I never said I don’t want to kiss you, and I’m still not saying that.”

His eyes are big and round and they bore into Steve’s, as if his stare will somehow unscramble the cipher in Steve’s brain and bring clarity.

The funny thing is — it kind of works.

It kind of works because it only takes one second, two, three of gazing into those pretty brown eyes before his words fully register and their meaning sinks in.

And Steve’s heart jumps into his throat.

“So you’re saying— what are you saying? That you do?” Steve asks, and if he didn’t have more to say, he’d be holding his breath, waiting for Eddie’s response. But he does, so he barrels on before Eddie can even start to reply. “Because, like, you’ve had plenty of chances, and you haven’t exactly taken any of them.”

Eddie deflates a little and presses his lips together, then nods. “I know,” he says, reaching for his hair. “I know. I just,” he shrugs, twists some strands around his fingers, tugs it in front of his mouth, “didn’t want it to happen like that. I didn’t want it to be some joke. Some stupid thing you play along with.” He finally focuses back on Steve and drops his hand back to his side. Fully exposed. “I wanted it to be real. I want it to be real. If it does ever happen.”

“Oh,” Steve says, and the fluttering of his tummy returns tenfold. Because — shit , that’s what he wants too. But more importantly:

Eddie does want to kiss him .

Steve takes a step closer, brings them toe to toe. He feels breathless, giddy with the knowledge, the surety , that they both want the same thing. That this time it really will happen.

“What if I want that too? What if it’s not a joke to me? What if it never has been? What if I’ve been trying to kiss you, for real , all night? What if that’s what I want? What if there’s nothing I want more than to kiss you?”

“ What if ,” Eddie interjects, stopping Steve before he can come up with anything else, “you shut up and kiss me then?”

Steve doesn’t need to be told twice.

His fingers bunch into the front of Eddie’s ridiculous sweater, and he tugs him forward, not wasting another second before finally catching Eddie’s mouth in the kiss he’s so desperately chased all night.

Eddie makes a surprised noise, like he hadn’t expected Steve to actually follow through, but he melts into it almost immediately, arms sliding around Steve’s waist to cradle him against his chest.

Steve’s been waiting so long for this, has played this scene out in his head over and over, more times than he can count. But nothing, not even his wildest imagination, could compare to the real thing.

Eddie’s lips are a little chapped, but undeniably soft and so so sweet against Steve’s. He tastes like eggnog, he tastes like Christmas , and Steve can’t get enough.

He keeps the pace slow, takes his time with it. But he can’t help himself as he kisses Eddie’s lower lip and sucks it between his teeth, biting down softly. The little gasp that slips out as Eddie’s mouth falls open for Steve is like music to his ears.

One of Eddie’s hands finds its way beneath Steve’s sweater, and the flat of his palm presses hot against the bare curve of Steve’s back, pulling him impossibly closer.

They lose themselves in the kiss, letting everyone and everything else fade away until its just the two of them.

Eventually, the kiss softens again, turns into something toe-curlingly tender. Steve kisses the plush of Eddie’s bottom lip, the bow of the top one, the full of his mouth. 

He lets it linger before he breaks the kiss. Drops his forehead against Eddie’s.

Steve’s eyes stay closed as he basks in the moment, but a private little smile, meant just for Eddie, pulls at his lips. 

He laughs then. Just a tiny little snicker, but it’s enough to catch Eddie’s attention.

Eddie’s fingers squeeze over Steve’s hip and he gives his own half laugh, tilting his head as he asks, “What? Was it— was it that bad?”

Steve shakes his head immediately. “ No . It was... it was perfect ,” he replies breathlessly. “I just—” another chuckle, “I owe Robin a thank you card or a fruit basket or something.”

Eddie’s nose scrunches up in adorable confusion. “Where exactly does Robin fit into—” he wags a finger between them, “all this?”

“It was her idea to hang this much mistletoe,” Steve explains. “To, y’know, up the odds that we end up beneath it together.”

“So—” Eddie pauses. Bites his lip. Searches Steve’s eyes. “So you really have been trying to kiss me all night? Like for real?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, dude.”

Eddie makes a face. “Don’t call me dude, you just had your tongue in my mouth,” he laughs.

A grin curls onto Steve’s lips. “Okay,” he says, leaning in conspiratorially, “ dude .”

Eddie pushes at Steve’s shoulder with a groan, but he doesn’t let go of him. Doesn’t let him go far either.

“For real, though,” Steve says once their laughter dies down. “I have been trying to kiss you all night. I mean, I kept landing under the mistletoe with you even though you kept dodging it. Did you think I was just that eager to get rejected over and over?”

“It wasn’t a rejection rejection,” Eddie defends, ducking his head onto Steve’s shoulder. “I told you that,” he murmurs onto his neck.

“I know,” Steve responds, skating his hand up Eddie’s back. “ Now , anyways. But I didn't then, and that didn’t exactly inspire a lot of confidence that you’d like the rest of what I had to say.”

Eddie’s head lifts, eyebrows raised at Steve. “The rest of what you had to say?” He asks. 

Steve nods.

“Well?” Eddie demands after a second.

“ Well , I was trying to…” Steve trails off as the nerves from before start flooding back. He doesn’t let them settle though. Instead he swallows them down, takes a deep breath, and says, “I was trying to tell you that I love you.”

A sharp inhale. “You what?”

Steve reaches for Eddie’s hands, takes them into his own. “Eddie, I love you. I’m in love with you.”

The following exhale is shaky. Eddie’s eyes are wide as he stares at Steve like he isn’t so sure he heard him right. 

“You—” he points at Steve, “you’re in love with—” his forefinger curls back into his fist and his thumb pops out on the other end, aimed at himself.

“With you,” Steve finishes for him, corners of his mouth quirking up. “ Yes .”

Eddie laughs then, this manic little thing that bubbles up and out in a way that surprises him just as much as it surprises Steve.

“Am I— Is this some sort of sugarplum fairy dream?” He asks incredulously. “There’s not, like, giant mice and life-sized nutcrackers here to whisk me away or anything right?”

It’s Steve’s turn to laugh unexpectedly. “You know The Nutcracker?”

Eddie waves his hand. “Not important, Steve,” he brushes off. “You said you love me. ”

He has. And Eddie hasn’t said it back yet. (If he says it back at all.) Steve tries not to let that get to him.

“I did,” he says. “I do.”

Eddie’s hands slip from Steve’s then, and for one perilous second Steve’s heart hangs suspended over the edge, facing down a steep drop and so close to shattering at his feet.

But then Eddie’s palms come up to cup either side of Steve’s face. His eyes shine and a smile splits his face, brighter than a star.

“I’m in love with you too, Steve,” Eddie breathes. “I’m so in love with you.”

And instead of plummeting, Steve’s heart soars .