Chapter Text
Steve sighs as he shuts the ancient microwave in the large kitchenette, watching in rapt melancholy as his leftovers slowly turn clockwise in the tiny compartment. The room is silent, almost eerily so as Steve shifts his weight back and forth in his dress shoes.
For nearing Christmas time, the office is devoid of any personality or any indication that the Holidays are near. Not a tree, not a snowflake, not even a single ornament in sight. Steve draws his eyes past the kitchenette to sweep over the wider expanse of the office. Cubicles are lined and occupied like prisons, their occupants clacking away on the tiny (state-of-the-art, his father boasted) Macintoshes. A few people chat idly on the phones, balancing the receivers against their shoulders as they report on documents.
A fluorescent lightbulb flickers above the room, bathing the room in a depressing blue hue. Outside, the sky is overcast. It might as well be dark out with how dark the room seems in comparison.
Steve hates this time of year, he misses the sun, although most of his time is spent holed up in his office, faxing documents and dealing with his underlings. At least his office has a window facing a small wooded area, he gets to see the leaves live their lives, rebirth and death, while he’s stuck in his office chair. It was a perk of being the CEO’s son, he figured, having the nicest office.
The coffee in his plain white mug is cold, and has been for a while, but he takes a small sip and grimaces anyway. He takes his leftovers from the microwave, scorching hot on the outside but frozen on the inside per usual, and plops himself back into his office. The table in the break room was empty, but Steve didn’t want to chance one of his coworkers slinking in, filling the space with their mindless, pointless small talk. ‘ What are you doing for the holidays?’ talk.
The truth was, Steve was going to do the same exact thing he has done for the last four years on Christmas.
He was going to wake up in his massive bed in his massive penthouse and watch the bustling streets of Indianapolis below. They would fill with happy families, walking to their destinations with their arms and hearts full, pulling their little kids along by the hand. Maybe he’d get a phone call from his Mother or Father from where ever they decided to fuck off to for the week, maybe not. He’d fill a mug with top shelf whiskey, end up forgoing the mug, and just drink from the bottle, and try (and fail) to not stew in his own self disgust and pity. In the morning light of December 26th, he would wake up in his massive bathroom, hunched over the toilet. Rinse and repeat for New Years.
So, yeah, not exactly what he would tell Melissa with the Italian family or Denise with the fifty screaming kids.
Truthfully, there was a short period of time where he loved this time of year, where he wasn’t a slave to his Father’s corporation. He wasn’t Mr. Harrington, future CEO and heir to the Harrington & Associates fortune, he was Steve.
Truthfully, Steve was in love, once.
Steve thought about Eddie Munson a lot. A frightening amount, actually. His very aura seemed to threaten to overtake the gray silences of Steve’s life, bursting at the seams and folding at the corners. Steve clutches his cold coffee in his hands, staring down at the flavorless mush he calls a lunch, sitting at a mahogany desk that probably cost more than his fucking car, and he thinks about Eddie.
It was late 1985 when they properly met, barring leers and glares thrown across cafeterias throughout Steve’s career at Hawkins High.
A man with no prospects, no future plans, Steve found himself the babysitter for a gaggle of teens (and one Robin Buckley, of course).
He saw Eddie in passing every time he would pick up the shitheads from their Hellfire meetings, staring in awe as the dungeon master leaned over the window, his guitar pick necklace dangling in front of Steve’s face, throwing a quip or a jeer his way. Every time he would grow red or stare a little too long, he’d turn around to find the all-knowing gaze of Robin Buckley.
It remained that way, back and forth one-liners and cutesy pet names of varying intensity, for a long while. So long that Robin wanted to rip her hair out. Just two planets orbiting in opposite directions, converging by their own gravitational pulls.
These feelings were confusing for Steve initially, his stomach erupting a flurry of butterflies whenever Eddie would shoot a smile in his direction. It wasn’t until Halloween night that Steve realized the nature of his body’s reactions.
Eddie had invited him to his trailer on a whim, leaning over into his car after the kids were properly seated.
“We could watch some movies and pig out on Halloween candy, if you want to, I mean, it’s no big deal—“ His hands tapped out an idle beat on the outside window of Steve’s car. He was nervous, sheepish and pink as his dark eyes darted around before finally settling on Steve’s face.
“Yeah, okay. That sounds… nice.” Steve smiled.
“Great! Cool.” Eddie smiled back.
They lingered for a noticeable moment, caught in a stand off of each other’s gaze before Dustin obnoxiously cleared his throat from beside him, eyeing the pair suspiciously.
It wasn’t until the pair were settled on the ratty old couch in the Munson trailer, senses fuzzy from the weed, thighs pressed together and creating a pleasant pocket of warmth, that Steve noticed it.
Eddie had settled on something lighthearted for Steve’s sake, and was watching intently. In the haze of smoke and beer, Steve’s eyes drifted to the sharp lines of Eddie’s profile, and just, never left.
It was almost as if Steve wanted to catalog every feature of Eddie’s face and commit it to memory. He felt himself leaning in more than he thought about it consciously.
A small scar on his forehead, his smile lines and — oh.
As soon as Steve’s thumb pressed against his cheek, Eddie flinched, meeting Steve’s eyes.
“Yeah?” Eddie furrowed his brows, clearly amused by Steve’s tactility.
“You have freckles.” Steve murmured.
Their noses were close enough to almost touch, and Steve felt his eyes drift to the soft pout of Eddie’s lips, formed in a surprised ‘o’.
He wanted to kiss him.
The thought was like an alarm in his head.
When he looked back up after what felt like a millenia, Eddie’s eyes were huge, reflecting the light from the TV set in little pinpricks.
Steve pulled away, and with it, he could feel the world crashing around him.
He wanted to kiss Eddie Munson, desperately.
It took a lot of self reflection for Steve in the coming weeks to grapple with this fact. But after a solid three weeks of gingerly avoiding Eddie, Steve knew that three things were 100% undeniable facts.
- He is attracted to men.
- He still wants to kiss Eddie.
- He needed to tell Robin immediately.
Steve had ended up confessing to her, one tearful evening on the disgusting bathroom floor of Family Video, that he was— what he learned after some interesting and insightful research— bisexual. He always sort of knew about his attraction to men, but he was never willing to define his feelings as anything concrete. He was afraid, but he felt a weight lift off his shoulders when he had the realization and looked in the mirror to find that he was still… Steve.
Robin smiled so wide it was absurd and immediately wrapped Steve into a bone-crushing hug.
Dealing with an openly pining Steve was much worse than a slightly flustered Steve. Robin was very open about her wish to walk into the woods and never return.
One day in the Spring of 1986, Dustin slammed his hands down on the counter of Family Video, scaring the shit out of Steve, who was fiddling with a Rubik’s Cube.
“What’s going on between you and Eddie?” He had asked, a sense of ferociousness indicative of a Freshman.
Steve scrunched up his face in response. Dustin slammed his hand down again and pointed an excited finger in Steve’s confused face. The winter had been filled with stolen glances and warm feelings despite the chill.
“I fucking knew it! Your face is so red!”
“What the hell are you on about, Henderson?” Steve wasn’t about to air his business of being a little in love with Eddie Munson to Dustin Henderson, of all people.
“You’re in love! With Eddie!” Dustin sing-songed, grinning triumphantly.
Okay, maybe Steve was about to air his business of being a little in love with Eddie Munson to Dustin Henderson, of all people.
“Hey! Shut it, man.” Steve hissed as he clapped a hand over Dustin’s mouth. “You want the goddamn whole town to know?”
“But you’re not denying it.” Dustin said, muffled by Steve’s hand over his mouth.
Steve shot him a look, which made Dustin’s face light up as he pulled away from Steve’s hand.
“Oh this is fantastic news, Steve.” Dustin was smirking, his head already spinning into overdrive, concocting plots.
“If you, or any of the other goblins for that matter, meddle, or scheme, or whatever, I will personally slash my own tires so I can’t drive you around anymore.”
The next time the kids, Robin and Eddie were over his house, the pair were pushed unceremoniously into a closet and locked in.
Steve didn’t end up slashing his tires, but he did employ his boyfriend to kill off their D&D characters in increasingly horrific ways.
Steve’s three years with Eddie were by far the greatest years of his life. The pair were disgusting (according to everyone around them) about their affection for each other, falling into their love headfirst and fast.
It was shockingly fast how long it took Steve to realize that this, Eddie, was his forever. He wanted everything, to settle down with a house and maybe a cute little picket fence, or really anywhere they wanted to go. Steve would follow Eddie to the ends of the Earth if it meant he would be happy.
This realization felt more like a coming home, or a warm hug than anything shocking.
Every holiday, every birthday was spent at the trailer, his own parents not bothering to come home.
He never told his parents about Eddie whenever they would come around.
That was, until Thanksgiving 1989.
It was strange, getting that call from his Father.
“Your Mother and I are coming home for Thanksgiving.” Richard Harrington said firmly over the phone.
Steve stood, confused and looked at the half naked form of Eddie, his back facing him in the kitchen cooking breakfast.
“You are? I thought you were in…” He scrambled for a place to name, but came up short.
Eddie gave Steve a look of concern over his shoulder, quirking up one brow as if to say ‘you okay?’
Steve simply waved him off in reassurance with a small smile.
“We’re in Chicago this month, Steven. It was an important board meeting for me.”
“Uh, huh…” Steve’s Father almost never told him anything about his job, he wasn’t even sure what exactly he did.
“I expect the house will be spotless, just like we left it, right, Steven?”
“O - Of course, Dad.” Steve watched Eddie flip a pancake in the air, quietly cheering as it landed back on the cast iron with a splat.
“Excellent, I’ll see you then, Steven.”
“Yeah… Bye D—“ Steve was met with a dial tone.
With a sigh, he placed the receiver back on the cradle and stalked over to where his boyfriend was stationed at the stovetop. He snaked his arms around Eddie from behind and buried his nose in the crook of his neck. Eddie immediately jerked in surprise with a yelp.
“Jesus H— Stevie! Your hands are fuckin’ freezing!” Eddie cackled and poked at one of the undercooked pancakes.
Steve just grinned against the skin of Eddie’s neck. By all accounts, compared to Steve, Eddie typically ran cold, but Steve was drawn to the warmth that he seemed to radiate. His skin was warmed by the early fall sun streaming through the windows. Steve wanted to live in this moment for all eternity. He wanted to take a mental snapshot and keep it in his pocket to look at whenever he wanted.
They both slightly swayed together. Steve traced the outline of Eddie’s chest tattoo idly.
“Was that one of the shitbirds on the phone?” Eddie hummed in question. They couldn’t exactly call them kids anymore, all of them were bordering 18.
“Nah,” Steve sighed. “My Dad.”
Eddie immediately bristled.
“What did he want?” The pancakes sizzled in the pan.
“My parents are coming home for Thanksgiving.” Steve groaned. “Which means I have to skip the world famous Munson cranberry sauce this year, baby. ‘M sorry”
Eddie hummed in feigned annoyance, prodding one of the pancakes with the edge of his spatula.
“But I can probably sneak out by dessert?” Steve smiled, placing a kiss to the soft skin under Eddie’s ear. “Trust me, I don’t wanna be there at all.”
Eddie just turned and planted a smack on Steve’s temple.
The Thanksgiving table was tense.
Steve just sat to the side of his parents' stations at the heads of the table as he usually did, pushing around the dry Turkey with his fork. He wished that he was with Eddie, talking about football with Wayne, free to hold Eddie hostage and force him to listen to him and Wayne explain sports to Eddie’s horror. He remembers distinctly that he had even tried to teach Eddie how to swing a bat last summer, going into excruciating detail about the fundamentals of bat grips, how to position weight, specific angles to hold the bat for different purposes. Needless to say, Eddie just watched Steve like he had three heads. There was a little bit of awe on his face too as he loaded the tee with the baseballs for Steve to hit. It was very cute.
“Steven.” His Father started.
Steve was broken out of his daze.
“Yeah, Dad?” Steve watched as his Father shot his mother an amused look. It was an odd look for Richard Harrington to have, almost smug. Steve was immediately wary.
“We have some exciting news about your future,” His Father gently placed his fork down. “Like I told you on the telephone, I had an important business meeting in Chicago this past week.”
Steve remembered Eddie pushing him against the counter and biting a hickey into his neck.
“I remember you mentioning that…” Steve looked to his Mother, who looked almost… giddy. What was going on?
“Well, the board is advising over a permanent residence and expansion into Indianapolis. They are expecting me to take full executive control over this branch, and they have also opened up some new positions. Fortunately, they were interested when I mentioned you.”
“I - Indianapolis?” That was over a three hour drive, Steve was sure his father’s work was somewhere closer, not that he was ever even in the state.
“We’ll be selling the house and moving to Indianapolis in the New Year. You’ll be working your way up through the company.”
Steve’s heart thrummed in his chest, his eyes darted back and forth between his parents, but his Mother just clapped in excitement.
“Isn’t that so exciting, Steven?”
Steve thought of his friends, the kids, all leaving for college soon. Robin, finishing up classes at Emerson with Nancy in Massachusetts.
Eddie.
Steve stood. His chair scraped against the hardwood in his haste.
“Steven —“
Steve ran out the door, got in his car, and immediately drove to the trailer park.
He didn’t know how to feel about this. On one hand, it was completely uncharted territory, but it was an opportunity. He and Eddie could get out of this tiny town and make a life for themselves in the city, maybe it would be easier as long as they steered clear of his parents.
As soon as his tires stopped spinning, Eddie was on the porch, throwing his jacket over his shoulders and bounding down the steps.
“Hey!” There were suddenly arms wrapped around his shoulders. “You finally escaped!”
“Hi, Ed.” Steve planted a small kiss on Eddie's cheek, not caring about the increased traffic Thanksgiving brought to the trailer park. “Yeah, I didn’t even last through dinner, they’re probably gonna rip me a new one once I get home.”
Eddie snorted, leading the pair into the warm comfort of the trailer.
“My Dad… also told me some… news.”
Eddie hmmed in response.
“Good news?”
Steve considered this in his head for a moment.
“News news.” He sighed, gripping Eddie’s hand in his own. “My Dad got a promotion or something in Indianapolis, they’re giving me a job at his company.”
Eddie eyed him with a growing sense of worry.
“And… you said no, right?” He asked quietly.
“I mean…Not exactly… I didn’t really say much of anything, just left.”
“‘Not exactly?’”
“Well, I don’t know if I should take it, it could be good for us to get a change of scenery…”
Eddie’s eyes were wide with concern and hesitation.
“I’ll probably be making way more than I make at Family Video, we could find a place together.” Steve eyed Eddie’s tense stance.
“I dunno, Stevie…” Eddie grumbled.
“Look, they’ll be in town until New Years I guess, come to dinner for Christmas! We’ll get my Dad off our backs so we can live together.”
Eddie swallowed.
“Okay,” He shook out the tension in his shoulders. “Fuck it.”
Christmas Eve dinner was structured nearly identically to Thanksgiving.
Mr. and Mrs. Harrington sat at opposite long ends of the table, plates neatly sectioned with small slices of ham and other side dishes.
Steve and an out-of-his-element Eddie sat at the perpendicular ends, sitting facing each other and playing footsie under the table unbeknownst to the elder Harringtons.
Mr. Harrington droned on and on about some aspect of his personal work doctrine and assumed that everyone at the table cared enough to listen.
Steve was trailing his foot oh-so-casually up the length of Eddie’s left pant leg when his Dad spoke again.
“And what about you, Mr. Munson?” Eddie jostled as Steve quickly pulled his leg back.
A red faced Eddie just gaped for a moment, before clearing his throat nonchalantly and meeting his father’s eyes.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat the question, sir?”
“I asked about your prospects.” Steve’s Dad had an edge of harsh judgment to his tongue.
That look was hauntingly familiar to Steve, and he watched as Eddie’s eyes darted around before settling into a cool confidence.
He was in dungeon master mode, Steve smiled, he was gonna be fine.
“Well, I’m currently leaving my options open for the moment, Mr. Harrington.”
“Oh?” Mr. Harrington scoffed at him. “You’re unemployed? Are you in school then?”
“N - No sir.” A crack in the façade.
“Ah,” Steve’s Dad cut into his ham.
Eddie was visibly grappling for a save (Steve could hear Eddie’s voice in his head telling him that this was his saving throw).
“I wanted to keep my options open so that I can get a job when Steve and I move in together.”
Oh. A one.
There was a clatter of silverware on porcelain and a tense moment of silence between the elder Harringtons.
Eddie shot Steve a look from the corner of his eye.
“Move in together?” Steve’s mother whispered in obvious horror as she pressed the tips of her fingers to her perfectly rouged lips.
Mr. Harrington seemed to be recoiling back, wounding tight as if he was a rubber band being pulled taut, ready to snap.
“Now, where did you get that idea, Steven?” He turned to Steve this time, dismissing Eddie as if he were nothing.
“Well I just… I just thought that — uh -“
Eddie shot another look at Steve from the corner of his eye.
“Now, Edward.” Mr. Harrington’s fury was redirected back to Eddie, who visibly cringed at the use of his full name. “I do have to say, your reputation does precede you.”
Both Steve and Eddie paled. Steve’s Dad aggressively cut into his ham, smirking coldly down at the white china.
“My—“
“What was it? A drug dealing, trailer trash burnout?” Steve’s father quirked up one of his thick brows from behind his thick rimmed glasses. “Does that sound about right?”
Eddie slumped back in his seat. The air was charged with something insidious.
“I don’t know what you want with our Steven, but I know that it will be a cold day in hell before I let you corrupt him.”
Eddie’s eyes turned sharp, his expression pinched, not bothering to contain his potent mix of fury and shame.
“I went to school with that jail rat father of yours, and I know what the town says about you, and I will not have the executive board of my own company thinking that my son is a fag —“
Eddie slammed his silverware on his plate with a sharp clatter and stormed out.
Steve watched the exasperated form of Eddie’s back as he slammed the front door, quickly rising to chase after him. His father just scoffed in amusement, downing the rest of his finger of whisky while his mother watched Steve with nothing but base curiosity.
Steve found Eddie standing by his van, fumbling in his pocket with shaking hands for his cigarettes. Steve knew he was trying to quit, but he just watched as he clutched his lighter in his grasp.
“E - Eddie,”
“What the fuck, Steve?” Eddie’s voice was wobbly and strained as stared at Steve, his eyes were glassy and red and in pain. “Your fucking Dad just ripped me a new one and you didn’t say anything.”
“I - I’m sorry, it’s just—“
“The job, I know.” Eddie sniffed, huffing on his cigarette with trembling hands.
They stood apart, their breaths creating small puffs in the silence of the cold December air.
Steve stared at Eddie as an entire encyclopedia of emotions washed over his face.
“I… I can’t go to Indianapolis with you, Steve.” Eddie stared at the ground, speaking in barely a whisper.
Steve’s blood ran cold.
“Wh - What…?”
Their eyes met, Eddie’s were filled with a sharp sense of certainty that made Steve feel small.
“I can’t go with you.”
“But…” Steve stared at him, his heart stuttering.
“I can’t, Steve.” Eddie was scrambling, running his free hand through his pulled back hair. “I have to be here for Wayne and C - Corroded Coffin is doing okay, and the kids… I can’t give this up, not yet, Steve.”
“Th - That’s… We’ll… We can figure it out,” He stammered, desperately pleading, as Eddie softly put his hand on his.
His eyes, the eyes he fell for, were misty and huge, reflecting the light of the moon. Steve’s heart sank to his feet. Eddie’s hand brushed off of his, falling to hang by his side.
“I’m sorry, Steve. I…I have to go.” He carefully stamped out the remnants of his cigarette as he fumbled for his keys.
Steve watched the cigarette crumble and smoke on the asphalt.
“Eddie…”
Eddie just looked up at Steve sadly. Steve’s heart rattled in his chest, his nose was burning.
“I hope you find what you’re looking for in Indianapolis, Steve.”
Steve watched him drive away, rooted to the spot in his driveway, standing silently as the van disappeared down his street.
It was the very moment Steve felt the suffocating silence settle over his life.
He felt like an idiot, staring dumbly at the spot just beyond the horizon where the van disappeared.
His father just scoffed when Steve slunk back into the dining room. Whatever sly comment he made was lost on deaf ears as Steve’s eyes stayed trained on the empty setting at the table.
Steve doubted his parents would care if they noticed just how bad his hands were shaking.
A knock at his office door jolts Steve out of his wallowing, his ragged breaths the only sound in the room. He wipes away his tears (when had he started crying?) and answers the door to a smug looking Tommy Hagan.
Ah. Great. Just who he wants to see, his father’s half-assed excuse for a compromise. Tommy Hagan was an acceptable friend, and an adequate associate. Which was all business jargon for a massive pain in Steve’s ass.
“Hey, just wanted to— are you fucking crying?” Tommy immediately erupts into a cackle, pointing at Steve’s splotchy face.
Steve groans and rolls his eyes, ushering Tommy in.
“Get it over with, Hagan. What do you want?” Steve wanted to run a hand through his hair, but his father requires (forces) him to cut away most of the length, leaving whatever longer pieces in the front to be slicked back and professional every day.
“Your Father’s coming to the big budgetary planning meeting tomorrow.” He states, his freckled cheeks breaking into a sly grin.
Steve’s heart spikes in anxiety. Tomorrow was the massive end-of-fiscal-year budgetary meeting that he’s been prepping for for weeks. He was nervous enough as it is, due to the meeting falling on Christmas Eve, and he knew that the other members of the board would be cranky about having to attend a financial meeting the day before Christmas. He hadn’t expected his father to even actually bother to show up to the meeting.
“Shit, man.” Steve hisses. “I thought he was in, fucking, the Bahamas or something.”
“He was,” Tommy mused. “But he told his assistant, who then told me, that he heard that you were heading the presentation, and he insisted on being in attendance.”
Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. Great.
“He wants to make sure you don’t fuck. it. up, Steve!” Tommy pokes Steve’s shoulder to enunciate every word. “Your ass could be up for a promotion or something, gotta make sure that the board’s charmed by the nepo baby, right?”
Tommy cackles sharply as he turns and leaves, leaving Steve to slump forward.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
He puts a supporting hand down on the smooth surface of his desk and screws his eyes shut.
His mind is whirring, working on overdrive in a flurry of anxiety.
Above the static, Steve can hear himself have an extremely clear thought.
What’s the point?
He opens his eyes, spiraling.
A promotion?
What am I doing?
What’s the point?
I’m gonna be stuck here until I die.
…I wish I was dead.
Suddenly, the plain white office clock on the wall chimes loudly, making Steve’s head snap toward the sound.
“Wha…?” Steve stares, dumbfounded, at the clock that was absolutely not supposed to make that noise, much less at… 1:37 PM?
Steve shakes his head, brushing it off, much to his confusion.
The rest of his workday drags on. He watches the office ecosystem as if it was a boring TV show.
Soon enough, he’s trudging through the muddy slush to his beemer. Before he starts the ignition, he pauses, his mind drawn to the glove compartment. He hesitates, before he pulls the small latch to open the small compartment.
Inside, there is the typical car fodder, his registration and manual, but neatly tucked inside is a small collection of cassettes.
It’s a meager collection of mostly pop and soft rock that he doesn’t listen to much anymore these days, but he’s not looking for those tapes.
He pulls out the worn plastic cassette cover, letting his thumb brush over the small wear-and-tear cracks that had settled in the Norelco box.
Iron Maiden’s The Number of the Beast.
It ended up in Steve’s cassettes after Steve asked about one of Eddie’s tattoos, which he happily explained by playing the album and excitedly explaining all of the demonic imagery and musical motifs.
It was one of Eddie’s first albums he ever bought on his own, it was one of his prized tapes, falling into the trust of Steve.
And Steve… just never gave it back.
He couldn’t bear the thought of parting with it, even if it earned a scoff or an eyebrow raise from one of Steve’s vapid one night stands. So into the glove box it goes.
The drive to his apartment building was short, unmarred by the sullen silence of the car. Once he put his keys in his door and entered the cold, sterile, living area, he was overwhelmed with a sense of dread.
When he’s settled on the large couch, staring blankly at the screen, he hears his phone ring.
With a groan, he gets up and pads over to the landline.
“Hello, Harrington residence?”
“Steve?”
“Robin?” Steve’s heart jumped. “H - Hi. How’s the translating going?”
“It’s good, everything’s going good.” He could feel the awkwardness between them. “How’s the - uh - office job?”
“It’s okay, it pays the bills.” And then some, he thought, glancing around his huge penthouse apartment.
There was a moment of silence between them. Steve thoroughly missed the days where he and Robin could talk about nothing for hours. Now, if they even called at all, there were long stretches of impersonal silence that overtook them.
“Look, Steve, I’m just gonna ask. Are you coming to mine and Nance’s Christmas party tomorrow?”
Ah. That’s what this was about. Every year since Robin and Nancy moved back to Indiana, they’d host a Christmas party on Christmas Eve night and invite everyone in their little group.
Every year Robin would call Steve and ask him to come.
Every year Steve said no.
“Robin, I’ve got this huge meeting tomorrow morning. It’s super important.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Steve could feel her frustration through the phone. “It’s just that… You haven’t exactly been around Steve, the kids all miss you. We - We all miss you.”
Steve gripped his phone tight in his hand. Truthfully, as soon as Mr. and Mrs. Harrington dragged a depressed Steve out of Loch Nora, Steve hadn’t really seen anyone. It’d been almost four years and Steve knew that their patience would run out soon.
“I - I’m sorry, Robin. I can’t.”
“It’s fine.” Robin seethes. “Just didn’t think you getting this job would affect you this much.”
Steve squeezes his eyes shut, his heart lurching.
“Maybe I could make it to New Years?”
“That’s alright…” Robin sighs. Steve realizes in horror that this is the other shoe, her patience is gone. “Don’t go, you probably have something more important to do anyways.”
The sarcasm and backhandedness is dripping through the phone. Steve just stands there, stupidly clutching the phone in his hands.
“O - Okay,” He trails off. The connection is quiet again, both parties at a stand still.
“Have a nice Christmas, Steve.” Robin says.
“Yeah,” Steve says softly. “You too.”
Robin’s line drops with a distinct beep, leaving Steve with the phone pressed to his ear, settling back into the soundless expanse of his apartment.
The phone reluctantly goes back into the cradle, and Steve goes to pour himself a drink when he hears a chorus of clock chimes as every clock in his abode sings in unison.
“What the fuck…” Steve’s eyes dart all around at the sudden noise.
It was the same as last time, the time read 6:22, even if the clocks were supposed to chime, they wouldn’t do it at such a random time.
All at once they stop.
Trying to shake off what must be the beginning of a nervous breakdown, Steve pours himself another drink.
Everything seems to settle into normalcy as Steve continues his monotonous evening into the night.
He eats alone, he watches mindless TV alone, he makes his lunch for the next day alone, he brushes his teeth alone.
Soon, he’s laying in his huge, freezing bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep.
The room, just like the rest of his life, is silent and sterile, the only noise being the soft tick tock of his wall clock.
With a sigh, he turns to his side, squinting at the red light of his alarm clock. 11:10 PM. He’s over thinking as usual. It always tends to happen this time of night, especially this time of year, the anniversary of…
Steve doesn’t like to think about the fact that four years ago this very night, a younger, happier Steve went to bed, not knowing that he’d make the worst decision of his life in less than 24 hours. He shivers in the frigid sheets, wishing desperately that he did things differently.
He watches as the clock strikes 11:11, the alarm suddenly chiming just like earlier.
Despite his growing confusion, Steve soon finds himself drifting off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When he wakes up the next morning, the first thing he immediately registers is the comforting warmth resting on his right side.