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This year is the first Christmas where Steve has absolutely no expectation that his parents are going to make it back. They're all the way across the country and he knows they have invitations to events scheduled through the New Year too.
He'd spent so many Christmases doing things that he hadn't wanted to, traveling when he'd just wanted to stay home, being dragged to parties he didn't feel comfortable at, ordered to smile and be polite and introduce himself to the right people. He'd been too young to refuse, and then not rebellious enough to take off the itchy suit he was made to wear, greeting relatives or business associates he could never remember the names of.
This year, for the first time, there are a bunch of people in the house that he actually cares about, decorations chosen by his friends and not from a home design catalog. There's a well-stocked fridge and the expensive heating of his parent's house is cranked up high; even Robin has the sleeves of her Christmas sweater pushed up, and she's notorious for feeling the cold.
Nancy has had enough to drink that she's smiling where she's tucked in next to Jonathan, with Jonathan's friend Argyle on the other side. Steve has no idea what he's telling Robin but she's been making a series of horrified and amused faces for the last twenty minutes. Steve is stretched out in the armchair, an empty glass which had previously contained eggnog balanced between his thighs. It was apparently Eddie's family recipe, but watching him randomly pour things into a glass, with his tongue between his teeth and his eyebrows up in his hair, made Steve think he was actually pulling it entirely out of his ass.
Which means that he doesn't want to admit how good it had turned out. He'd never imagined anything so sickly sweet could pack such a punch. The sort of thing you think you should stop drinking because maybe you're not really as into it as you thought – but then you look down and it's all gone.
So he only has himself to blame.
The Christmas tree is lopsided, the top curving over due to it being six inches too tall for his living room. He'd known that the whole time but the kids had insisted that he make it work. He knows his mom would never have stood for it, and maybe part of that had rubbed off on him because he'd complained repeatedly that it was going to look stupid, but it's growing on him so maybe he really is growing as a person.
He pushes himself out of the chair when the snacks run low, taking his empty glass with him. He's glad he's not that drunk, because he has to step over various legs on the way to the kitchen.
He finds Eddie already there, flannel shirt shrugged off, cheeks probably as pink as Steve's. He has both hands pressed down on top of the blender, and Steve already knows that the lid is not going on.
The festive season is not helping Steve to get over his crush with any grace. Every time he'd looked over at Eddie tonight it was to see him smiling, the scars on his face tugging it out of shape less every day, the twinkle of Christmas lights doing stupidly appealing things to his eyes and the half-curls of his hair.
"What are you doing?" Steve asks, though his voice is warm, and when Eddie looks up at him he grins like Steve is exactly the person he wanted to see.
"Second round," he says with a laugh. He's persevering with the top of the thing, because he obviously hasn't worked out that it's the wrong way round yet.
"I think this is technically the third, maybe the fourth," Steve reminds him.
Eddie just laughs, soft like he's missing the joke. Steve slides around the island and takes the lid from him. He turns it the right way round and picks some ice out that Eddie was never going to close it over, before clipping the whole thing together.
Eddie gives a whoop of approval when it blends, and then attempts to say something which Steve can't hear over the noise.
"What?" he asks.
The blender grates to a stop and Eddie lifts it off the stand and tries to pour into a row of glasses without spilling. He fails almost immediately, to Steve's amusement.
"I said, you got all the Christmas stuff up but no mistletoe, dude, how come?"
Steve steals a full glass from the row – ignoring the way Eddie tries to take it back, complaining that he hasn't spiced it yet. He tries it, only to get such a blast of rum through his nostrils that he has to laugh-cough for half a minute.
By the time he finds his voice again Eddie has tried it too, the sound of appreciation that grates in his throat too low and too rough to be entirely fair.
"Eddie, half my friends are kids, and the other half are people who, for various reasons, it would be awkward as hell for me to kiss. And I'm pretty sure everyone else out there would agree with me."
Eddie looks at him for a minute before shrugging and going back to pouring. Which includes topping up his glass.
"Yeah, ok, fair point."
Steve's happy enough to take another mouthful, to lean into the counter and soak his sleeve in freezing water and double cream.
"Why, are you disappointed?" He wouldn't usually skirt so close to the line, but the season has left him feeling some way about being alone, and Eddie's clearly been thinking about it for some reason.
Instead of answering the question, he shrugs again and takes another drink from his glass.
"Jesus, that's strong," he says with a laugh, tongue collecting the spread of white across his upper lip.
Steve tries not to watch too intently, feels as if he fails miserably.
"Come on, dude, it's Christmas, tell me."
Eddie sighs into his eggnog/not-eggnog concoction, then picks up one of the pots that are scattered around and shakes what's probably - hopefully - cinnamon on top.
"I just figured that you of all people would want the chance to get a kiss at Christmas."
"Me of all people?" Steve isn't sure whether to be offended or not.
"I don't know, seems like it would be easy for you. You see someone you're interested in, you hang some mistletoe, you get a kiss, easy right? You must have done it a bunch of times by now."
Steve thinks he's getting the shape of this.
"So you wanted the chance to kiss someone with the season-appointed get out of jail free card?"
"Ugh, Jesus, no, don't call it that." Eddie's staring into his glass, and Steve can see chunks of what might be banana that didn't blend properly (honestly, with all the rum it's hard to tell.) "I wasn't the sort of person that got invited to Christmas parties, Steve. Not to mention I'm not exactly looking for your traditional mistletoe kiss– it's fine, it was a stupid idea, don't worry about it."
"Ok, no." Steve takes the glass Eddie's holding from him and puts them both down on the counter, straightens his shirt. "Come here."
"What? Why?" Eddie is already making protesting noises, sneakers squeaking on the kitchen floor when Steve tugs him over. Then he looks up at the ceiling pointedly.
Eddie looks up too.
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's garlic, Steve," Eddie says, the corner of his mouth wobbling. He's trying so hard to look annoyed.
"I'm sorry, I thought you had an imagination." Steve resists the urge to put his hands on his hips because he knows that's only going to give Eddie an excuse to make fun of him. Also it would mean he had to let go of him and he's kind of winning because Eddie is grumbling but now he's all the way into his personal space.
"Do not drag me under the fake-mistletoe for a pity kiss, you asshole." Eddie's laughing while he says it, so Steve's not too worried.
"It's tradition, so just pretend I'm a cute guy you've met at a party," Steve says with a smile. To which Eddie looks tempted to pick up one of the other glasses and toss the contents on him. "I have a piercing in my nose and several tattoos, and my jeans are way too tight." Steve raises both eyebrows for that, and ignores Eddie's muttered 'nothing new there then.' "I have slandered the establishment – whatever that happens to be today, and I might have even graffitied something."
Eddie snorts but he stays where he is and that gives Steve the courage to continue, to let himself have this one selfish moment.
"There's a leather jacket hung up by the door," he adds. "It has a broken zip but I'm the kind of confident guy that doesn't feel the cold. It's also ripped in several places where I got in a fight with…" he reaches for someone this guy could have had a problem with, "some bikers."
Eddie's still laughing, and maybe he's more amused by Steve's attempt to put together someone he'd find attractive than he is actually interested in him, but he's on a roll now.
"I have had opinions about music which you find yourself agreeing with," he adds after a moment's thought. "Which leads you to believe I have excellent taste."
There's another snort and Eddie tips his head from side to side, mouth scrunched in amusement.
"Not sure my imagination is that good, Steve."
"Shut up, I'm getting into character." Steve leans back against the counter, eyes lifting to the garlic strung above his head and then he gives Eddie a pointed look. "Come on, work with me here. It's a Christmas party, the place stinks of weed, hair gel and leather and someone has spiked the eggnog– it was probably you." Steve adds that last part at Eddie's look and Eddie lays a hand on his chest and tries his best to look scandalized. "You're twenty and someone's put up the mistletoe and I've been sending you looks across the room–"
"You know what, fuck it." Eddie reaches out, ends up with his fingers digging into Steve's shirt. One of his sneakers squeaks on the kitchen floor and suddenly he's much closer, tilting to Steve's right, and leaning in.
The first press is careful, almost nervous, but when Steve doesn't pull away, doesn't do anything but hum encouragement, Eddie presses a little harder, mouth connecting fully. It's kind of a perfect moment. He tastes like rum and cream and some of the spices that hadn't made it into Steve's glass. The breath that flares over his cheek is sweet and there's the faintest noise, something close to a sigh. Steve takes it, lets the slow pressure turn into something easy, something relaxed and gentle, and then Eddie's drawing away before he's entirely ready to lose the warmth of his mouth.
Eddie stares at Steve for a second before he lets his hand uncurl from his shirt.
"Not that I don't appreciate the piercings and the anti-establishment speeches." Eddie swallows, the pause dragging on for a few seconds too long, until he clearly decides to say whatever he wants to say. "But you should know that there's actually a guy inside that I'm kind of into."
For a second the rejection feels sharply real, but Eddie hasn't moved back, hasn't stepped away. He's still looking at Steve, expression hopeful and just buzzed enough to be reckless.
"Yeah?" Steve says quietly.
"Yeah." Eddie nods, and something in Steve's face must reassure him, because now he's fighting a smile. "It's his party actually. He's literally the bravest person I've ever met, and he's loyal as hell, funnier than anyone gives him credit for. He also dresses like a cake topper."
Steve realizes there's some sort of confession happening here, but he can't help the noise he makes, the messy laugh, the muttered 'asshole.'
Whatever nerves had been shuddering through Eddie seemed to settle.
"He's also kind of a dork but in a confident sort of way, and I don't want to fuck up our friendship, but I thought he should know. I thought I should tell him."
Someone has put the television on, because there's Christmas music in the background now. Steve can't look away from Eddie's face, with its huge eyes that always show everything he's feeling, the soft curve of his mouth that's still a little wet from his own. The long line of his neck and the stubbled edge of his jaw, scar curling at the side like a whole history rendered out. Steve had spent so long trying not to notice him, and then he'd been brave enough to let Robin push him off a cliff.
"I think maybe he likes you too," Steve admits in one breath. "You should take a chance, kiss him under the mistletoe and see what happens–"
"Under the garlic," Eddie corrects and he's so obviously fighting a smile.
Steve gives him a look.
"Don't be an asshole, I'm trying to confess my feelings here."
Eddie's laughing and leaning in, fingers warm on his face as he bites out a 'can't believe you tried to set me up with some douchey asshole at Christmas' against his mouth. But then Eddie's kissing him again, properly this time, so Steve thinks it's probably ok.