Archive of Our Own

Steve’s having a bad day.

The first snow of the year had snuck up on Hawkins in the dark of night, hitting them quietly but severely. He awoke that morning and pulled up his curtains, only to flinch back with a wince at the blinding glare of white.

His first thought is, The kids are going to have an absolute field day with all this snow.

His second thought is, Oh, shit. My car.

So he spends the morning shoveling in his driveway and scraping the frost off his windshield, breathing through the cold and the uncomfortable feeling of sweat gluing his thick layers to his back. He declares the job done with a deep exhale and heads back inside, looking forward to taking a nice, warm shower.

He’s got a lot to do today. He promised the kids that he would be hosting a Christmas dinner this year, which means there’s decorating and food preparation and present wrapping to finish before tomorrow evening.

It’s a lot of work, but it’s a good kind of work, Steve thinks. It’s nice to have an actual reason to be busy during the holiday season, instead of sulking alone, drinking in his barren kitchen because no one was free to party or hang out when they all had families to bond and spend time with.

In recent years—due to recent events—he’s gotten invites to join other family dinners. And he’s grateful for them, he really is, but—Robin’s parents think they’re dating and make constant references to future marriage, and Mrs. Henderson means well but is always just a little too pitying, and Karen Wheeler always invites him to join them again, but. He declines as respectfully as he can.

So he decided to host his own dinner this year, a day before Christmas Eve so it doesn’t impede on everyone’s own family dinners. It really hasn’t been that long since they risked everything to fight Vecna, and they’ve been nearly inseparable ever since, so really, it’s just another hangout with some extra holiday cheer. The only parents that will be present are Joyce and Hopper, who should be arriving from California later today with their kids. He’s looking forward to seeing them again.

Steve doesn’t manage to make it to the door before he hears the rumble of a car rolling up on his driveway. He turns, confused, and feels his blood run cold, leaving him frozen from the inside out, at the sight of a sleek black car parked next to his.

He thinks it’s government, at first. It’s the same type of car that took him to Hawkins National Lab to get tested for interdimensional bat rabies, the same type of car that tried to take Eddie Munson to jail before their entire party threatened to spill all of the secrets they had been hiding. But the doors don’t open to let out sober-faced agents, here to take him away for questioning or experiments.

It’s worse, somehow.

A well-dressed couple steps out of the car, matching looks of disinterest on their haughty faces. They are beautiful—the woman wears a large fur coat over a sleek pantsuit, an expensive designer bag in her silk-gloved hand. The man wears a thick, tailored trench coat over his suit and tie, a briefcase in hand and a permanent frown between his eyebrows.

When they make eye contact with Steve, he feels his own brows furrow, the corners of his lips dipping into an unpleasant grimace for only a split second—before he remembers himself, remembers how to play this game. He schools his expression into one that matches theirs, aloof but respectful, and clasps his hands in front of him, fingers choking the handle of his shovel.

He waits for them to make it up the driveway, noting how the woman disdainfully eyes the snow sticking onto her heeled boots. The man has the same disdainful look, but he’s eyeing Steve instead, and suddenly he’s aware of how his sweaty hair sticks to his forehead and how his face burns splotchy red from exertion. Steve nods at them curtly once they stand before him. He almost feels like he’s facing off against Vecna again, except this time, he doesn’t even have the luxury to scream or rage or attack.

“Mom, Dad,” he greets, his own voice sounding foreign to his ears. “It’s been a while. I wasn’t expecting you.”

His mother smiles tightly and leans forward to give him a stiff kiss on the cheek, as if she’s dimly aware of how mothers should greet their children after not seeing them for months on end, but is not quite comfortable executing the action. Steve allows it to happen, focusing instead on keeping as still as possible, trying not to flinch away from the feeling of her sticky lipstick on his skin.

“How have you been, Steven?” she asks, stepping back in line with her husband. They really do make the perfect picture of a perfect couple—his mother’s youthful face and coiffed hair, his father’s masculine jawline and strong nose. Steve hates looking at them. He hates seeing himself in them.

“Fine,” he replies. He thinks about all that has happened since he last saw them, all of the wounds he earned that he didn’t have then, and how they’re healed over and scarred now, still stark against his skin, but no longer pulling with every movement he makes. He kind of wants to scream at them, wants to pull down his scarf to reveal his scar, a noose permanently etched into his skin. He wants to point at it and say, Look at me. I will be marked by pain for the rest of my life, and you will never care enough to find out why.

“Come on inside,” he says instead, with a pleasant, irony-lined smile. “It’s cold out here.”

His father huffs. “Clean yourself up,” he commands. “You look like a mess. We’ll talk after.”

Steve’s smile is frozen on his face. “Of course, Father.”

His jaw aches.

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Steve takes a scalding hot shower and scrubs himself pink, ignoring how it makes his scars itch. The hot water burns his skin and fills his bathroom with steam, but no matter how many times Steve checks that the shower knob is turned all the way to hot, he still feels cold when he shuts the water off and towels himself dry.

He dresses himself methodically and combs through his damp hair until he feels presentable enough to head downstairs. He sees them sitting in the dining room, his father at the head of the table and his mother on his right, and it strikes him that they really don’t look out of place. They’re like expensive decor, newly bought and installed, fitting in perfectly with the aesthetic of the house. Steve walks over and sits across from his father, feeling like he’s the one that doesn’t belong, as if he isn’t the one that grew up here.

But, well. Ghosts can haunt a house for centuries, but they can never call it home.

His mother gives him another plastic smile as he takes his place. She turns to look at her husband, who ignores them and passively reads his business reports. When he doesn’t say anything, she turns back to Steve, a slight tension in the lines of her throat.

“So, Steven. How are you?” she asks, again. Steve fights the urge to roll his eyes.

“I’m fine. What are you guys doing back here?”

Steve’s father finally picks up his head with a disapproving deadpan. “Am I not allowed to return to my own home?”

Steve stiffens. “That’s not what I meant. You’re just never here around this time.”

His father returns his steely gaze to his papers. “I’m having a dinner here, for investors and partners. With all of the drama in Hawkins recently, things are all out of order.”

Ah. They came back to appease business partners, not to check on how that drama might’ve affected their son. “When is it? I’ll be sure to stay out of your hair.”

Steve’s father looks back up at him. “Tomorrow evening,” he says. “And I want you there.”

Steve feels his stomach drop to his toes, eyes widening in bewilderment. “What? But—you never want me around for these meetings.”

“This is different,” his father says, tone like he’s already tired of having to explain the simplest things to his stupid, thickheaded son. “I have an image I need to present. I have to show them that Hawkins is a great place to live, and the best way to do that is showing how my own family is thriving here. What do you think it would look like if I hosted a holiday dinner and my own son wasn’t in attendance?”

I wouldn’t fucking know, Steve thinks. I can’t even remember the last time I had a normal dinner with you.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. He’s going to have to tell everyone that he can’t host anymore because his father is having his own bullshit dinner, and Dustin’s going to be so disappointed, they’re all going to be so disappointed—

“Is there a problem?” his father asks challengingly, daring him to speak against him.

“No, dad,” Steve says. “But I really don't think I should—”

“That wasn’t an invitation,” he interrupts. “You will be there. Do not disappoint me, Steven. Do you understand?”

Steve’s shoulders slump in defeat. “Yes, sir. I’ll be there.”

His father returns his attention to his papers, effectively ending the conversation. Steve stands to leave, his entire body itching to get as far away as possible.

“Oh, and, Steven,” his father calls before Steve can turn away. “Bring that girl you’re seeing. Wheeler.” he frowns condescendingly, as if reassessing his command. “Tell her to behave.”

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Nancy recoils from her position on the couch, an outraged look on her face. “Behave? What the hell does he mean by that?”

Steve flops down flat on the floor of the Wheelers’ basement, digging his palms into his closed eyes and rubbing until static blooms across his vision. “I know, I’m sorry,” he groans, throwing his arms outwards so that he resembles a starfish. “He’s such an ass. I swear, every second I spend in their vicinity shaves off a year of my lifespan.”

Robin launches herself from her chair to Steve, plopping her head down on his chest and making him go oof. “So, what? He wants you to bring Nancy so she can be your arm candy? Trophy-girlfriend?”

Steve sighs. “Pretty much.”

Eddie, with his head pillowed on the arm of the couch and his legs thrown over Nancy’s lap, snickers. “Never thought I’d ever hear those words used to describe you, Wheeler.”

Nancy grimaces. “And I never want to hear it again. I’m sorry, Steve, but I don’t think I could spend an evening with your parents and pretend to be all docile without losing my mind.”

“But Nancy,” Eddie says dramatically with a hand at his chest, “You’re such a nice and polite young lady. Don’t you want to sit with your ex-boyfriend’s parents and a bunch of men-in-suits with sticks up their asses and talk about how you’re gonna get married and have his children?”

Nancy glares at Eddie and shoves his legs away, sending him tumbling to the floor with a yelp. Robin snorts and laughs exaggeratedly at him, squealing and turning into Steve’s side when Eddie stands, jumps over Steve’s legs, and crouches down to tickle her stomach. Steve automatically wraps his arm around her and shoves his socked foot into Eddie’s side, making him fall back on his ass. Eddie switches targets and begins tickling Steve’s foot with a hand around his ankle. Steve’s leg flails and bends in, which drags Eddie towards Steve, and he falls on top of Robin, shrieking.

“Get off me!” Robin yells, smushing her hand against his cheek. Eddie pulls back and mimes biting her fingers, settling to lay down with his head on Steve’s thigh and his legs on the rocking chair next to them.

“You guys are worse than the actual children,” Steve deadpans.

Robin grins into his chest. “Maybe you should bring us too. We’ll be a complete nuclear family, I’m sure they’ll love that.”

Steve snorts, a wry smile on his face. “I think you two would drive me insane before I even get to introduce you to my parents.”

Steve sees Eddie’s mismatched socks kicking into the air. “I’d totally do it, but only if I can call Nancy ‘Dad’ and Steve ‘Mom’.”

Robin laughs into Steve’s ear. “That’s nothing new,” she says. “That’s basically what they are to the kids anyway.”

Eddie sits up, turning to look at Robin. “Hey,” he complains, pouting, “I thought I was Dad.”

She shrugs. “Everyone can be Dad. But only Steve gets to be Mom.”

“Not this again,” Steve mutters, gaining him a poke in the stomach.

Nancy moves to sit on Steve’s other side, her curly head coloring in a potion of the beige ceiling. “Are you going to attend, Steve?”

Steve sobers up, brows immediately falling into a frown. “Probably not,” he sighs. “I don’t even know what my dad expects me to do there. Stand around and look pretty, lying to his coworkers about why I’m not off in some prestigious college right now? No thanks.

“Besides,” he continues, a forlorn pang dragging through his chest like jagged floorburn, “What’s the worst he can do if I don’t show up? He and my mom will be gone soon anyways.”

There’s a flurry of miniscule movements about him, suddenly. Robin curls in closer, wrapping an arm around his waist and squeezing lightly. Nancy places a comforting hand at his shoulder. Eddie turns to him, still resting on his thigh, and pats him gently on the hipbone. It’s so little but it stuffs Steve’s heart so full, and he takes a slow, deep breath to clear away the lump of emotion stuck in his throat.

“They’re assholes, you know,” Robin says, giving him a knowing look. “You owe them nothing, and you have no obligation to do anything for them.”

Steve squeezes her back. “Thanks, Robs, I know.” He huffs self-deprecatingly. “I guess, there’s still a small part of me that is telling me to go. Like, if I try hard enough to make them proud, maybe they’ll finally stick around.”

Eddie sits up to look at Steve, his hair frizzier than before and his big eyes hooded and empathetic. “Speaking from experience, man, they’re not the people to be wasting your efforts on trying to impress.” he smiles softly. “But you’ve got all of us, and we’re plenty proud of you.”

Steve smiles back and offers him a hand. Eddie takes it and squeezes briefly before locking their pinkies together and then pulling their hands apart, the action familiar and practiced.

It’s almost strange, sometimes, how quickly Eddie became a familiar constant in Steve’s life. How they’d gone from wanting nothing to do with each other to saving each other’s lives in an evil world, from waiting sorrowfully at the other’s hospital bedside with pain-laced breaths to lying on top of each other blithely, wounds healed and rarely hurting.

And really, it’s not so different to what he went through with everyone in their monster-fighting group. Steve is clearly only capable of making meaningful connections in life-or-death situations, and Eddie is no different.

Friendship had come easy for them; Steve should’ve known, when he saw Eddie bleeding out in Dustin’s arms and thought, this is someone I refuse to lose, that Eddie would be one of his People. Someone he’d face a demogorgon for, someone he’d get a concussion for, someone he’d jump into a lake for. Someone he’d carry through hell on aching legs and burning arms, someone he’d stand in front of with his arms spread protectively when government agents threaten to take him away.

And when the danger finally, finally passed, and Steve could relax his bruised and bloodied fists, his fingers found themselves wrapped around a joint instead of his nail bat, his body recuperating next to Eddie’s and his heart fuller with another person warming it up.

It might’ve been a little awkward, in the first few days, when they remembered to get to know each other like normal people instead of bonding over shared trauma and “hey, you remember when I carried you through the Upside Down and almost broke my nose trying to get your near-dead body through a portal in the ceiling?”

But they figured themselves out pretty quickly; Steve thinks it’s safe to say that Eddie is one of his closest friends.

“I’m proud of you guys, too,” Steve replies softly. He sighs. “I’m still pissed they ruined my plans though. I’m sorry I had to cancel.”

“We told you to stop apologizing, Steve,” Nancy admonishes. “It’s not your fault. We can figure something out for Christmas Eve, and if not, we always have next year.”

Next year. Which means Steve will be alone again this year. He sighs again, and hopes he doesn’t look as dejected as he feels.

“Yeah, I guess.” Steve pouts. “You know when I called Hopper’s cabin after they arrived, El picked up? And the first thing she said to me was that she was so excited for the party. Letting her down was like, the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

Eddie tuts in sympathy. “That kid’s got us all wrapped around her finger.” The group nods in agreement.

They lay and sit in silence for a little, soaking in each other’s presence before Robin says playfully, “Maybe you two should go just to piss Steve’s parents off. I can already see the veins popping on your dad’s forehead.”

Steve huffs a laugh, considering. “You’re joking, but I’m actually not against that. They ruined my dinner plans, so I’ll ruin theirs too, right?”

Eddie gasps loudly, grinning mischievously and offering Robin his palm, which she high-fives immediately. “You’re nefarious, Buckley. Diabolical, even.”

Nancy shakes her head, but she’s laughing too. “I’m a horrible actor,” she argues. “I’d just get angry, and it’ll be awkward and miserable. You should take Robin, she’d be better at pretending to be your girlfriend.”

Steve looks down at Robin. “What do you say, Robs? You can finally put all your years of drama to good use.”

Robin sticks her tongue at him. “I put it to good use when I lied outta my ass and got Nancy and I a visit with Victor Creel, thank you very much.”

“Or,” Eddie exclaims, eyes wide and bright like the way it always is when he has an idea, “For maximum damage, you could take me.”

Steve props himself up on his elbows to look at Eddie more directly. “Eddie,” he says. “My dad will definitely try to murder you.”

Eddie springs up onto his feet. “Exactly! Just my mere presence would give him a hernia.” He strikes a pose. “And you all know how good I am at making up stories. I will give you the best show of your life, Steve.”

Steve smirks, looking up at his dramatics. “You think you’d be a good boyfriend, Munson?”

Eddie crouches down to get closer, his teeth on display. “Only the best for you, angel.”

Something in Steve’s chest tingles at that, but he ignores it and rolls his eyes. “I’m honored.”

Not so long ago, on another lazy, smoke-filled night spent lying on Steve’s bed, Eddie had taken a long drag of their shared joint and said, “I’m gay.”

“Cool,” Steve had responded, his heartbeat ticking up in speed and his brain filing away that new information like it’s sacred, for reasons unclear to him. He reached out blindly to find Eddie’s hand and squeeze it reassuringly, hooking their pinkies together, before taking the joint from his slightly shaky fingers and putting it in his mouth. “Thanks for telling me.”

They laid in silence, Steve staying quiet to let Eddie process his reaction. When Steve could feel him relaxing again, he passed the joint back, smiling when he felt Eddie’s steady fingers lingering just a bit longer than they needed to.

Now, everyone in their little group was comfortable with each other. Robin and Eddie had apparently clocked each other way before Eddie got dragged into the Upside Down fiasco—Steve will never understand how exactly that works—and after they came out to Nancy, she’d revealed having thoughts about her own sexuality, too.

And that makes Steve…the odd one out. Except he doesn’t feel like it, not when being called straight feels like wearing a shirt that is too tight around the shoulders.

He’s not thinking about that, though. Right now, he’s thinking about how much he’d love to taunt his parents instead of passively ignoring them, and how much he’d savor the look on his father’s face if he embarrassed him in front of all of his colleagues.

Steve sits up, bringing Robin up with him. “You know what, let’s do it,” he declares, smiling back at Eddie. “You and me, Munson. Let’s terrorize my parents.”

Eddie flutters his lashes. “At least ask a lady out first.”

Steve leans forward, giving him a silly, flirtatious smirk. “Will I have to court you, too?”

“Oh, leave me out of this,” Robin mutters, escaping Steve’s embrace to sit next to Nancy instead.

Eddie fiddles with a lock of his hair, unknowingly revealing the tip of his red ear. “I certainly wouldn’t say no to that.”

Steve crosses his legs and scoots closer, puffing out his chest and offering Eddie his hand with the dramatic flair he learned from the man himself.

“Eddie Munson,” he declares, ignoring the snickers coming from Robin. “Will you be my date to my father’s god-awful business dinner?”

Eddie takes his hand. There’s a smile on his face, but it’s a little sad, a little wistful. Steve hesitates, head tilting with a twinge of concern.

“Of course I will,” Eddie says before Steve can speak up, his joking tone offset by the pure sincerity in his brown eyes. “There is nothing else I would want more.”

Steve abruptly notices the tension in the air. Or maybe it’s electricity hung between just the two of them, connecting them where their eyes meet.

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” Nancy interjects, startling Steve out of his reverie. His head snaps over to her, cheeks warming at the suspicious look that Robin gives him. He keeps his eyes on Nancy instead, who has a pensive look and a slight wrinkle in her forehead. “I mean. I feel like a lot could go wrong with this.”

Steve nudges her good-naturedly. “We’ll be okay, Nance. I know how to handle myself around them. It’ll just be a bit of fun.”

She smiles slightly, but doesn’t look entirely convinced. “If anything does happen, my door’s always open,” she says. “And you know I have a phone in my room.”

“Me too, dingus,” Robin agrees. “If anything happens, you are legally obliged to let both of us know.”

Steve softens. “I know, I know,” he says. “I’ll call you both after the dinner.”

Nancy nods, appeased. “You two better get your story straight, then,” she teases.

“Hah,” Eddie remarks. “Straight.” Steve flicks him on the nose.

“I’m sure Eddie can figure something out,” Robin says. “As our resident storyteller.”

Eddie stands and walks over to Mike’s D&D shelf, digging through it and returning to their huddle on the floor with some scraps of paper and a pencil.

“Well, come on now,” he says with a grin. “It’ll be more fun if we do it together, don’t you think, Buckley?”

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The next morning, Steve wakes earlier than usual in an attempt to sneak out of the house before his parents awake. But as he’s going down the stairs, pulling a sweater over his head, he spots his mother in the kitchen making coffee, and before he can try to slip past her, she looks up and makes eye contact.

“Good morning, Steven,” she greets. “Are you usually up this early?”

Steve deflates. “Uh, yeah. I have the, uh, early shift.” He’s on break for Christmas, but she doesn’t know that.

His mother nods, looking him up and down. “And… are you still working at that…video store?”

The condescension in her tone makes Steve sour. “I am.”

She frowns. “Steven, you know your father and I expect better things from you. I don’t understand why you continue to waste your time there—”

Steve’s lips thin in annoyance. “I don’t want to be late,” he grits out. “See you later, Mom.”

He turns and speeds out the door, not waiting for her response. He’s hit with the frigid air outside and curses himself for forgetting his coat, rushing to get into his car and turning on the heater. He sits there and waits for his car to warm up, trying to figure out his morning. With everyone on break and not needing a ride, and his original plans thwarted, he has absolutely nothing to do.

Steve sighs. He’s so pathetically lonely.

He drives around aimlessly for a while, sitting in silence to let himself calm down and simply enjoying the white frosting the entirety of Hawkins. He finds himself in Forest Hills, eventually, his body bringing him here even when his brain is elsewhere. He parks in front of the Munsons’ new trailer and looks at his watch.

Steve considers the time. It’s not that early.

He turns his car off and goes to knock on the door. When he gets no answer, he knocks again, and hears a muffled, gruff shouting, and then some commotion that moves closer and closer.

The door swings open, revealing a blearily-eyed, bed-headed Eddie, in a raggedy black band shirt and red plaid pajama pants.

“What the fuck,” Eddie grumbles, rubbing his eyes.

Steve grins, endeared as always by Eddie’s unkempt appearance. “Is that any way to greet the love of your life?”

Eddie freezes for a split moment, eyes widening, before relaxing and glaring at him. “Ha ha,” he deadpans. “Why are you on my doorstep at seven in the morning?”

“It’s seven forty,” Steve corrects. “That’s basically eight.”

“Any time before ten is too early,” Eddie retorts, moving aside to let him in. “You’re a heathen.”

“You’re just lazy.” Steve steps in quickly, shivering at the temperature change. He spots Wayne Munson standing by the kitchen counter sipping something out of a large, chipped mug.

“Good morning Wayne,” Steve greets. “I didn’t wake you, did I?” Eddie scoffs behind him, making Steve’s lip quirk up in amusement.

“Good mornin’,” Wayne replies. “You didn’t wake me, I’m just about to head off. Saved me the trouble of having to drag our boy outta bed, though.”

Steve laughs, looking back at Eddie and seeing how his face reddens. “Happy to help, as always. Sleep well!”

Wayne nods in thanks. “Y’all keep it down out here,” he says, giving Eddie a teasing look.

Eddie glares at his uncle. “We always do! Go to sleep, old man.” He sticks his tongue out childishly.

Wayne chuckles, shaking his head and going to his room. When the door shuts behind him, Eddie sighs, blowing a raspberry.

“I think my uncle likes you more than me,” Eddie accuses with no heat.

Steve huffs a laugh. “I’m pretty sure that’s impossible.”

Eddie leads them over to the kitchen, opening the fridge and scanning its contents. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Uh, no.” Steve deflates slightly. “Was kind of in a rush to get out of the house.”

Eddie looks over with an understanding smile. “I’ll make you something, then.” He scans the fridge again, tongue sticking out and brows drawing close. “Uh—”

Steve snorts, going over to him and pushing him by the waist. “Go brush your teeth, I got it. Thanks, Eds.”

“But—” Eddie protests.

“You wanted to be courted, right?” Steve jokes, lightly running his knuckle along Eddie’s blanket-creased cheek and then pinching it, smiling fondly at his miffed expression and how his pale skin grows redder under his thumb. “I’ll make us breakfast. Go get ready.”

Eddie scrunches his nose at him and goes, leaving Steve alone in his kitchen. Steve takes a look inside the fridge himself, and pulls out ingredients for the two of them.

Eddie reemerges as Steve is frying eggs in a pan, still in his pajamas but looking more awake, his face washed and his hair somewhat tamed. He makes two mugs of instant coffee, placing one next to two mismatched plates of bacon, and sipping out of the other, sitting up onto the counter.

“Smells good,” Eddie says into his cup. “Consider me courted.”

Steve scoffs lightly. “Is that all it takes? You’re easy to please, Munson.”

Eddie shrugs. “What can I say? I’m a simple man.”

Steve transfers the eggs from the pan to the plates. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

They sit down at Eddie’s small dining table with their plates and coffee and fall into silence, scarfing down their food. At some point along the way, Eddie turns it into a competition of who can finish first and begins shoveling food into his mouth, cheeks swelling. He shoves the last bit of bacon past his lips, putting his fork down with a victorious clank.

“I win!” he declares, mouth still full. He gives himself a celebratory fist pump.

“Gross,” Steve complains. “At least swallow first.” Eddie waggles his eyebrows ridiculously, making Steve laugh despite himself.

Eddie downs some coffee and swallows. “So,” he says, still chewing, “What brings you to my humble abode this fine morning?”

“Wasn’t sure where else to go,” Steve answers honestly. “I can’t be at home right now, and I had nothing else to do, so.”

“Well, you know you’re always welcome ‘round here,” Eddie says. “And we might as well go over our story again.”

“Were you going to stay home and do nothing today?” Steve asks, teasing. “And here I thought I would be disrupting your day.”

“I was just gonna do some last minute Christmas shopping, but I don’t have to go this early.” Eddie puts his elbow on the table and his head on his hand, smiling exaggeratedly. “Your presence could never be a disruption.”

Steve shakes his head, chuckling. “Alright. So—you’re my boyfriend. We met in your third senior year of high school through the kids that I babysit, but we knew of each other way longer than that.”

“It’s basically all true,” Eddie smirks. “Just without the almost-dying-by-demobat part.”

Steve looks at him fondly. “Mhm. We became friends quickly and started hanging out a lot. We started dating three months ago.”

Eddie mimes wiping away a tear. “I just like you so much,” he says, with feigned emotion. “I couldn’t believe you felt the same way.”

“You asked me out in the back of your van,” Steve continues, feeling himself blush at Eddie’s words, even though he knew it was pretend. He leans forward. “How could I say no to someone as handsome as you?”

Eddie bites his lip, tilting his head down to look at Steve through his thick lashes. “And you’re so charming, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “I couldn’t take being just friends any longer.”

Steve swallows, eyes reflexively darting down to Eddie’s mouth before being pulled back to his half-lidded eyes, so dark they were almost black.

He clears his throat, pulling himself back before he does something outrageous without thinking. Eddie blinks, withdrawing as well, face reddening to match Steve’s and his lips stretched into a sheepish smile that Steve refuses to look at.

“I think we’ll be fine for tonight,” Eddie proclaims, standing up and collecting their plates. He grabs Steve’s fork out of his hand and uses it to shove the last bit of egg on Steve’s plate into his mouth, making him splutter and breaking the trance they were in. Steve glares over the rim of his mug as he drinks his coffee to wash the egg down, and Eddie sticks his tongue out over his shoulder, moving to put the dirty dishes in the sink. Steve finishes his coffee and rejoins Eddie in the kitchen, placing his mug next to Eddie’s.

“Maybe you should go do your shopping now,” Steve suggests. “I’ll drive?”

Eddie considers him. “Only if I get to choose the music,” he says, giving him a playful scowl. “I can’t believe you have me running errands at eight in the morning.”

Steve shoves him gently in the shoulder. “Go change, you drama queen.” He looks down at himself. “Can I borrow a jacket?”

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“What are you looking for?” Steve asks, as he and Eddie enter the department clothing store in Hawkins. He welcomes the blast of warm air upon opening the door, even with Eddie’s padded leather jacket snug on his torso, smelling of pine and smoke.

“Wayne and I have a tradition,” Eddie explains, unzipping his own jacket and revealing the black sweater underneath, paired with black jeans that for once, didn’t have rips in them. He leads the way, clearly knowing exactly where he’s going. “We try to find the ugliest Christmas sweater we can and surprise each other on Christmas Eve. Whoever has the ugliest one gets to choose what movie we watch.”

Steve turns to Eddie, delighted. “That’s so fun! Who won last year?”

Eddie shrugs, a warm look on his face. “We don’t always have the spare cash to do it, so I guess it’s not technically a tradition. But the year before that, we did it with ugly Christmas socks.” He huffs amusedly. “Wayne won with a horrendous pair of reindeer ones.”

Steve laughs. “Are you doing sweaters this year?”

Eddie nods, perking up when he spots the racks of Christmas sweaters and speeding up towards them. “Yep. Gonna put that government money to good use.”

Steve sticks close as Eddie looks through the racks of sweaters, sniggering and joking at the horrendous designs. Eddie ends up with a heap of them in his arms, and he drags Steve off to the fitting rooms, insisting on trying them on before making his choice. He shoves them both into one of the cramped rooms and pulls the thick curtain closed, dumping the sweaters on a rickety chair.

“It’ll go faster if we both try them on,” Eddie says, grinning mischievously. “Get naked, Harrington.”

Steve rolls his eyes but does as told, taking off his borrowed jacket and sweater, hanging it on a hook on the wall. Eddie does the same next to him, moving his hair to the side, and Steve turns to stare at his back in the mirror, a patchwork of scars and ink.

“You got a new tattoo,” Steve notices, zeroing in on the feathered wings below the base of Eddie’s neck, about the size of Steve’s fist.

“Oh, yeah.” Eddie turns his head, straining to see his own back in the mirror. “Got it done like, a month ago. When I went down to Indy?”

Steve’s mouth rounds in comprehension. “It’s pretty cool. Why didn’t you say anything about it earlier?”

This makes Eddie blush for whatever reason, and Steve takes delight in being able to see his chest bloom red with the rest of his face.

“I uh, forgot it was there,” Eddie says, scratching his neck. “It’s hard to see, y’know?”

Steve snorts, randomly grabbing a sweater to try on. He lets his eyes roam over Eddie’s front as well, pausing momentarily at the silver jewelry pierced through his only nipple before he returns to the task at hand. Eddie doesn’t move until Steve pulls the knitted fabric down his torso, snapping into action and yanking on a sweater. They both turn to the mirror, and Steve smiles at how they look, standing shoulder to shoulder in ridiculously bright festive colors.

Steve hooks his arm around Eddie’s, leaning into him. “We look adorable. Wish I had a camera.”

“If we look adorable, then the sweater is not ugly enough,” Eddie asserts, going to pull up the sweater with his free arm but hesitating with the other. Steve takes the hint and untangles their arms, pulling his own sweater off over his head.

“We’re gonna look adorable no matter how ugly the sweater is,” Steve sniffs, reaching for another one.

They go through the rest of the sweaters with mirth, making dumb jokes and laughing at them, and dissolving into a tickle fight that ended in them being kicked out of the fitting room by a disgruntled employee. Steve, mortified, scoops up the mess of ugly sweaters and apologizes profusely, while Eddie holds their jackets and tries his best not to snigger too loudly.

“You’re no help,” Steve mutters to Eddie, dumping the pile of clothes on top of the return cart. Once his arms are free, Eddie comes from behind and squeezes his arms around Steve’s waist, lifting him up and spinning him in a circle. Steve yelps embarrassingly, garnering them another dirty look from the employee.

“You’re an angel,” Eddie announces, putting him down. “Thank you, big boy.”

“This is why people think you’re a freak,” Steve snarks, heat rising in his cheeks. “You’re a public menace.”

“Are you calling me a grinch?” Eddie asks, waggling his eyebrows and grabbing a vomit green sweater with the Grinch’s face on it, holding it up to his chest.

“You’re not funny,” Steve deadpans.

Eddie laughs and puts the sweater back down. “Alright, Harrington. Which sweater is the ugliest of them all?”

Steve cocks his head. “You’re letting me choose?”

“I’ll choose one too,” Eddie says. “Then we’ll choose the uglier one.”

Steve smiles. “Like you and Wayne do?”

Eddie smiles back. “Like me and Wayne do.”

They dig through the pile, Steve looking specifically for a sweater Eddie had tried on. He finds it and waits for Eddie to choose his, taking in the determined furrow of his brow and how the tip of his tongue runs along his top lip.

“Okay okay, this one,” Eddie says, pulling it out with a flourish. Steve holds his out next to it, comparing the two sweaters.

“I dunno,” Steve muses. “I think mine is uglier.”

“Are you kidding?” Eddie asks incredulously. “You can literally become a Christmas tree with mine. It’s not only ugly, it’s innovative.”

“Okay, but it’s like, a normal color,” Steve argues. “Mine is neon orange with little reindeers. And it has a tit window!”

“Orange isn’t even a Christmas color,” Eddie counters. “And I don’t even have the nipple to make the tit window funny!”

Steve snorts. “It’s still pretty funny.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but his face is glowing with merriment. “I’ll just get both,” he decides. “If Wayne decides mine isn’t ugly enough, I’ll wear yours.”

“Won’t that be against the rules or something?”

Eddie takes both sweaters and hangs them over his forearm, starting towards check out. “There are no rules,” he says. “Wayne wore a Halloween sweater one year ‘cause he really liked it and didn’t feel like buying another one for Christmas. And I’m a sucker for Halloween, so he won that year.”

They buy the sweaters and get into Steve’s car, pulling out of the parking lot. Steve feels a wave of apprehension rush over him, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter.

“Do you wanna stay and help me put up the decorations and lights and shit?” Eddie asks, throwing Steve a life line. “I’ll make us lunch.”

Steve relaxes, relieved. “Yeah,” he agrees. “That sounds good.”

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

The morning fades to afternoon quickly in a flurry of tangled Christmas lights, Steve and Eddie working to give the Munson trailer a cozy, festive makeover. Steve learns that Eddie is particularly fond—maybe a little too fond—of untangling Christmas lights, sitting hunched over on the floor and methodically undoing every knot. Steve would rather have nothing to do with the lights, so he decorates their little plastic tree with their box of homemade ornaments, pausing to coo at ones with pictures of a younger Eddie just to see the man blush. He marvels at how they have ornaments that Eddie made when he was nine, ten, and every other year, impressed by how his artistic ability improves in each one.

“Did you make one this year?” Steve asks.

“Yeah,” Eddie grins, getting up. “Painted it with the kids instead of playing D&D last week. It’s metal as hell—I’ll go get it for you.”

He presents it to Steve with a proud smile on his face, and Steve admits that it looks really cool, even though he doesn’t recognize any of the characters on it. When Steve finishes putting the ornaments on the tree, its fake branches sag with the weight of the decor. Eddie hangs the new one right on top where a star should be, and theatrically gestures to the tree with jazz hands, declaring it ”finished and beautiful.”

Steve relents and helps put up the lights after Eddie nearly falls off his stool the third time, only to nearly fall himself when he gets distracted by Eddie putting his hair up. They take a break so that Eddie can make them lunch, as promised, and get right back to work after.

When they finish, Steve stands with his hands on his hips and Eddie at his side, both of them admiring their handiwork with pleased smiles.

“This is fuckin’ awesome,” Eddie says, eyes shining. “Wayne’s gonna love this when he wakes up. Thanks for helping, angel.”

Steve flushes. “Of course, man. I’ve never done this before, so I’m glad I didn’t fuck it up.”

Eddie’s head snaps to him. “You’ve never—” He stops himself, eyes a little sad, and squeezes Steve’s shoulder. “You did great, Steve. I’ll have to invite you over next year to help me decorate again.”

Steve nods, feeling warm. “I’d love to.”

He checks his watch, and that warm feeling dissipates with a sigh. “I should get back home,” he says reluctantly. “I told my mom I was going to work, and I don’t need her calling Family Video and finding out that I lied.”

“Oh.” Eddie’s shoulders droop marginally. “I’ll see you later, then?”

“I’ll pick you up,” Steve confirms. “Six o’clock.”

“I can drive, you know,” Eddie points out. “I’ll save you the extra round trip.”

Steve shakes his head. “Just let me be gentlemanly,” he insists. “Besides, I don’t want you being alone there for a second.”

“My knight in shining armor,” Eddie jokes, feigning a swoon as they move to the door. “Always saving me from harm. And stealing my jackets.”

Steve rolls his eyes fondly, pulling his borrowed jacket closer around him as he steps out into the cold. “Six o’clock,” he repeats. “Business casual. I’ll pick you up, princess.”

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Steve drives home and locks himself in his room, hating the muffled sounds of hired staff working to artificially make his house into home for a night. His dad calls him down at one point to lecture him on how to behave, and Steve tolerates it by zoning out and thinking about everything else—how the kids decided to have a sleepover at Hopper’s in lieu of dinner, how Robin and Nancy apparently made their own plans, how Eddie must be getting ready. He’s saved when the guests start arriving, and his parents immediately begin their act, warm greetings and pleasant laughter all around. He stands at their side with his own plastic smile, speaking only when spoken to and feeling his entire body turn stiff. Once there’s enough people, Steve shrugs on his coat and tries to slip out, but is stopped by an iron grip around his wrist.

“Where are you going?” His father asks, with an irritated expression.

“To pick up my date,” Steve says. “Like you told me to?”

He narrows his eyes at Steve. “Hurry up.”

Steve drives slowly to Eddie’s, reluctant to return to his own home. But he gets there eventually and honks once, and Eddie rushes out, the sky too dark now to see him clearly.

“You’re late,” Eddie says once he’s in the car. “What happened to six o’clock?”

Eddie cleans up nice. His clothes look mostly the same, except he’d swapped the black sweater he wore earlier to a nicer, still-black one under a thick winter coat, and his jeans to black dress pants. His hair has been pulled back to a neat, low bun, exposing the glint of silver earrings running along his earlobe. He’s only wearing one ring on each hand, but his nails have a fresh new coat of black paint on them.

“You look incredible,” Steve says instead of answering him, trying not to ogle too hard. “My parents are gonna hate it.”

Eddie grins. “Mission accomplished, then?”

Steve leans closer, squinting. “Are you wearing makeup?”

“Only a little,” Eddie preens, batting his subtly darkened eyelids. “Nancy would’ve, and that’s who I’m supposed to be anyways.”

“Nancy also would’ve worn a dress,” Steve says drily.

“In this weather?” Eddie asks, aghast. “My stick legs were not made to be exposed in the freezing cold, Harrington. If you want to see up my dress, you’ll have to wait for warmer temperatures.”

“Alright, let’s go,” Steve says a little too loudly, cheeks burning. “Redirect this energy to the assholes in my house, please.”

Steve chats with Eddie on the way back, but the closer he gets to his house, the quieter and tenser he grows. By the time he parks in the driveway, his knuckles are snow-white, and his mouth is set to a grim line.

Eddie puts his hand over Steve’s, warm and textured. “We don’t have to go in, you know,” Eddie murmurs. “We can totally ditch and go smoke in a random parking lot.”

Steve gives him a look. “You brought your cigarettes?”

Eddie shrugs, pulling them out of his pocket to show Steve, and then stuffing them back in. “Well, yeah. Tough times call for desperate measures, or whatever.”

Steve chuckles, some of his tension bleeding out of the back of his neck. He relaxes his grip on the steering wheel and puts his other hand over Eddie’s, sandwiching their hands.

“I’ll be okay,” Steve assures. “Besides, it’ll be more fun with you around.”

Eddie shifts his hand so that his fingers slot between Steve’s. It makes Steve reconsider—maybe he doesn’t want to go inside. Maybe he just wants to stay here, with Eddie’s hand melded between his and his gorgeous eyes trained on him, his full attention on Steve.

Woah, Steve thinks, forcing his racing thoughts to a stop. What?

“You ready to go in?” Eddie asks, oblivious to Steve’s sudden plight.

“Uh—yeah,” Steve sputters. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Eddie looks at him curiously but gets out of the car, pulling his hand away from Steve’s. Steve feels colder immediately, and he frowns, stuffing his hands in his pockets after closing his car door. They walk up to Steve’s door side by side and stop before it, preparing themselves.

“Ready?” Steve asks, placing his hand on the door handle, lifeless and icy.

Eddie grins, wild and reassuring. “Best show of your life,” he reminds. “Born ready, baby.”

Steve pushes the door open, and Eddie loops his arm around Steve’s, so that they walk as one unit to the living room. Smartly dressed people are milling about, having serious-looking conversations sitting on the couch, standing in small groups, sitting at the table. They all turn to Steve and Eddie—it’s really not that many people, just enough to fill all the seats at the dining table for once—and take them in.

They look confused. Mildly intrigued. Kind of disgusted.

Steve’s father looks furious.

It’s only for a split second, before the men he was talking to turn back to him and he schools his expression back to something amenable. But Steve had found his face the moment he stepped inside, and he saw the flash of anger that overtook it.

Steve guides Eddie further into the house, pretending to not notice the looks they were getting. He feels giddy—his father is furious. His father is furious, and he can’t do anything about it, not in front of all of these important people.

“Did you see my dad’s face?” Steve asks, trying to hide his smile. “You were right, this is kind of hilarious.”

“I was too busy looking at your house.” Eddie whistles lowly. “Puts my trailer to shame, doesn’t it?”

Steve takes in his house for the first time that day, scanning over the fancy lights, the massive, decorated pine tree in the corner, the exuberant amount of fireplaces that Steve has never seen lit before today.

“No,” Steve disagrees. “This is nothing compared to your trailer.”

He plucks two glasses of champagne from a serving table and hands one to Eddie. “Besides,” he continues, winking wryly, “I’d much rather look at you.”

Eddie snickers. “Getting into character, I see.”

Steve is confused momentarily, before he realizes what Eddie means. He starts to reply, but Eddie looks over Steve’s shoulder and his eyes widen.

“Your dad is coming our way,” he warns.

“That didn’t take very long,” Steve mutters. He holds up his glass, and Eddie clinks his against it. “Alright, here we go. Cheers.”

They both down the drink, and Eddie winces, frowning at his glass and putting it down. “This stuff is too fancy for me.”

Steve puts his glass down as well, clearing his throat. He turns and spots his father immediately, his intimidating form taking long, dignified strides towards them. He’s clearly trying to remain calm, but nothing could hide the angry rise of his shoulders or the deep frown lines in his forehead. He stops in front of them, fists clenched, disapproval radiating from his body.

“Come with me,” he growls into Steve’s ear while glaring at Eddie, then beelining for the kitchen. Steve and Eddie share a look and follow him, barely having enough time to peek at the cooks and whatever they were making before Steve’s dad towers over them, blocking everything else from view.

“What is he doing here?” Steve’s father demands, eyeing Eddie with disdain. “Where’s the Wheeler girl?”

Steve shrugs innocently. “You told me to bring the girl I’m seeing, but I broke up with Nancy like, two years ago,” he says. “So I brought the person I’m currently seeing.”

His father somehow manages to frown even deeper, not understanding. Eddie steps forward, smiling and offering him a hand to shake.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Harrington,” he says. “I’m Eddie Munson. I—”

“I know who you are,” Steve’s father sneers, looking down at him and ignoring Eddie’s hand. “I know your father, and that he’s a petty criminal rotting in prison. I know that you’re even worse.”

“You didn’t let me finish, sir,” Eddie replies, still smiling. “I’m your son’s boyfriend.”

Steve’s father recoils, a look of incredulity and revulsion overtaking his rage. He looks back at Steve, and whatever he sees on his son’s face makes him blanch.

“Steven,” he warns. “If this is some kind of joke—”

“It’s not,” Steve interrupts, interlocking his pinky with Eddie’s for his own comfort, but relishing the way his father turns red at the simple action. “We’ve been together for three months now.”

“I would’ve loved to meet you earlier,” Eddie pouts, “But you and Mrs. Harrington are never around. Sure is a shame, isn’t it?”

Steve’s father’s face twitches. “Get out,” he spits at Eddie. “Get out of my house.”

Steve grips Eddie’s hand. “No. Eddie stays with me.”

“Steven!” his father barks, threateningly.

“What?” Steve hisses back, laughing mockingly. “What the fuck are you going to do?”

His father grits his teeth. “I swear—”

“Are you gonna kick us both out?” Steve asks, cocking his head snidely. “Are you gonna scream at me? And let all of your precious business partners know that your son is a dirty, filthy queer?”

The amusement drains out of Steve. It’s all too real, suddenly. He doesn’t quite understand why, but his eyes burn and his lip trembles; the anger burns hot on his skin, but the child in him, that remaining part of him that can’t help but seek his parents’ approval, shivers with the freezing sad and hurt.

“Or maybe I’ll let them know,” Steve continues when his father says nothing, voice thick and getting louder. “Maybe I’ll let them all know that Richard Harrington’s son is a fucking f—”

A slap sounds out, loud even through the sounds of cooking around them. Steve blinks in surprise, pain blooming in his cheek. Eddie’s hand squeezes his tight, but he doesn’t try to pull Steve away. Steve is thankful for it.

He raises his head, meets his father’s eyes, and laughs.

It’s a mean, crude thing, and Steve can see how it makes his father’s haunches rise even further. It gives Steve a malicious sense of satisfaction, enough to push down the cold.

“That’s not even close to the hits I’ve taken before,” Steve says. “If you want to beat the gay out of me, you’re gonna have to try a whole lot harder than that.”

His father looks ready to take his word for it and try again, hand twitching, but his mother rushes in, harried and flustered. It’s the least composed Steve has ever seen her.

“What is going on here?” she asks, looking between the three of them. “Richard, I—we can hear you.”

Steve’s father barely acknowledges her. “You are a disgrace,” he growls, quieter now. “All of my efforts are wasted on you. All of our time wasted on raising you—”

“Raising me?” Steve repeats, incredulous. “Raising me? You didn’t fucking raise me. You abandoned me in this—this prison and paid some strangers to make sure I didn’t starve to death. You don’t know the first thing about me. Do not pretend you had any part in my life besides the massive hole you left in it.”

“Steven,” his mother pleads, sounding distressed.

He whirls onto her. “Oh, don’t worry, Mother,” he says, sickly sweet. “We’ll show ourselves out. Wouldn’t want to give Father’s business partners a bad impression, do we?” He tuts. “Or is it too late now?”

“So you’re running off with the freak?” his father taunts. “You’re a fool, Steven. Don’t you see? He pretended to—to care for you so he could corrupt you. Do you really think this murderer would have feelings for you?”

Eddie had stayed quiet, but he speaks up now. “You don’t know me,” he says coldly, looking at Steve in question. Steve nods his approval, so he continues. “You don’t know me at all, and you clearly know your son even less than that.”

Steve’s father turns his glare back onto Eddie. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

“You know Steve saved my life?” Eddie barrels on, pissed off. “You know the earthquake that hit Hawkins? The same one that made you run back here to save your reputation? Well, it nearly killed me. But Steve put his life on the line to make sure I lived. Hell, most of Hawkins would be dead if it weren’t for him. Your son is a hero, but you don’t care past how he makes you look to people who couldn’t give two shits about you outside of your cash?”

Eddie looks between Steve’s parents, huffing when they say nothing. “Don’t you dare accuse me of pretending to care for him when you couldn’t even do him the courtesy of pretend. Steve is the fiercest, most selfless person I have ever known, and I love him with a heart that only beats because of him. I love him more than you two have loved anything in your sad, sad lives.”

Steve’s mother stares with shock, a delicate hand covering her mouth. Steve’s father shakes with fury, shoulders heaving with his breaths. Steve barely registers them, for how he’s completely enraptured by Eddie, staring defiantly at Steve’s parents, his cheeks flushed with anger and pride. Steve follows his line of vision to look at them and realizes that if he didn’t see his own features in their faces, his parents would look like nothing more than strangers.

“Let’s go,” Steve murmurs, squeezing Eddie’s hand. Eddie squeezes back, and without another word, they march out of the Harrington House, ignoring his mother’s pleas and the judgemental stares of unknown faces.

They get back into Steve’s car and he floors it, starting a yelp out of Eddie. He drives with no destination in mind, just following the road until his vision gets too blurry, forcing him to slow down and pull over.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks, unbridled concern and care heavy in his tone. It lowers Steve’s guard and makes the adrenaline and fight bleed out of him, and suddenly, the tears are overflowing onto his cheeks. He’s sobbing, and it is so, so hard to breathe.

He is a boy born of cold and jagged edges. He is a sculpture carved from ice, made to be admired from afar and forgotten quickly when he melts away silently, never to be embraced by anyone, much less his sculptors.

But Eddie pulls him in and wraps his arms around him, like he isn’t afraid of frostbite, like he’s sure that Steve won’t disappear into a puddle of water at his feet. He holds Steve’s head against his chest and lets him cry, whispering “sweetheart” and “baby” and “You did so good, angel.”

He holds him until Steve can feel his chest thawing, allowing him the room to breathe. Eddie reminds him that there is hot, hot blood running beneath his skin, and that the tears on his face are warm and salty. He is real and solid, and each hiccup that racks through his body is proof of that.

Steve calms down slowly, breaths evening out and his body slumping into Eddie’s side, even though the stick shift digs into his rib uncomfortably. Eddie brushes his tears away with the pad of his thumb, and Steve leans into the warmth, eyes slipping shut.

“How are you feeling?” Eddie asks quietly after a long silence, running his fingers through Steve’s hair.

“Like I totally derailed our plan,” Steve tries to joke, but his voice wobbles. “We didn’t even make it to the actual dinner.”

“You did nothing wrong,” Eddie assures. “We just forgot to account for the fact that your dad would never let me sit at the same table as him. Besides, we made him lose his shit and the dinner afterwards was probably awkward as hell. I’d call it a success.”

Steve makes a noise of agreement. He’s so, so tired, and Eddie’s nails gently scratching his scalp beckons him to fall asleep, but one thought remains at the forefront of his mind, keeping him awake.

“What I said to my dad,” he starts, “about being queer. I think—that was true.”

Eddie hugs him closer. “I’m so proud of you,” he says earnestly. “I’m so, so, proud. Thank you for telling me, angel.”

Steve quirks a smile and hums appreciatively, but he’s not done with his questions.

“And…everything you said to my parents at the end,” he continues, thankful that he’s not facing Eddie right now. “Was it all true?”

“Every word,” Eddie answers immediately.

“Even—Even the part about loving me?”

This makes Eddie freeze, his hand pausing its ministrations. Steve holds his breath, anticipating his reply.

“I…didn’t mean to say that,” Eddie answers honestly, sounding nervous.

Steve exhales, crestfallen. He wants to pull back from Eddie, but he doesn’t think he can handle looking him in the eye. “Oh. It was part of the pretend?”

Eddie jolts beneath him. “That’s not what I—I worded that really badly,” he groans. “I just meant that I blurted it out without thinking, ‘cause I was pissed, you know? But that’s not how I wanted to tell you.”

Steve finds the courage to pick up his head and face Eddie, who’s flustered but so sincere. “Wait, so—”

“I had this whole plan,” Eddie rushes to explain. “I figured if you were willing to fake-date me, maybe I would have a chance real-dating you. I was gonna show up outside your window in the morning and drive you to this spot in the forest that I really like, and we were gonna have a picnic—real romantic shit—and then I would ask you out. And if you said yes, I would’ve been fuckin’ estatic, but I wouldn’t have dropped the Big L Word until at least a few months in because that’s going way too fast, right? But if I’m being honest, I’ve had the stupidest crush on you since I first saw you in high school, and then the Vecna shit made it so much worse—”

“Was it real?” Steve interrupts, desperately needing to know. “What you said?”

Eddie softens. “Every word,” he repeats. “You are the realest thing that has ever happened to me, Steve.”

Steve can’t help it—he stares, jaw slack, a feeling settling in his chest and warming him from the inside out. Except he knows what that feeling is now, and he knows who it belongs to.

Eddie shrinks in on himself, shaking his head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

Steve cuts him off, crawling out of his seat to press a kiss to Eddie’s lips, holding his jaw softly in his hands. Eddie tastes of chapstick and champagne and something uniquely him; Steve already feels addicted to it, can see himself getting used to it. He thought being in Eddie’s embrace was the warmest he’d ever be, but kissing him lights a fire in his stomach. He feels aflame.

They pull apart, and Steve immediately goes back in for a peck, and another. Eddie is flushed—he has so much heat to give—and his eyes are bright with wonder, even in the dark of the winter night.

“I think I love you too,” Steve murmurs, eyeing how Eddie’s lips are red and slick with spit.

“You think?” Eddie asks, breathless.

Steve shrugs with one shoulder, smiling. “I only just figured it out. But I’m pretty sure.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to stare now, the adoration on his face clear to even Steve. “Let me take you home,” he says. “You can stay with me for as long as you need—as long as you want. Spend Christmas with us.”

Steve feels teary again. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, I’d love that.”

They switch seats so that Eddie can drive them home, his hand sandwiched between Steve’s on top of his thigh the whole ride back. They wave hello to Wayne when they enter the trailer and head to Eddie’s bed immediately, stopping only long enough to call Nancy, say hi to both her and Robin, change into Eddie’s pajamas, and share another tender kiss.

And Steve, lying on his side with Eddie’s body melded to his, feels so, so warm.

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Steve wakes the next morning toasty, eyes a little puffy but otherwise well-rested. He registers an arm thrown over his waist and smiles, hugging it into his skin.

“Morning, angel,” Eddie says, voice still raspy from sleep.

“Morning,” Steve replies, then pauses. “I love it when you call me that, by the way. I was always too afraid to tell you before.”

Eddie hooks his chin over Steve’s shoulder. “Do you know why I call you that?”

Steve turns his head to nuzzle his cheek into Eddie’s hair. “There’s a reason?”

Eddie huffs a laugh. “When you dragged me out of the Upside Down, I swear I thought you were an angel sent to take me away.” he kisses Steve’s neck. “I was right, by the way. You were an angel, but you saved my life instead of taking it.”

“Are you always so sappy in the mornings?” Steve teases.

“Shut up. You love me.”

Steve sighs happily. “I do.”

The morning turned out to be quite an affair, once Steve and Eddie dragged themselves out of bed. Eddie throws the Christmas tree sweater that he chose the day before at Steve and tells him to put it on, while tugging the neon orange one that Steve had picked out over his own head.

“You planned this,” Steve realizes, looking down at the green fabric in his hands. “You bought the second sweater for me.”

Eddie grins. “It’s two against one now,” he says, taping a red pom-pom on the exposed area of his chest where his nipple would be. “We’re definitely winning this year.”

They step out of Eddie’s room giggling like children and meet Wayne in the living room. The older man is wearing an over-detailed sweater, the words “Let it Snow” barely legible among the snowflakes, the santa hats, and the colors. He looks over Steve and Eddie and laughs. Eddie nudges Steve so that he puts his arms up and together, which only makes Wayne laugh harder.

“Y’all look ridiculous,” Wayne says.

“That means we win, right?” Eddie asks excitedly.

Wayne considers them. “You win,” he concedes, shaking his head amusedly. “Don’t know how I’m supposed to beat that, son.”

Eddie cheers and high-fives Steve. “You look adorable,” Steve compliments, sharing a look with Eddie. “The sweater isn’t ugly enough.”

“It’s more comfortable than yours, that’s for sure,” Wayne replies. “I’ll make breakfast. Steve, don’t let Eddie choose the movie, please. For my sake.”

Spending the morning with the Munsons, Steve notices that he can’t feel that perpetually cold part of him at all—he is loose-limbed and giddy, feeling the steam of home cooked breakfast settle in his stomach and his heart.

And when Eddie drives them all to Hopper’s cabin in the evening, acting all suspicious and hyper until Steve opens the door and is surprised by everyone who holds a portion of his heart, he knows it is love radiating from them, love in their rosy cheeks and wide smiles, love stuffing him full and keeping him warm.