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Christmas had always been Steve's least favourite holiday.
For most of his childhood, December had been a month full of perfectly posed photographs and false smiles, a time for his parents to brag to their friends about how big their tree was that year, or how many presents they'd bought their son (always far too many). The presents themselves were never personal, never something that a young boy would enjoy — by the time he was six-years-old, Steve was already receiving cheques instead of toys. The rare occasions that Steve had been allowed to play in the snow with Tommy had been the only times he'd thoroughly enjoyed the holiday. The rest of the time consisted of his mother hissing at him to smile wider when one of his father's business partners shook his hand at the annual Harrington Christmas party — Steve hadn't attended one of those in years.
Once he'd passed the age of ten, Steve's parents had become less and less present in his life — ten, apparently, was old enough to be in a large house on your own for weeks at a time. Steve had spent Christmas alone for the first time when he was twelve-years-old. The cheque he'd received from his parents that year had come in the mail, along with a short letter telling him that they would be home in the new year, and that they expected the decorations to be packed away before their arrival.
If Steve had known that he would be spending Christmas Day alone from that year on, maybe he would've tried to enjoy the holiday a little more. But that was impossible when the silence of snow only made him feel lonely, and the warm twinkle of the lights only made him feel cold.
The worst part of it was seeing other families have everything that he'd ever wanted. A full house, laughter and music spilling out onto the street. Steve didn't own a single Christmas record — there were no carols that echoed around the Harrington house. He imagined a smiling father, hoisting his son onto his shoulders to help him reach the top of the tree and place the star at its point. Steve couldn't remember the last time he saw his father smile genuinely, nor any time he'd been allowed to decorate the tree. No, the Harrington Christmas tree had always stood tall and proud, its decorations extravagant and perfectly placed. Steve hadn't bothered to haul that tree, or it's decorations, out of the basement since he was fourteen.
So, Steve had spent his teenage Christmases watching whatever reruns were on TV, eating whatever poorly-made meal he could be bothered to cook. Nobody to pull a Christmas cracker with. Nobody to kiss under the mistletoe.
When he was seventeen, Steve had spent Christmas Eve at the Wheeler house. Being Nancy's boyfriend at the time, Karen Wheeler had insisted he join them for at least some of the festivities. Steve had been content for that one evening — but, like all good things, it came to an end far too quickly. Steve smiled as Karen told him to wish his parents a Merry Christmas from her. He didn't bother mentioning that he hadn't seen his parents in over four months, nor that he didn't know when they would be back. Steve graciously accepted a slice of homemade Christmas cake and returned to a house where no family would be to greet him.
Steve had always imagined family as blood — his father had reminded him almost daily as a child that blood, that real family, was one of the most important things in the world (he was a bit of a hypocrite if you asked Steve). Not once had Steve imagined that family that he'd ended up with — but he wouldn't have changed them for the world.
Dustin Henderson came barrelling into his life first, and it didn't take long for Steve to decide that he would die for that kid. For any of the kids, really, even if Dustin was his favourite. A few evil Russians and some truth serum later, Steve had found himself the closest thing to a soulmate that someone could get. From that fateful day beneath Starcourt Mall, Robin Buckley hadn't left Steve's side. Steve hoped that she never would. Add Nancy, Jonathan, and even Hopper to the mix, and Steve had himself his own unconventional family.
Steve's family wasn't perfect, by any means, but they were his, and they were more real than whatever "blood" nonsense his father believed in.
The one member of Steve's makeshift family that he would never have seen coming was Eddie Munson.
Eddie came blazing into Steve's life one night with a half-broken glass bottle and wide, frightened eyes, and from that point on, there was no getting rid of him. He was so similar to the people Steve loved in a lot of ways — Dustin nerdy Robin's talkative nature — but at the same time, he was like nobody Steve had ever met before. Eddie was like a magnet, and Steve had no choice but to let himself be drawn in.
The summer after Vecna, after that dark night in March when both he and Eddie had almost been ripped to shreds by bats, Steve saw Eddie more and more. He'd become a part of their family, fitting in easily because he didn't fit in anywhere else — none of them did, after the things they'd all seen — and Steve got to know someone that he never would've spoken to without the meddling of the Upside Down. Steve discovered that Eddie was sarcastic and sharp, oddly charismatic and effortlessly funny. The more time he spent with the metalhead, the more time he wanted to spend with him, until there were some weeks where Steve saw Eddie more than he saw Robin.
It wasn't until one night, when the two of them were watching a movie at Steve's house, that Steve also discovered he was well and truly damned. Eddie had thrown his head back to laugh at something that had happened on screen, his soft curls shifting across his shoulders and his dark eyes lighting up, and Steve just couldn't ignore the swooping feeling in his own stomach. That same night, after Eddie had left, Steve had to dig up something that he'd buried inside of himself when he was fifteen, when his father had caught him looking at another boy for too long, and frightened Steve so much that he only thought of girls, girls, girls for the next five years.
So, Steve eventually came to terms with the fact that he liked Eddie. A lot. Not that he was planning on doing anything about it — he didn't want to ruin one of the best friendships he'd ever had, or scare Eddie away with his big feelings. If the right opportunity arose, Steve decided, he would do something about it.
The right opportunity came around on Steve's least favourite day of the year: December 25th, 1986.
As per every other year, Steve was planning on spending Christmas alone at home, watching movies and eating junk food. Even though he had family now, good people that would take him in, Steve simply couldn't find it within himself to bother anybody else during the holidays. They all had their own traditions, and the last thing Steve wanted was to be the sad twenty-year-old who crashed the party because his own parents had decided they'd rather be in England this time of year — without him. No, Steve hadn't told anyone about how perpetually lonely his Christmases had been all his life. He wouldn't want to be a burden, so they weren't allowed to know.
But, of course, they found out anyway. Bastards.
Steve wasn't entirely sure how. Maybe Dustin had noticed that his house wasn't decorated as December started passing by, with Steve showing no sign of bothering to put any up. Maybe Robin had noticed how Steve always went quiet and uninterested when the topic of the holidays was brought up. Maybe Nancy just knew, as perceptive as she was.
At the end of the day, it didn't really matter who had figured out what Steve's lonely plans were for Christmas, because they all decided to make plans for him. Which was how Steve found himself stood uselessly in his own kitchen whilst his friends, the kids, and even their parents busied around with decorations, food and presents. Uninvited.
Robin and Nancy had been the first to arrive, their arms full of boxes. They'd ignored Steve's look of perpetual confusion and brushed past him to get into the house, making themselves at home. Steve had barely had time to ask them what they were doing when the doorbell rang again, this time signalling the arrival of the Hopper-Byers family. Joyce had pecked a kiss to his cheek before scurrying off into the kitchen, cradling an uncooked chicken that was almost half her size. Steve watched, slack-jawed, as El and Will ran past next, yelling something about "bringing the tree up from the basement," to which Hopper had yelled back, "don't hurt yourselves," and joined Nancy and Robin in the living room. Steve stared at Jonathan, panic written across his face. Jonathan just smiled knowingly, clapped him on the shoulder, and said, "just go with it."
Steve wasn't entirely sure how he could "just go with" everyone showing up at his house, unannounced, on Christmas day. After Dustin and Mrs Henderson had arrived (the latter of whom pulled him into a bone-crushing hug that lasted for at least twenty seconds), Steve realised that there wasn't even any point in closing the door anymore. Once the tree was up and there was food cooking in his kitchen, Steve had dragged Robin aside and hissed, "what the hell is going on?" His best friend had squeezed his hand and whispered, "we're celebrating Christmas," before disappearing back into the kitchen. Steve hadn't known whether to rip his hair out or cry.
Within an hour of Robin and Nancy's arrival, the Sinclairs, the rest of the Wheelers, and both Munsons had shown up at the Harrington household. Steve felt utterly useless and completely overwhelmed. He'd barely said a word since his short conversation with Robin, still somewhat on the fence about whether or not he was even welcome amongst all of the business, even though they were in his house. He was a few seconds away from locking himself in the bathroom when he felt a hand come to rest gently on his elbow. Steve turned, a little frantically, to see Eddie, who had a small smile on his face.
"You okay, pretty boy?" he asked, a teasing lilt to his voice, even with the concern that was clear in his eyes.
Steve swallowed, adding another reason to be overwhelmed to the list. "I'm— I mean… what is this? Why— why are you all here, I don't understand—"
Eddie's expression softened, and he gently tugged on Steve's elbow to lead him out into the hallway. It was a little quieter here, away from the mess of tinsel and cooked vegetables that the rest of his house had become, but the Christmas music that was playing could still be heard. The Harrington house had never once sounded like this, not in Steve's lifetime. Eddie turned to face him once they were somewhat alone, and the expression that he was wearing already told Steve that there was no room for argument. "You're not spending Christmas alone."
Steve sighed, his shoulders slumping. He was fine on his own. The last thing he wanted was for everyone to disrupt their plans for him. "Look, I appreciate what you guys are doing, really, but I don't need—"
"Oh my God, shhhhh." Eddie looked exasperated as he waved his hands in front of Steve's face, silencing him. Steve snapped his mouth shut, if only because Eddie had told him to, but it didn't stop him from scowling. He wasn't happy about this — in fact, the guilt was already starting to seep into his skin.
As if sensing Steve's discomfort, Eddie changed tactic. Expression softening, he slid his hand down from Steve's elbow to lace their fingers together, squeezing once, twice, three times. The action made Steve's stomach flip, his guilt over inadvertently ruining everyone's Christmas momentarily forgotten.
"Steve," Eddie began, his voice gentle yet firm — it sent a slight shiver down Steve's spine. His dark eyes were locked steadily on Steve's, and his gaze was so intense that Steve wouldn't have been surprised if Eddie was reading his mind. "We want to be here. This may come as a shock to you and your tiny brain, but we care about you."
A small frown tugged at Steve's eyebrows, both at the "tiny brain" comment and at the guilt that was still gnawing away at his chest. It was both infuriating and flattering that Eddie was telling Steve almost exactly what he needed to hear.
"I know, I just…" Steve murmured, his gaze dropping to where their hands were intertwined. He swallowed, trying to focus on the feeling of Eddie's thumb gently brushing across the back of his hand as he collected his thoughts. "I don't wanna get in the way of all of you spending Christmas with your families."
Eddie let out a huff of laughter, rolling his eyes. "We are with our families, sweetheart," he reminded Steve, gesturing towards the open doorway that led into the living room. Steve followed his gaze and let Eddie's words sink in. He was right — all of them were spending Christmas with the same people that they would be if they were doing it in their own homes. The only difference, he supposed, was that they were doing it in his home. But still — they'd all gone through way too much trouble to include Steve, when he was perfectly fine on his—
"And you're our family too."
Steve whipped his head back towards Eddie, who was now sporting a soft blush, if Steve dared to believe it. He swallowed against the emotions that were threatening to overcome him as he held Eddie's sure gaze.
"Okay," he whispered after a moment.
Eddie's whole face lit up, and Steve decided that just that sight was worth letting his friends do this for him — just for this one night. "Okay? Like… 'okay, I'm gonna stop being a self-sacrificing idiot and be festive with my friends?'"
Steve let out a quiet snort of laughter before reluctantly pulling his hand away from Eddie's and running it through his hair — if they held hands for much longer, Steve would almost definitely do something stupid. Maybe he still would — the night was young after all, and Steve was considerably less smooth around Eddie than he ever had been around a girl. Probably because of how much he liked him. "Don't make me regret this, Munson."
"Wouldn't dream of it, Stevie," Eddie replied with a grin.
Once he'd let himself loosen up a little, Steve figured that he would never have a better Christmas than this.
After a little bit of persuasion, he'd convinced Joyce to let him help her cook the food, but she forbid him under any circumstances from setting the table or serving anything. Steve felt a little bit like a guest, even though it was his house. At the dinner table, he found himself sandwiched between Max and Dustin, the former of whom started piling food onto his plate without even asking him. Steve raised an eyebrow at her.
"I can do that myself, you know," he said, hoping that he sounded less emotional than he felt. He'd be eternally in all of their debts for the rest of his life, he thought, for making him feel this wanted.
Max glared at him. "I know," she replied sarcastically, but Steve caught the hint of a smile on her lips. He returned it, ruffling her red hair before digging in.
Christmas dinner had been a formal, stuffy affair when Steve was a child. His mother had usually hired a cook specially for the occasion, because someone as rich as her wouldn't be caught dead slaving away in the kitchen for longer than an hour, and his father certainly wasn't going to do it. The three of them would sit at the too-large dining table and not speak a word to each other as they politely ate their meals — Steve was the only one who had ever thanked the cook. There would be no dessert, no Christmas crackers to pull — just a stifling atmosphere, and Steve counting down the seconds before he could disappear into his bedroom.
This was as opposite to that as it possibly could be.
With twenty or so people crammed around the table, there wasn't a second spared for silence, and everyone made a point of thanking Joyce for every bite. Steve couldn't keep up with the number of excited conversations that were flying about, but he found that he didn't really mind. Once he'd stuffed himself full of food, he was content to sit back and watch everyone else mingle with a small, sated smile on his face. At one point, Dustin and Lucas had attempted to start a food fight, which was quickly shut down by every mother around the table. But everyone seemed happy, which slightly quieted that voice in his head, telling him they were only doing this for his benefit.
Whilst he was leaning back in his seat, watching Robin chatter away to Nancy, Steve felt something nudge his foot under the table. He pulled his eyes away from his two friends to find Eddie watching him from the seat opposite, a small smile on his face. Steve felt that same nudge against his foot again and— oh God, Eddie was playing footsie with him under the table.
Feeling his cheeks heat up a little, Steve nudged his foot back against Eddie's, watching as the smile on the older boy's face widened. Around the table, conversations continued. But to Steve, only Eddie existed. That was until Mrs Henderson clapped her hands and announced that it was time for her homemade dessert. Steve sat up straighter again — the moment had been broken as everyone started getting up to grab a slice of Christmas cake, but Steve could still feel the brush of Eddie's foot against his own.
Everyone slipped into a sort-of food coma after that, the meal having been so delicious, and everyone having had a minimum of two whole helpings. Steve had nearly had to arm wrestle Joyce into letting him wash up, seeing as she cooked most of the food, but it wasn't until Nancy came over and told her that she would help Steve that Joyce gave, disappearing into the living room. That left Nancy and Steve in the kitchen, the two of them settling into a comfortable silence whilst Nancy washed and Steve dried. The only sounds were the distant chatter from the other room and the quiet sloshing of soapy water, before Nancy spoke.
"Pretty sure that someone put up some mistletoe out in the hall." She said it casually — too casually. For a horrible second, Steve thought she was suggesting that the two of them kiss under it, but then she continued. "Pretty sure I saw Eddie hanging around it."
Steve almost dropped the plate he'd been drying, hastily putting it to the side with the others before clearing his throat. "Uh… cool," he said lamely, doing a terrible job of sounding unaffected.
Nancy smiled knowingly at him, passing him another plate to dry. "You're not subtle, Steve Harrington."
Steve frowned at her, a small pout forming on his lips. Being friends with Nancy was great, but she was far too perceptive for her own good sometimes. "Shut up," he grumbled, earning a quiet giggle from Nancy.
"I'm just saying," she continued, keeping her voice quiet to give them some privacy, even though they were the only ones in the kitchen — still, Steve appreciated it. "I think you'd enjoy Christmas a little more if you actually let yourself enjoy it."
"Ah, so this whole thing was your idea," Steve said in realisation, gesturing vaguely to where garlands of tinsel had been messily taped to the tops of his kitchen cupboards. Trust Nancy Wheeler to organise something like this. She would know that he wouldn't let himself be invited anywhere else — so, she'd brought everyone else to him.
"Me and Robin," she confirmed with a small smile, not at all sheepish or apologetic.
Steve huffed in mild exasperation, but he couldn't help feeling a strong pang of affection for his friends. A part of him wanted to cry, but there was no way he was doing that here, in front of everyone. Maybe later, when they'd all gone home, he'd curl up into a ball and let himself realise how loved he was.
"Of course," he muttered instead, shaking his head fondly. Then, quieter: "Thank you."
Nancy didn't reply, just handed him a bowl to dry. Neither of them said anything else after that, but they didn't need to. Steve let himself fall into the therapeutic rhythm of drying dishes, the laughter of his found family still echoing through the house.
After his conversation with Nancy at the kitchen sink, Steve found himself growing restless. Why had she had to mention "mistletoe" and "Eddie" in the same sentence. Steve was going half-insane just thinking about it.
Before he could give himself a second to rethink what was probably a stupid decision, Steve slipped into the hallway. Sure enough, a sprig of mistletoe was hanging from the ceiling halfway down the hallway. Steve squinted at it as he chewed nervously on his lip. If the opportunity arose, and he found himself under the mistletoe with Eddie, could he do it? Kiss him? He wasn't entirely sure — the thought both made him giddy with excitement, but also like he wanted to throw up and run far, far away.
At some point, he realised that he'd been standing staring at the mistletoe for far too long now, and if anyone were to come out of the living room, they'd certainly know he was plotting to kiss someone. He cleared his throat and sped down the rest of the hallway, shutting himself in the bathroom and staring at his reflection in the mirror.
"Get a grip, Harrington," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair and cringing at himself. God, he really had fallen hard for Eddie — at no other point in his life had resorted to giving himself pep talks in the bathroom. After all, he'd only have to kiss Eddie if they both found themselves under the same sprig of mistletoe at the same time, and in a house as big as Steve's, that wasn't very likely. Straightening his shoulders, and double-checking his appearance in the mirror, Steve turned and headed back out of the bathroom—
—and nearly walked head-first into Eddie.
"Jesus," Eddie chuckled in surprise, bringing his hands up to Steve's forearms to steady him. Steve felt fear and anticipation flood through him instantly as he realised before Eddie what they were both standing beneath. The feeling must've shown on his face, because Eddie's smile faltered. "Hey, you good?"
Steve nodded, too quickly. "Fine," he replied, forcing himself to swallow. Then, because he was an idiot who apparently had no control over his body, he glanced up.
Eddie frowned and followed his gaze, his eyes widening as they landed on the mistletoe. He quickly looked back down at Steve, and Steve could've sworn that Eddie was blushing. Or maybe it was the twinkly Christmas lights playing tricks on him. But for a moment, Steve dared to believe that Eddie wanted to follow the ridiculous rules of mistletoe just as much as he did.
Luckily for Steve, he'd become fluent in Eddie Munson in the months that he'd spent with him. He could see the nerves behind Eddie's seemingly-confident grin. He noticed the way Eddie's tongue darted out in a flash to wet his lips, the sight of which made Steve's knees feel a little weak. Even when Eddie spoke, Steve could hear the hope behind his teasing words.
"What will the church say if they find out that golden boy Steve Harrington was caught under the mistletoe with the Freak?" Eddie made a show of sounding scandalised, but Steve's heart was beating too fast to even really register the joke. Instead, Steve was busy realising that he might be able to salvage their friendship if this went wrong — if Eddie didn't feel the same, he could blame what he was about to do on the laws of the game. See, Munson, I had to kiss you because I'd be cheating if I didn't.
The only rule of mistletoe was to kiss someone under it.
Eddie was halfway through what was probably another teasing comment when Steve surged forwards, taking the older boy's face in his hands and following that one, simple rule.
Eddie's noise of surprise was muffled against Steve's lips, but it quickly dissolved into a happy little hum, his arms winding around Steve's waist as he kissed him back.
Eddie was kissing him back.
Steve felt like his entire body was buzzing with electricity as he deepened the kiss ever so slightly. Eddie's lips were warm and chapped and so perfect and absolutely everything that Steve had been dreaming about for months. His heart was threatening to beat out of his chest, to claw its way behind Eddie's ribs and settle there permanently.
Such as Steve had learned a long time ago, all good things had to come to an end eventually. But, they didn't always have to go far, because Eddie's forehead was still resting against his own when they pulled apart for air. Steve kept his eyes closed for a second longer, just floating blissfully in the aftermath of what was almost definitely the best kiss of his life.
His voice was a little shaky when he spoke, barely above a whisper. "I've been waiting for an excuse to do that," he admitted.
Eddie let out a soft huff of laughter, and Steve could feel the breath of it against his lips. "You could've just kissed me, you know," he murmured, and Steve was more than a little relieved to hear that Eddie's voice was just as shaky as his own, as if he was just as affected by this.
"Yeah, like it's that simple," Steve murmured sarcastically, his hands sliding into Eddie's hair, which was much softer than he'd imagined.
Eddie smiled. "It is now."
Their second kiss was slower and softer, both of them smiling into it. Somewhere both too near and very far away, their friends and family were in high, festive spirits, singing an out-of-tune rendition of whatever Christmas song was playing. But in this very moment, the only melody Steve could remember was the sound of Eddie's laughter against his lips.
Maybe Christmas wasn't so bad after all.