Sunflower || Steve Harrington

Columbine

COLUMBINE:
Faithlessness, Foolishness, Folly

Christmas was the best time of year for a multitude of reasons. All of which, were why Bowie Rogers adored it so.

The festive cheer seemed to ignite a passion in him unknown before. He rarely cared about the gifts, they were a minor part of a day filled with happiness, but rather the food. Cathy made a mean dinner, one that had never been rivalled in his eyes.

Many of these Christmases had been spent with Steve by his side. The Harrington's liked to go away sporadically, leaving their son alone. Naturally, the Rogers were glad to have him.

So when the time came to swap presents on the Christmas Eve, Bowie felt rather happy with himself. It had been a spur of the moment buy- but one he would be forever proud of.

They were sat in the second lounge, with a tree blasting coloured lights. Music could be heard from the kitchen where Cathy was preparing the next days meal. Star and Rex were chortling with their father, watching a rerun of sorts. They were never any good.

"Your present is bigger than mine." Steve gritted his teeth, looking at the mix he was holding. "Sure you didn't go over?"

"Like I would, Harrington!" Bowie scoffed, offended. "You're not worth it."

"Oh. That's just mean." The brunette let out a deep breath. "Just... you should open it."

There was a small black box in Steve's hand. It rather resembled the one in Bowie's bedroom. The one he held dear, but could barely look at without feeling ill. Once or twice a year he might have looked in it, but never too often.

He took it, quickly, and opened it. He smiled. It was beautiful.

Steve had given him a set of dog tags. To many, it would have been completely and utterly ridiculous. But Bowie loved them to pieces.

"D'you remember?" Harrington was nervous, wringing his hands as he tried to recall a memory. It didn't take Bowie very long at all.

"Yeah." He smiled. "We were twelve. Me and you, we were speculating what my dad did for a living, my biological one. You guessed a barber and I said a soldier."

Relief filled his friend. "And you wanted to be just like him."

It was a complete and utter truth. There was nothing that Bowie had ever wanted more than to know his father. Kit was a loving man, but they weren't blood. And until he was thirteen, he wanted to know them. Then he realised how lucky he was for his chosen family. And suddenly he didn't care anymore.

But he kept that box. And he would still look at it. Just not with the same wonder he once had.

Eventually, Bowie sniffed. The blonde wasn't crying, rather, the complete opposite.

"Mines not as good anymore." He cackled, the large blue box being handed over with ease. "Sorry, Steve."

"You're gifts are always good." He shrugged it off as if it was nothing. But as soon as the box was opened, his face dropped.

It was clear he was unimpressed. Unimpressed... and devastated.

"Seriously?"