Dream Boy • A Collection of Steve Harrington Imagines

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Christmas is hard for Steve, he hates it, any memories he has are of his parents out of town and spending it with his grandma or alone after she passed when he was 16, but with you it's different ♥️ Warnings: Angst, Neglect

"Whoever invented Christmas trees should have their ass kicked," Steve grumbled from on the other side of the large, bristly pine he was begrudgingly helping you string lights around.

"Tell me how you really feel," you quip back with a grin, peeking at him through the branches. His brows were knitted together in frustration, fingers fumbling with the tangled string of lights in his hands. You knew how much he hated Christmas and so you knew how much he must love you to be doing this on a Friday night instead of literally anything else.

Steve's eyes flicked up from the mess he was holding and he set you with a look. He wanted to be mad, wanted to hate this, but when his eyes met yours he felt the heat in chest shrink. How could he hate anything that meant spending time with you?

Christmas, the most wonderful time of the year, right? Well. Not for everyone.

Almost every single Christmas at the Harrington household was far from wonderful. Steve's dad always had some excuse: an extravagant party in New York for a client, a last minute meeting on Christmas Eve he couldn't miss, or – the worst one of all – extending a business trip to spend time with the wife away.

At first, when he was just a kid, Christmas morning would roll around and Steve would clamber out of bed, hoping and praying he'd find his mom and dad waiting for him on the couch. 

Surprise, Stevie! We're home early! 

But it was the same every single year. Grandma, smiling up at him with a fresh cinnamon roll and glass of milk. A small pile of presents would be waiting on the hearth of the fireplace next to the tiny table-top tree she'd bring over, tiny ornaments and lights trying to make it special for him.

Merry Christmas, sweetheart, and she'd snuggle him in close and they'd make the best of their little Christmases together.

He still holds these memories close to his heart, knows how hard she tried, how much she loved him, but when she passed just after his sixteenth birthday those happy memories cracked and faded with each shitty Christmas that followed. No cinnamon rolls, no little tree by the fireplace, no warm hugs against the fluffy pink of her bathrobe. His parents reasoned he was old enough, he could spend it with friends if he wanted.

It'll be fun, son!

It wasn't.

So he erased the holiday from his calendar. It was like any other day, just with snow on the ground outside, and he'd crawl through it suspended between anger, grief, frustration, and disappointment.

Until now.

"Listen, this is impossible," Steve grumbled, shaking the ball of lights, not at all an effective way to untangle them, but you caught the wobble in his voice.

Moving around to his side of the tree, you took the ball of lights from him and placed them on the floor. "Hey, I can do this later," your voice was gentle, and when you looked up into his eyes you could see tears welling along his long, pretty brown lashes.

Biting the inside of his cheek he tried to feel anything other than the sadness that was suddenly swallowing him whole and he squeezed his eyes shut, tears slowly streaming down his freckled cheeks. He was holding his breath, a tactic used only in the most desperate of times, hoping and praying that he could suffocate it.

"Steve..." taking his face in your hands you pulled his forehead down to meet yours and without hesitation he enveloped you in his arms tightly as if you were the only thing holding him together.

His shoulders shook as he buried his face into the crook of your neck and you felt your throat tighten with a sadness of your own, wanting more than anything to take away the hurt, the pain that gripped him, made him feel so small.

You didn't say anything at all, allowed him to be in the moment. When he finally pulled away to look at you, his eyes, despite being bleary, were still so damn pretty. Long lashes holding onto the last little tears that hadn't made their way down his freckled cheeks.

Lifting a hand up to hold the line of his jaw you brushed your thumb over his cheek to wipe away the tears as he tried to give you a smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Clearing his throat he shook his head and pulled away a bit to run his hands over his face, letting out an exasperated sigh. "I'm sorry, I know how much you love Christmas and all the lights and ornaments and–"

Cutting him off you grabbed his face again and pressed a kiss to his lips, swallowing the rest of his sentence. It was soft, languid and sweet, as you caught his bottom lip between yours, and his arms wrapped around your waist, drawing you in tight. The scent of the pine tree mingled with Steve's cologne, the feeling of his arms around you taking your breath away. You wished you could stay like that forever, but reluctantly you pulled away.

Opening your eyes to look into Steve's, you were surprised to find a small, boyish smile tugging up at the corners of his lips. "Okay?" you ask softly, your noses brushing together lightly.

"M'yeah," he replies, voice sounding sturdier, more confident, more Steve, and it encourages a smile of your own.

"I was saving these for later, but now is good," you said softly, untangling yourself from his arms and hurrying to the kitchen for a minute.

Steve watched you scuffle away, a confused look on his face as he combed his hands through his hair, trying to gather himself back together. Vulnerability wasn't his strong suit, he was always the rock, the steady hand, the lighthouse in the storm, but with you it was different. It felt safe. You didn't need the reassurance, didn't need him to be the knight in shining armor coming to save the day. Instead it felt like holding hands, pulling each other up when the other fell, shouldering the weight together, and when you came back out from the kitchen he felt the corners of his eyes sting with tears again.

Your nose scrunched up as you held the plate of cinnamon rolls, the frosting on the top messy and untidy looking. "Sorry, Robin helped me, and well–" you half sighed, half laughed, shaking your head, "–I think they'll taste good!"

Biting in his lower lip Steve looked up at the ceiling, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks again, and when he brought his gaze back down to you he chuckled. "They look delicious," he said, voice crackly for just a minute, but he recovered as he took the plate from you to put it on the coffee table.

Reaching a hand out to take hold of your waist he pulled you in close again, his other hand lifting to rest gently on your cheek. "Merry Christmas," he said softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Merry Christmas," again, a kiss to your cheek. "Merry Christmas," a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Merry Christmas," a whisper, and then his soft, warm lips pressed against yours as he wrapped both arms around your waist, the ball of tangled lights shining happily from the floor.

♥️ find more of my steve harrington / stranger things writing on Tumblr: https://crappymixtape.tumblr.com