maybe this christmas time
pairing: steve harrington x sunshine!reader
summary: working as an elf during the holidays (which he isnât a fan of) is not how steve would choose to spend his time, neither is doing a bucket list of your creation. you end up changing his mind.
word count: 9.5k
warnings: use of she/her pronouns for r, some grumpy steve (heâs still a softie underneath it, i canât help it!), some family issues (a phone call from steveâs mom), a rude customer, christmas activities/themes, fluff, and a first kiss!
a/n: merry christmas and happy holidays from me to you!!! i hope u guys enjoy this one, i had a lot of fun writing it!! big big thank you to @bcyhoods for sending the request that inspired me to write this fic and to @bruisedboys who helped me out when i was unsure about things <333 ily guys i hope u all have the happiest of holidays!
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Starcourt Mall is decorated to the brim. Fake snow and garlands, giant ornaments hanging from the ceiling, a Christmas tree that stays lit all day long.
And, in the middle of it all, Santaâs Workshop.
Thatâs where you are, where youâve been for a couple of Decembers now. Every other month of the year, you work at the movie theater, scooping popcorn and scanning tickets. But, for December, you trade in your cinema t-shirt for an elf outfit, striped tights and all.
âItâs really not so bad once you get past the itching,â you tell Steve.
âGreat,â he says, the sarcasm clear in his tone.
âGreat,â you repeat, cheery enough for the both of you.
He wasnât sure how it could get any worse than the sailor uniform. That is, until he saw what he had to wear for this gig.
Itâs Steve Harringtonâs first year at Santaâs Workshop, and youâve been tasked with training him, though the job is mostly self-explanatory.
But unlike you, Steve didnât volunteer for this.
âI canât believe they picked me to do this,â he sighs. âDonât even like elves.â
âWell they had to pick someone, Steve.â You shrug, âwho knows, you might end up having fun!â
âNot likely.â
âAt the very least, youâre getting paid, right?â You nudge him once with your elbow, âplus, if youâre extra nice, some moms give pretty good tips.â
You and Steve went to school together, but he never really spoke to you then. It was only after graduation that you had any sort of conversation with him. They mostly consisted of him bribing you with free ice cream to let Dustin and the gang into the movies for free.
That was after you caught him letting them into the back rooms to sneak in.
Now, Steveâs wearing a pair of slippers that jingle with every step just like yours, and in the only two shifts youâve had together so far, youâve spoken more than ever. Even if itâs mostly been instructions from you and an unenthusiastic comment in response from Steve.
âDo I really have to wear these fucking shoes?â He asks, following you out of the staff room.
âYes. Itâs part of the uniform.â You turn around to face him, walking backwards while he walks forwards. âDonât worry, youâll tune out the jingling soon enough.â
âIâll hear these jingles in my nightmares.â
âAt least you look cute!â
You spin back around, and Steve only rolls his eyes as he trudges on behind you.
Steveâs not quite sure how he feels about you, whether he finds you a little annoying or endearing. At the moment, with an elf hat squishing his hair, heâs leaning a little more towards the first.
He didnât know you during school. Admittedly, he was an asshole for most of his time at Hawkins High, so that explains that. Even still, he doesnât know much about you, only that youâre kind enough not to snitch on him for sneaking the kids into the movies and that you seem to seep sunshine all the fucking time.
And your sunshine seems to be dialed up during the holidays. Like you really believe in âholiday cheer.â
Steve knows, deep down and buried somewhere heâs not quite ready to face yet, that heâs mostly just jealous. Because if you like the holidays so much, if youâre smiling the way you do so often, you must have it pretty good at home.
To him, nothing else makes sense. Not when Christmas at the Harrington household has been absolute shit for years. First, it was the gifts he never wanted, things his parents didnât care enough to know he didnât like. Then, they dwindled until, eventually, Christmas did, too.
Thereâs a travel discount during the holidays, sweetie. Weâre visiting dadâs bossâ cabin. Next year, we promise. Excuse, excuse, excuse.
So yeah, Steveâs never really understood the appeal. Walking behind you in a pair of jingling shoes and a scratchy outfit, heâs not sure he ever will.
You lead him towards the area where Santaâs Workshop has been set up, right by the fountain. Thereâs bright red carpet rolled out over the usual tiled floors, an area set up for the cue of families, and of course, a bench where some guy playing Santa will sit.
âSince weâre opening today Iâll show you the whole set-up routine.â You step over the rope with the sign that says âGone to feed the reindeer!â with Steve in tow. âEasy peasy.â
Steve steps over the rope behind you, shaking his head at the sound his shoes make when he lands. He chooses to listen to your voice instead.
âFirst, we count the props,â you nod over at the bin thatâs tucked away behind a small tree, âthere should be four sets of antlers, two santa hats, a red nose, and some extra elf hats.â
He stares at youâbecause why on earth would you have that memorizedâand raises his eyebrows. For a moment, as he watches you grab the clipboard that sits atop the prob bin and start counting, Steve wonders if maybe he should be more like you. The kind of person who seems to see the good in everything.
Then, he remembers what the outfit heâs got on looks like and shakes the thought away.
âWhy would anyone want to be a clown in these pictures?â He says.
âThe red nose is for Rudolph, dummy.â
You say dummy with a smile, like itâs something to admire. Steve huffs.
âRudolphâs a loser.â
âAw, come on, heâs got his own song and everything! Iâd say that makes him the opposite of a loser.â
âOf course you would,â he mutters, cursing the tiniest twitch of a smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. âWhatâs next?â
âRight,â you grab the bag that you brought from the staff room and set it on the ground by the tripod thatâs already set up. âNext is the camera. Here, Iâll show you.â
The only knowledge Steveâs got of cameras comes from whatever Jonathan has told him, which hasnât been very much, considering the pairâs history on the topic despite them being friends now.
So, he steps closer to you, watches as you pull the camera out of the bag.
âYou just have to switch it on and make sure the batteryâs full, right there,â you say, pointing at the small symbol that lets you know if the cameraâs charged or not. âAnd donât forget to take the lens cap off. I did it once and this dad yelled at me, so...â
You pop the lens cap off, putting it in the bag. Steveâs standing close to you, right behind you, his chin hovering over your shoulder, the warmth of his chest just shy of brushing against your back.
âFinally,â you continue, ignoring the little skip in your heartbeat, the way you breathe just a tiny bit quicker. âSet it up on the tripod, and youâre good to go.â
He watches your fingertips move easily, securing the camera to the tripod. When youâre done, you turn around to face him, and itâs only then that Steve realizes how close heâs gotten.
Close enough that you stumble and land against his chest, his hands on your upper arms to steady you as you pull back quickly, like youâd been burned. Steve, however, doesnât let go just yet and heâs got no idea why.
He doesnât let go until the music in the mall is switched on, the opening notes of some Christmas song startling you both. Steve steps back and releases you, dropping his hands by his sides and ignoring the twitch of his fingers.
âAlright,â you say, trying to brush the moment off. âThat sound means weâre open. You ready?â
âDo I have a choice?â
âNope!â
-
Your lunch breaks at Santaâs Workshop feel like a luxury, because no matter how much you enjoy the job, itâs nice to get away from the rowdy children it forces you to deal with.
Unlike your job at the theater, where your breaks are staggered, the workshop closes for an hour every day, meaning that even during lunch, Steveâs stuck with you.
The sign by the line for Santa is flipped, and parents groan whenever they see the festive font saying youâll be back in an hour.
You take the hour spent in the staff room as a time to ask him questions, what his hobbies are (âdoes driving a pack of 13-year-olds around count?â), if he likes his job at Scoops (âIâm starting to appreciate it more. The lesser of two evils, or somethingâ), if heâd introduce you to Robin someday (âIâm afraid of what that might do to my sanity.â)
Today, youâre trying to tackle the subject of his Grinch-like tendencies.
âWhatâs your favorite Christmas movie?â You ask.
Steve doesnât know why he continues to answer your questions whenever you throw them at himâwhich is oftenâbut he does. He thinks it might be like being mean to a puppy, ignoring you. Unnecessarily cruel.
âDonât have one.â
âUgh. Come on, Steve! Everyone has a favorite.â You slump in your seat across from him at the small table in the break room. Steve stares at you blankly as he takes another bite of his lunch. âYou can tell me.â
âIâm serious,â he says, nudging your foot with his when it comes close. âTheyâre cheesy.â
âArenât you secretly a rom-com fan?â
âHow did you-â
âSo, you actually enjoy cheesy movies!â
âOkay, well you donât have to say it to the entire mall. Gosh.â
Steve wonders how you know that about him, how youâve been able to guess a lot of things without him telling you. Briefly, just for a second, he wonders if that might mean something.
Like, if maybe youâre in his life now for a reason.
âDonât worry, your secretâs safe with me, Steve.â You smile what you hope is an honest, reassuring smile. âSo, the cheesiness isnât the root of the issue.â
âNo, I guess not.â
âIâm gonna take a guess here,â you start, âand say that youâre not a fan of Christmas.â
âYouâre not gonna let this go, are you?â
âSteve, Iâve never heard someone complain about jingle bells so much in my life.â
âWe canât all behave like weâve been injected with sunshine.â
You donât think he means it as a compliment, but you decide to take it as one nonetheless. But you suppose heâs right, thereâs always gotta be a balance. Dark and light, happy and sad.
âThank you,â you give him a quick grin. âAnd youâre avoiding the question.â
Heâs silent for a moment, twisting his fork around between his fingers. âMy parents never really did Christmas.â
Your heart squeezes a little in your chest at his words, at the way his tone goes quieter, at the way he looks at the table to avoid catching your eye.
Immediately, you feel guilty for prying, because the last thing youâd ever wanted to do was force him to tell you something he didnât want to. Itâs not your place, no matter how curious you are, no matter how much youâd like to give him a hug or something right about now.
Itâs not your place, but you find yourself wishing it could be.
âShit, Iâm sorry, Steve.â You reach for his hand that sits on the table and give it a quick squeeze before pulling back. âYou donât have to talk about it. I shouldnât have bugged you.â
âItâs okay. Iâve had a lot of time to accept it.â He shrugs, like it doesnât affect him. But from the scrunch in his brows, you can tell it does, at least a little bit. âThe Harringtons have better things to do than sit around cleaning up wrapping paper.â
Steve feels embarrassed, his cheeks warm and his head bent. He doesnât like scraping this wound open, doesnât like to think about what he was missing out on while everyone thought his life was perfect.
He especially doesnât want you looking at him like heâs injured or something after this.
Surprisingly to Steve, you donât. You actually do quite the opposite. You smile brightly at him, like youâve just had an excellent idea, like you can inject a bit of your sunshine into him with it.
âHow about this: Iâll teach you how great Christmas can be.â
âI think it might be a little late for that.â Steve tries to shake his admission away, to clear the room. He points at the elf hat on his head, âthis outfit has ruined any last shred of hope I had.â
âHow many times do I have to tell you that you make a cute elf? You pull it off better than I do.â
âYou donât have to lie to me.â
âIâm not!â Steve raises his eyebrows at you. You ignore that look. âWhatever. I cannot in good conscience, let you keep disliking Christmas. Think of how fun it could be. Plus, you owe me for all of those movies I let your children into.â
Steve already finds it difficult to say no to you, because of how kind you remain even when heâs snarky with you, because of the same kindness you seem to offer to everyone you meet.
So, even though heâs not sure what your plan entails, he sighs and says: âokay. Fine.â
âWait, really?â
âDonât make me change my mind.â
You cheer, clapping a little in your seat. âOh my gosh, we can go skating, and go to one of those Christmas light festivals, and make cookies-â
âWhat did I get myself into?â Steve mutters, while youâre still rambling off ideas.
â-Iâm gonna need to make a list.â
Even after your break ends, you seem to have an extra pep in your step, if thatâs even possible. Your smile is a bit wider, your eyes brighter, and Steve canât help but feel a little special for being somewhat responsible for that.
Really, what did I get myself into, he wonders.
-
In the time between him agreeing to your Christmas plans a couple of days ago and now, at yet another shift, Steve has realized that he actually likes you quite a bit. Even though your seemingly constant optimism drives him a little bit crazy.
You treat everyone with an attitude thatâs so rare, he finds that his previous annoyance for you is slowly becoming overtaken by the endearment.
He wonât admit it, not when bantering with you seems to be the highlight of his days lately, but Steve is starting to be sort of grateful that he got selected for this job.
And that has absolutely nothing to do with the outfit he wears. He still fucking hates that.
âItâs alright, cutie,â he hears your voice say, all soft and understanding. He finds you, crouched down to talk to a little girl who seems to be wary of Santa. âI bet Santa will give you something extra from your list if you smile for the picture.â
The girl nods, like sheâs determined. But, when you stand back up, she grabs onto your hand by your side.
âWhat is it?â You ask her.
âCan you do it with me?â
You look over to the girlâs mother where she stands to the side, and she nods, eager to get the picture done. So, with that, you say, âokay, then.â
Steveâs standing behind the camera as he watches you help the girl onto the bench beside Santa. Then youâre sitting beside her and telling her to look at the nice boy behind the camera.
It takes him a second to realize youâre talking about him, but when he does, he forces himself into action, bending to look through the viewfinder.
âSay cheese,â he says.
The click of the camera sounds, and then itâs done. You help the girl down, who goes over to her mom quickly and they head over to grab their picture.
Once theyâre gone, the line dies down, giving you and Steve a rare pause from the pictures and overenthusiastic welcomes to âthe North Pole.â
âI hope that familyâs okay with my face in their picture,â you say, coming to stand beside Steve by the camera. âI mean, I know the mom nodded, but maybe theyâll cut me out of it.â
Youâve become more comfortable with Steve the more youâve worked with him, getting to know him in how his grumpiness is more related to the holidays and early mornings than anything else, in how he turns the same grumpiness down when he talks to the kids.
You think heâs grown more comfortable with you, too, because heâs started bringing you a coffee in a festive cup in the morning, leaving it in your cubby without a word.
From Steve, you think that says a lot. His actions have always spoken louder than his words, you think. Like the free ice cream he gives you from Scoops, or the small nod heâd give you whenever heâd pick up the kids from a movie.
And now, thereâs the small tug of his lips, the hint of a smile that has you saying, âSteve Harrington are you smiling right now?â
âShut up,â he shakes his head at you. âThat was sweet. What you did for that girl.â
Steve lets himself say what he thinks for once, because thereâs nobody else around, because he wants you to hear it.
You hide your shy smile by looking down at your feet. You know that underneath everything, Steve is probably one of the best boys youâve ever met, because even with his attitude, heâll never say anything to truly hurt you, and with how little you know about his family, you also know that itâs rare for someone in his situation to remain so good.
Any resemblance of a compliment from Steve feels extra special, like its own gift in itself.
âRuining her picture, you mean?â You ask, trying to cover up how you feel about him calling you sweet.
âYou didnât ruin that picture, sunshine.â
Sunshine. Thatâs new.
âWell Iâm glad someone thinks so.â
Before Steve has the chance to respond, the line picks up again, and itâs back to business as usual. The routine click of the camera, the sound of parents telling their kids to smile nice and big.
You and Steve catching each otherâs eye when a particularly entertaining family rolls around, laughing at the way he does an impression of a mom after she leaves. With work being sort of like this every day, you wish it could be Christmas all year round. You much prefer this to the theater, you think.
Steve can't say that he likes this job more than ScoopsâRobin might call him traitorousâbut he finds that youâd been at least a little right when you said that it would get better when he got used to things, when he hears the sound of your laugh rather than those stupid bells on his shoes.
He finds that he sometimes has to remind himself that he doesnât like the holidays, that they arenât like this all the time.
At the end of your shift, as you and Steve grab your stuff from the staff room, you turn to him, leaning against the wall as he shrugs on his coat.
âSo, I made a list,â you say. âWe are going to have the best Christmas ever, Harrington.â
âMy standards are very low, so it wouldnât take much.â
âDonât care. I have plans. We can make gingerbread houses and get Christmas pajamas-â
âAbsolutely not.â
While Steve already agreed to letting you show him Christmas your way, he thinks he can only take so much at a time. Small doses of your jolly spirit are plenty.
âSteeeve.â
âI am drawing the line. No Christmas pajamas. Not happening.â
âBut the gingerbread houses are a yes?â You ask, hopeful and smiling like itâll persuade him.
âIâll get back to you on that one.â
Thatâs what Steve decides to say, instead of simply agreeing because he finds that heâd like to spend time with you outside of work, to see if youâre really so bright all the time, to see if he can soak it up a little better when heâs not dressed as a damn elf.
Thatâs what he decides to say because itâs easier than spilling the rest of it out there. Much, much easier.
âBut you already agreed!â You pout at him a little, exaggerated dramatics on your part. âYou canât just tell me I can teach you Christmas and then back out, I mean, I made an actual bucket list. With glitter and shit.â
âOh no, not the glitter,â Steve places a hand on his chest, sarcastically scandalized. âThat makes it serious.â
You blink at him, giving him a blank look. âDonât diss the list. By the end of it, youâre gonna be jolly as fuck, trust me.â
âJolly as fuck,â he repeats, shaking his head on a laugh. âYouâve got a way with words, sunshine.â
âThank you.â You push your tote bag onto your shoulder, fishing out your keys, they clink in your palm when you find them. âIâm not letting you back out of this, by the way. The list is binding.â
âWell in that caseâŠâ
You give Steve a little smile, the flash of a sunbeam, before heading out, and heâs left standing in the break room wondering what youâve got on that list, why you seem to care so much about it.
Huffing, he supposes heâll find out soon enough.
-
Steve definitely should not have told you that heâd never been ice skating before.
It all started when youâd been talking about that damn list at your most recent shift, a couple of days after heâd accepted the fact that he couldnât back out of it (did he really want to?).
âHey, you have a change of clothes in your bag, right?â Youâd asked him in between families.
âUm⊠yeah. Why?â
âBecause, Steve, our festivities begin today after work!â You clapped your hands together softly, excited and encouraging, yet delicate. âI havenât quite decided what weâre starting with yet.â
âI thought you had a list.â
âI do! But itâs not in order,â you shrugged, âIâm more of a mood-based decision maker, anyways.â
âOf course you are,â heâd said, his usual sarcasm lighter, laced with something you couldnât quite place.
âSo Iâm thinking we go skating-â
âNope.â
âYou can't say no to every idea I have. Then how will you get the Christmas experience?â
âI wonât say no to everything.â You looked at him like you didnât believe him, so, quietly, he added, âitâs just, Iâve never been skating before.â
âSteve, thatâs nothing to be embarrassed about,â you reassured him easily, your voice honest in a sort of natural way, like you couldn't lie even if you tried. âAll the more reason to give it a try. The point is to have fun, not to be good at it. Iâm really not that great, myself.â
âIf I hate it, weâre leaving.â
âDeal.â
And thatâs how heâd ended up here, standing next to you at the rental counter at the ice rink, telling some teenager his shoe size so he could get a pair of skates.
Steve looks at you as you talk to the teenager, paying before he even gets the chance. He looks at the hat youâve got on your head, the way your jeans are cuffed just enough to let your snowman patterned socks peek out of your boots.
He realizes that heâs only ever really seen you in uniform, at the theater and as an elf, and he thinks, quickly, like a car driving by, that you look really pretty like this. With snowflakes stuck in your eyelashes and all.
Though heâs never said it, barely let himself think it, heâs always found you pretty in a sort of undeniable way, like it was just a fact. Now, he finds you pretty in a way that makes him feel it.
His heart beats like it feels it, too. The traitor.
âThank you,â you say, grabbing both your and Steveâs pairs of skates. You turn to him, smiling like always, Christmas lights reflected in your eyes, âready to go?â
âAs I'll ever be,â he says, letting you lead the way to the benches by the rink.
He watches the way you tie your skates, copying your movements on his own pair, double knotting the bow at the end. When you stand, he stays seated for a moment, suddenly more nervous than before, because the last thing he wants to do is embarrass himself in front of you, in front of everyone around.
Like you can read his mind, you say, âitâs okay, the first step is only standing. It looks harder than it is, promise.â
âI feel like youâre lying to make me feel better.â
âWhy donât you just stand up and find out, then?â
He rolls his eyes, more at himself than you, and pushes himself up from the bench. It takes him a second to get used to the feeling of the skates, of balancing on them, but eventually, he nods at you, eager to get it over with.
ââKay, so itâs gonna feel weird when you step on the ice, but you can just hold onto the side until you get the hang of it.â You start walking ahead of him, turning back to say, âI have a feeling youâll be a natural.â
âSure you do,â he mutters, shaking his head.
The rink is outdoors, the walls surrounded with string lights of all kinds, twinkling and colorful. In the middle, thereâs a big tree, a shining gold star sat on top. Thereâs a hot chocolate stand to the side, the smell mingling with the freshness of the cold.
There are Christmas songs playing over the speakers (of course), and Steve thinks that if he hears one more rendition of âJingle Bell Rock,â heâll have to invest in a pair of ear plugs. On top of that, thereâs the sound of laughter, kids with their parents, friends, couples, everyone seems to be having fun.
Everyone seems to be at ease except for him.
You step onto the rink first, skating a couple of steps forward to give Steve room to get on. He holds onto the side like you told him to, lifting a foot and stepping forward slowly, his foot slipping a little when it hits the ice.
You donât say anything, donât pressure him, only stand there with a kindness in your eyes that tells him you wonât be anything but patient.
Still, he doesnât take too long to get the other foot on the ice, too, his feet carrying him forward a little bit, his hand gripping the side tighter.
âSee? Itâs not so bad,â you skate to his side, leaving space between you as Steve holds out his arm for balance. âNow all you gotta do is push yourself forward.â
âYou make it sound like itâs easy.â
âItâs called being encouraging, Steve. Let me be encouraging!â
âFine,â he stares down at his feet, his hair falling over his forehead. âSo what do I do?â
âUse one foot to push, and then let yourself glide, switch feet, and repeat. You can do it.â
He gives it a go, and finds that it isnât awful, but he moves slowly, and looking around at the other people skating, heâs not an impressive skater at all.
Steve has always felt the urge to be good at everything he does, basketball, driving, even fucking babysitting. Heâs always tried so hard to do things well, like maybe, if he was talented enough, his parents would care more, would finally be proud of him for something.
He swallows that thought down and pushes forward again.
You follow his speed, gliding easily beside him, âlook at you go!â
âI look like an idiot,â he says, his arm outstretched beside him, the other gripping the side, his knees bent.
When you look at him, though, all you see is the pink of his cheeks and nose from the cold, the way his hair brushes against his forehead, the focus in his eyes, the determination. No, you donât think he looks like an idiot at all.
âYou look like youâre trying, and thatâs a great look on you, Steve.â
This time, it isnât only the cold that pinkens his cheeks.
He doesnât have time to muster up a reply, because the next time Steve skates ahead, he stumbles, his balance wavering until he feels your hand grabbing onto his arm to help steady him.
Then, your hand moves to hold his, and even through the layers of both of your gloves, he feels the warmth in his fingertips, some sort of tingling.
âThis way, if you fall, so do I,â you say, squeezing his hand once, winking at him like the thought of falling doesnât scare you one bit.
âAre you sure about that?â
âSuper sure.â
You hadnât been lying on that one, because eventually Steve does fall, and you fall right along with him, landing on the ice with a little, âoop!â
On his back, Steve turns his head to look at you, your hair a mess around you, some on your cheeks. He reaches out and brushes it away.
âYou okay, sunshine?â
The response he gets is the sound of your laughter, a single loud cackle that has your eyes widening and a hand smacking over your mouth.
Your laughter fades into a fit of giggles, one so infectious that Steveâsurrounded by all kinds of Christmas-themed things he swore he hatedâlaughs along with you.
And for the first time, maybe in his entire life, Steve thinks that the holidays might not be the worst thing ever.
-
Steveâs in a bad mood today, that scrunch in his brows you'd thought had been easing away back in full force.
Itâs your first shift back together since youâd been skating only a couple of days ago, and you canât help but worry that maybe it was too much, that youâd pushed him too far.
Even though, at the time, heâd been smiling more than youâve seen him smile maybe ever, and you really thought that you had a shot at making Christmas better for him. You worry that he wasnât as happy as he seemed, that he was pretending to have fun for your sake.
Steve, on the other hand, is actually glad to be at work for once, glad for the distraction it gives him. Heâs unaware that his emotions are so visible on his face, that you think an ounce of his annoyance and anger is aimed at you.
All he knows is that after the morning he had, he needs this distraction.
This morning, it wasnât the beep of his alarm that had woken him up, but the shrill ring of the phone on his bedside table. Groggy, with his eyes still half shut, Steve picked up the phone.
He wishes he didnât.
âHello?â His voice was almost a groan, scratchy from sleep, irritated at being woken up earlier than his alarm.
âSteve, sweetie!â His motherâs voice made him squint his eyes shut further. âWhy do you sound so tired?â
ââCause itâs six in the morning, mom.â
âOh, silly me. I forgot about time zones,â she said, though she didnât sound the least bit apologetic. She didnât even care enough to know what time it was for her son. âAnyways, Iâm calling to let you know your father and I wonât make it home for Christmas this year. Thereâs this banquet we just canât miss. You understand, donât you?â
Steve doesnât know why heâd been surprised, doesnât know why her words, completely devoid of any kind of empathy towards the situation, made his stomach hurt.
âYeah, okay,â heâd said, because it was no use to do anything but agree.
This was his normal: an almost monthly phone call from one of his parents from wherever they are in the world, no matter the time, always telling him that theyâre missing this holiday, his birthday (which, at this point, he was shocked they even remembered), anything.
âThatâs my boy,â sheâd said, as if she knew him at all. She didnât. Hasnât known himâor cared toâfor a long time. âI knew youâd understand.â
âRight.â
âOh, thereâs your father. Gotta go.â
And just like that, she hung up.
Steve almost wishes that theyâd never call at all, because maybe then it would be easier to swallow their neglect. If theyâd just forget him completely, he could get rid of that stupid, tiny sprout of hope he feels whenever they call, hoping things will be different.
At least it was his mother this time, he thinks. His father is a hundred times worse, only ever disappointed in Steve, asking about his job or when he plans on âgetting a real life,â never about him.
So yeah, Steveâs in a bad mood today.
The two of you donât talk for the majority of your shift, you, afraid that Steveâs angry with you, opting to give him space, and Steve, stewing in every negative emotion that comes along with a phone call from his parents.
You donât talk until one of the last families in line for the day comes up.
Once the kids are in place, you lean down to look through the viewfinder, counting them down and snapping the picture when they say âcheese.â To the side, the childrenâs mom looks at you with so much judgment, Steve, even brewing in his thoughts, notices.
With the picture taken, you take the camera over to the mom, letting her see the picture the way you do with all the parents, making sure they approve.
Instead of approval, what you get is, âwhat the hell is that?â
Youâve dealt with your fair share of rude customers, at every job youâve had, but this woman all but screams at you, and thatâs rare. âSorry,â you say, âI can take a new one, no problem.â
âI better be getting the new one for free with how these pictures are looking,â she practically hisses at you.
Usually, you can handle stuff like this, can smack on a smile and politely agree to get things taken care of, but today, the mixture of all your self-doubt and worrying about messing things up with Steve and this mother shouting at you, things pile up, and you feel your happy mask slipping.
âUm,â you start, voice small.
âYou elves get worse every year,â she says to you. âI canât believe people this incompetent even exist.â
Steve, hearing the whole thing, is quick to step in front of you, any thoughts about his shitty parents quickly fading in favor of helping you.
âExcuse me, maâam, but she already offered to take another picture, and if that isnât good for you, youâre free to leave,â Steveâs voice doesnât slip one bit, standing his ground with every word.
Youâre overwhelmed with everything going on, and when Steve turns around to look at you, nodding his head towards the staff room, you take the escape he offers you quickly, eyes blurry with tears you wonât let fall until youâre alone.
âYou canât speak to me like that!â The woman stomps her foot.
âI can, actually. She,â he points in the direction youâd gone, âis the kindest person I know, and you shouldnât speak to her that way. I understand the holidays are a stressful time for everyone, but we spend all day helping people like you take these pictures, and the least you could do is say âthank you.ââ
Rather than respond, the woman takes her childrenâs hands and stomps off.
Steve turns to find that the few families that had been in line before have decided to leave, and he takes the emptiness of Santaâs Workshop as an opportunity to follow after you.
He finds you sitting on the bench beneath your cubby in the break room, head buried in your hands, sniffling a little like youâre trying to be as quiet as possible. Steve canât think about anything other than how much he hates seeing you upset, like a cloud covering the sun.
âHey,â he says gently, sitting beside you on the bench. âDonât listen to any of that. She was a bitch.â
Youâre both grateful and unhappy that Steve came after you. Grateful because heâs kind, because heâs showing you that he cares. Unhappy because youâre embarrassed of him seeing you like this, because he calls you sunshine and you donât feel like that right now.
It takes a second before you move your hands, wiping at your cheeks before turning to look at Steve, his brown eyes already on your face, unbelievably soft.
âIâm sorry,â you say, âI donât know why Iâm crying. Itâs stupid.â
âItâs not,â he assures you. âShe was awful to you after a long enough day. You have every right to be upset.â
âYouâre being really nice,â your voice breaks a little bit, fighting any more tears that threaten to spill.
âI can be nice. I should be nicer to you.â He knows he should, but with Christmas and everything, itâs easy for him to be grouchy. âYou sound surprised.â
âItâs just,â you shrug, almost defeated. âI thought you were mad at me today.â
Steveâs heart fucking aches at the sound of your voice, all small and lacking of the light heâs somehow come to like so much. And when another tear slips down your cheek, he canât stop himself from reaching out and holding your face in his hands, thumbing the tear away lightly.
âI donât think I could ever really be mad at you, sunshine.â
âOh.â
His hands are warm where they hold your cheeks, a thumb still tracing back and forth over your skin. Not mad, then.
âI, uh,â Steve looks at where his thumb brushes against you, like he canât believe itâs there, like he doesnât want to look into your eyes for the next part. âI got a call from my mom this morning. Theyâre not coming home this year. Again. I shouldnât be surprised but⊠anyways. Thatâs why Iâve been so quiet and shit today. Not because of you.â
One of your hands comes up to lay over his where it sits on your cheek, tangling your fingers with his and moving your hands down to your lap.
âIâm sorry, Steve.â
âIâm the one who should be sorry. I shouldnât take this stuff out on you just because you like Christmas and I donât.â
You smile a little bit, a twitch of your lips, but Steve takes it as a win all the same.
âIâm gonna change that,â you say.
âSure you will,â he replies, the sarcasm in his voice still there the way it usually is when he teases you, but this time, heâs smiling, too.
-
Steve told you to go home after that, assuring you that heâd take care of the few families left, and when youâd opened your mouth to tell him you were fine, you could stay, heâd pinned you with a look and told you again to let him do it.
So, you did.
Youâd thought it would be a day at least until youâd see Steve again, but itâs only a couple of hours after your shift ends.
Thereâs a knock at your door, your apartment one of the ones built above a shop on Main Street, and even though you have no idea who it could be, you get up, sock-covered feet padding against the floor as you go over to answer it.
Youâre surprised to find Steve on the other sideâone, because you donât think youâve ever told him where you live, and two, because you didnât think heâd want to see you more today than he already hadâa bag in his hand and a shy sort of question on his face.
âSteve? What are you doing here?â
He scratches at the back of his neck with his free hand before responding, a nervous gesture that he hasnât been able to get rid of. âI thought that maybe, after the day youâve had, you could use some cheering up. I could, too.â
You remember him telling you about the phone call from his parents, and something in your stomach flutters a little when you realize that his plans to cheer up involve you of all people.
âOkay.â You smile, you canât really help it, âcome in, then.â
He does, closing the door behind him and toeing off his shoes before stepping inside any further. Steve spots your kitchen table easily, and moves to set the bag heâs holding down.
âI thought we could do another thing that might be on your list,â he says. Steve tugs things out of the bag, gingerbread house kits, to be exact. âGingerbread houses are Christmas bucket list worthy, right?â
âAbsolutely,â you search his face, a little confused because last you heard, Steve was not into your whole bucket list thing, but here he is. âAnd youâre doing this⊠voluntarily?â
âI have the receipt. I can return them, if you prefer.â
âNo! Donât do that. I just mean- I thought you didnât like Christmas or my list and that you were just playing along to be nice.â
âI might not be the biggest fan of Christmas, but,â he shrugs, opening one of the boxes of gingerbread, âyouâre a good teacher, sunshine.â
You resist the urge to pinch yourself, like you might be dreaming because Steve, who youâve grown to like an embarrassing amount, is here, offering to do this with you and giving you a compliment like itâs nothing.
When you respond, you hope your voice doesnât give away how you really feel. Excited, happy, your heart jumping. âCan I get that in writing?â
âShut up.â He shakes his head, pointing to the unopened box, ânow will you come build this gingerbread house or what?â
âMineâs gonna be way prettier than yours.â
Steve simply rolls his eyes, but thereâs the hint of a smile there, too. Heâs happy to see that your light is back, that you didnât let what happened at work get to you too much.
You sit down beside each other at your table, gingerbread kits laid out in front of you. Icing and sprinkles, a cookie roof and chimney. Youâre sure itâll leave a mess, but right now you donât mind.
Thereâs a sort of lightness in the air, the knowledge that this thingâfriendship, more, whatever it isâbetween the two of you is something that youâre both happy to bask in. Itâs unspoken, and that doesnât bother you.
You and Steve start by unpacking all of the pieces, yours laid out neatly, his in a leaning pile that makes you bite back a laugh.
âThe fucking roof wonât stay on,â Steve says once youâve both started to put the houses together, and he sounds genuinely annoyed about it.
âJust put some more icing on it,â you say, âthereâs no such thing as too much.â
âI donât think icing will save me now, sunshine.â
You look away from your own gingerbread house over to Steveâs. His hands are holding the roof up, pushing them together so they meet at the top, and heâs staring at the thing with so much determination that you canât help but giggle.
âYou laughing at me?â Steve quirks a brow at you, but thereâs a shine in his eyes. They smile even when his mouth doesnât.
âI canât believe youâre taking this so seriously,â you laugh, and that smile of his spreads slowly on Steveâs face, blooming like a flower. âItâs alright to admit defeat, Steve. My house is already better than yours.â
âWoah, this isnât over yet, alright? Mine just needs time, donât you worry.â
âWhatever you say, Steve.â
âSomeoneâs feeling brave tonight,â he teases, nudging you with his elbow without letting go of the roof of his house. âDonât speak too soon, sunshine. I could be the underdog here.â
You lean over with your icing bag in hand, piping some more into the gap in Steveâs roof. âHere, let me help.â
Steveâalways reluctant to accept help of any kind, even the smallest thingsâlets you. While he watches your face as you pipe the icing, the focus, the way your tongue pokes out from between your lips, you take his distraction as an opportunity to move, letting your icing fall onto his hand instead of the house.
âOops,â you shrug, your tone suggesting that it wasnât a mistake at all.
Steve gasps overdramatically, then leans closer to you, âOh, looks like youâve got something right there.â His hand reaches for your face, and he spreads the icing from it onto your cheek.
âYouâre done for, Harrington.â
He only laughs, bright and quick.
Before you know it, youâre having some sort of food fight, putting a dot of icing on Steveâs nose, him tossing sprinkles at you. Itâs a mess, but all you can hear is Steveâs laughter, all you can see is his smile. Unguarded for once, free and genuine.
By the time it dies down, thereâs stripes of icing on your cheeks, red and green sprinkles scattered about the floor and on the table, and Steveâs got his own patches of icing to deal with.
âYou better help me clean this, Harrington,â you say, your giggles still spilling, fizzling out softly. âWhat are we gonna decorate these houses with now?â
âMineâs a lost cause,â he admits, the pieces now in a pile the way theyâd started.
âSo I won, is what Iâm hearing.â
Steve looks at you, at the sparkle in your eyes that had been dimmed earlier at work, at the smile that spreads across your face when his eyes meet yours. Fuck. He thinks youâre completely beautiful, icing across your face and all.
His gaze snags on a piece of green in your hair, and before he can think about it, he reaches up and tugs it out for you.
âSprinkle,â he says.
You look at his hands, messy from the gingerbread houses but never any less strong, and you remember how they felt in yours when youâd been skating. And when you flick your eyes back to his face, heâs already looking at you, gaze dipping to your mouth quickly, like he canât help it.
And shit, you think. You really, really like this boy.
Before either of you can say anything more, youâre leaning towards each other, meeting in the middle and youâre not sure if you kiss him or he kisses you, but you end up with your mouths pressed together.
Itâs featherlight at first, testing the waters. Then, Steveâs hands cup your jaw gently and pull you back to him, and you wouldnât dream of doing anything but follow.
He kisses you again, still soft somehow, but more certain, his lips dancing with yours like youâve done this a hundred times before.
You reach up and grasp his wrists in your hands, feeling his pulse under your thumbs. His heart is racing just as much as yours, you notice. Like your heartbeats have synced to a twin pattern, like this kiss was enough to do that.
And while youâre not sure what will happen after this, you know that something has shifted, that both of you are saying things youâre too afraid to say out loud.
When he pulls back, Steve presses one, two more pecks to your mouth, his thumbs tracing over your skin so lightly you mightâve dreamt it.
He doesnât think heâll ever think about kissing the same way after you. Steve feels warm the way he does when the sun beams on him in summer, and quickly, he thinks, I could get used to this feeling.
Then, he gets up and finds a small towel in one of the drawers by your sink, wetting it with warm water before coming back to sit with you.
âLetâs get you cleaned up,â he says, using a finger to tilt your chin up, swiping the towel over your cheeks to get rid of the icing there as lightly as he can.
And thatâs that.
-
December twenty-fourth is your last day at Santaâs Workshop. Christmas Eve snuck up quick, and tomorrow, the twenty-fifth, the mall will be closed.
Youâve always enjoyed the job, but this yearâs been your favorite by far. Usually, you and your coworkers would get along just fine, talking during shifts and laughing but never expanding outside of work, but itâs completely different with Steve.
He knocked on your door with gingerbread houses in hand and kissed you like it meant something. You like him so much that itâs in your bones, this feeling he brings out of you, how special you feel when you think about the trust heâs shown you.
But looking back, you think you were screwed from the start. From his scrunched brows asking you if the bells on the elf shoes were really necessary, to confiding in you about his parents, that list you made that seemed to be the beginning of what things have grown into now.
Green elf hat lopsided on his head, Steve smiles at you from where he stands by the camera. You smile back without thinking, like itâs natural, an instinct.
âAlright,â he says, talking to the kids sitting on the bench with Santa. âEveryone say âcheeseâ on three. One, two-â
âCheese!â
The camera clicks, and then itâs onto the next, the system you and Steve have created moving along smoothly, family after family.
If someone told Steve when heâd started this job, grouchy and prepared to pout about it every day, that heâd grow to like it, that heâs realized heâll miss it when itâs gone, he wouldâve laughed in their faces.
Never in a million years did Steve think heâd come remotely close to enjoying being an elf, but he has (he still fucking hates the outfit, though). You have everything to do with his surprising not-so-hatred of the job, of his careful fondness growing towards the holidays.
Itâs all because of you.
Christmas Eve is a busy day at Starcourt mall, parents rushing about for last minute presents, teenagers taking advantage of holiday sales, and families lined up for their Santa pictures theyâd forgotten about until now.
You donât get breaks between families often today, but once you do, you and Steve are next to each other, making imaginary backstories for random people that pass by, dramatically reading lips of conversations.
The next time thereâs an opening, you walk over to Steve, holding up your fist as if thereâs a microphone in it. âSo, Steve, tell me, how does it feel to have survived December as a Christmas elf?â
âI feel like I should get an award, maybe,â he says into your fake microphone. âIâve gotten two rashes from this scratchy outfit. Two! And Iâll never hear jingle bells the same again.â
You laugh before clearing your throat and getting back into your news anchor character, âwow. You heard it here folks, North Pole outfits are not luxurious.â
âNo, they are not.â
Steve canât help but grin as he looks at you, as he jokes around with you so easily it feels like heâs known you for years instead of a month. He supposes he has known you longer, but never the way he does now.
âNow, will you be returning to Santaâs Workshop in future Decembers, mister Harrington?â
âWell, that depends,â he says. âI think Iâll require a certain presence to be with me if I come back. Canât survive it without my doses of sunshine.â
My doses of sunshine.
Youâve never reacted to words the way you do with Steve, but when he says things like that, how can you not react? He compliments you in these indirect ways that only you could understand, and this secret language of yours has your heart skipping, your world tinted-pink.
That one makes you break character, âreally?â
âReally.â
Looking up at him, at those soft, melting brown eyes that have always told you more than anything else about him, at the fondness in them, you think about that kiss.
You havenât spoken about it, but you havenât felt the need to. It meant something, you know that much, and by the way Steve sneaks touchesâa squeeze of your hand, a palm on your backâhe does, too.
âYou make Christmas better,â he tells you.
He leaves you with that as the next family walks up for their picture, but you donât miss the way his eyes linger on you, his gaze spreading sparkles over your skin.
Itâs hard to focus when all you can think about is him calling you sunshine in that soft voice of his heâs only used when youâre alone, but you have to, so itâs back to work you go.
You donât get to speak much again until your shift is over, the Christmas Eve evening rush swooping in and keeping you both busy.
Itâs bittersweet, walking to the back room for the last time from Santaâs Workshop. Youâre excited for tomorrow, because itâs Christmas and itâs one of your favorite days of the year, but itâs hitting you now how much youâll miss seeing Steve nearly every day.
Youâll still see him, of course you will. Whether itâs him getting you to help sneak kids into a movie or maybe something more, something for just the two of you. Either way, youâre at least sure of one thing: Steve Harrington is one of the best people you know.
Heâs the first to speak as you step into the staff room. âI have something for you,â he says.
Steve scratches the back of his neck, the smallest hint of pink on his cheeks. Heâs nervous, and itâs the sweetest thing. He reaches into his bag, pulling out a small box, a white ribbon tied in a bow around it, a little lopsided, like heâd tied it himself.
You take it from him, smiling down at the box, because no matter whatâs in it, he cared enough to get you a gift and thatâs what matters, thatâs what youâll hold onto.
âReally?â
âOpen it, please.â
You listen, tugging the ribbon loose and opening up the small box. Inside, you find a delicate chain, the pendant in the shape of the sun.
âSteve.â It comes out in a breath, your eyes welling the tiniest bit because this is the best gift youâve ever received. Heâs a gift himself, looking at you shyly, searching your face for a reaction.
âDo you like it?â He asks, his voice soft. âIf itâs too much I can-â
âItâs perfect,â you say, and you mean it. âPut it on for me?â
He flashes you a grin, the corners of his mouth tugging up as he nods and takes the necklace from you, undoing the clasp as you turn around and move your hair out of the way.
You can feel his warmth against your back as he drapes the necklace over your collar, his fingers brushing the back of your neck as he fiddles with the clasp.
âThere you go,â he says, taking a small step back to give you room to spin back around to face him.
You look down at the sun pendant sitting against your skin, touching it lightly. Steveâs actions speak volumes, and this one makes you feel so many things. But above it all, you feel like his.
He watches your face as you look at the necklace, the slope of your nose and the softness of your cheeks. The flutter of your lashes and the smile you donât even try to hide. Heâs been resisting the urge to kiss you since heâd done it the first time, but itâs stronger than ever now, with his present around your neck.
Your eyes meet when you look back up at him, his brown ones never failing to show how he feels, and your heart skips with how he looks at you. Like he cares, like he doesnât intend on stopping.
He brushes your hair over your shoulder, fingertips gentle as ever when they brush against the side of your neck.
âI love it, Steve, really. Thank you.â
âYouâre welcome, sunshine.â
âIâm sorry I didnât get you anything, I didnât expect-â
âHey,â he cuts you off, his hand shifting to hold yours, fingers lacing with yours easily, âyouâve given me so much.â
Steve doesnât know how he got lucky enough to get paired with you for this job, how he got lucky enough to have someone look past his slight grumpiness and really see him. Youâve given him Christmas as a whole, erasing bad memories, replacing them with new ones, and he doesnât think any present could repay you for that.
âOh wait!â You squeeze his hand before letting go and heading towards your bag, digging until you find what youâd been looking for. You hand Steve a folded piece of paper, âyou should have this.â
As he unfolds it, he realizes itâs the bucket list youâd made for him what feels like forever ago, glitter and all. There are activities with check marks beside them, the ones youâd completed, and he shakes his head with the smile he seems to only wear when youâre around.
Very last on the list, your handwriting spells out words that make his chest feel light, his heart full.
âMake next Christmas just as good.â
Steve finally stops holding himself back and kisses you for the second time, and youâre both certain it wonât be the last.
ââșââ
â âșâââ
thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed, please please consider leaving a reblog or comment and let me know what you think! it would mean a bunch <3
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