Work Text:
Steve presses the doorbell for the third time, secretly wishing he'd put on his coat - or his outdoor shoes at least. Nobody has bothered removing the snow from the walkway leading up to the door, and it's seeping into his slippers and socks.
“Maybe they aren't home,” Dustin says, voice slightly muffled from under his scarf.
Steve scoffs, mentally cursing Carol for talking him into this. “I saw the car pull into the garage, they're here.”
He's just trying to decide if he should rap his freezing knuckles against the milk glass pane or tell Carol to go fuck herself when the door swings open, revealing a girl around Dustin’s age. She's sporting a vicious scowl and a shock of violently orange hair.
“Oh hi,” Steve says. “Are your parents home?”
She gives them a long, pointed once over. Steve in his slippers and too-thin shirt and Dustin in his knitted Minecraft hat.
Then, without turning, she hollers, “Dad! It's the hottie from across the street.”
Somewhere in the house, somebody drops something. There's a barrage of swear words that makes Steve wanna cover Dustin’s ears, and then a whirlwind of black clothes and frizzy curls descends down the stairs and almost barrels into the stack of half unpacked boxes in the hallway.
“Jesus Christ, Maxine! Sorry about that, I dunno what she's on about.”
The girl rolls her eyes.
“You said it. Own it.”
The man glares at her. She grins.
“Hi,” Steve says again, bravely ignoring the heat rising under his collar. “Nice to meet you. I live-”
“Across the street. She just said it,” Dustin provides helpfully. “Hi, I'm Dustin, this is my dad.”
The girl gives him a lazy wave. “So, what do you do for fun around here, Dustin?”
He shrugs. “I was about meet some friends, throw snowballs at cars. You wanna come?”
“Ew, lame,” she says, grabbing her coat off another box. “Let's go.”
Steve watches them disappear down the street, already deep in conversation about something or other.
“Well, then.” The other man extends his hand. It's adorned in clunky rings and covered in paint stains. “Do I get a proper introduction, or are we doing that thing where we refer to each other as Max's and Dustin’s Dad until it gets awkward, but by then we're too embarrassed to ask so we just skirt around it and say ‘hey, you’ for several years?”
Steve is snorting a laugh before he remembers he's supposed to be mad.
“Steve,” he says, taking the offered hand. It's pleasantly warm after the frosty air. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Steve,” the man repeats, and something about the way it rolls off his tongue makes a different kind of warmth settle in Steve’s chest. “Hi, I'm Eddie. What brings you here on this fine- oh shit, should I ask you to come inside? My kitchen is still very much a work in progress, but I got the coffee maker running yesterday, so I could fix us-”
“It's fine,” Steve lies. He's starting to lose the feeling in his toes. “I just wanted to- … I'm here on behalf of the Home Owners’ Community.”
Eddie tilts his head at him. “There's a Home Owners’ Community?”
“Um, yes,” Steve says, raking a hand through snow-soaked hair. “Didn't you get our welcome pamphlet? It has this chees- … um, cheery picture on it. Happy family in their yard with their dog?”
“Oh, that!” Eddie’s mouth goes round. “Yes, I got that. Threw it out. Looked culty to me.”
Steve gawks at him. He smiles.
“Culty,” Steve repeats. He fucking told Carol the fucking photo was too much, but did she fucking listen to him?
“Yup,” Eddie confirms cheerfully. “Why?”
Steve laughs weakly. “Nothing, just- … I think that's pretty damn bold, coming from someone whose idea of a Christmas decoration is this!”
Eddie follows his sweeping hand gesture to take in his own front lawn, like he's seeing it for the first time. The giant, inflatable Santa swaying cheerily in the snowy breeze. The grinning crowd of plastic skeletons dancing by its feet. Some have pitchforks.
The whole spectacle is rounded off by a wooden sign, hand-painted in bright red letters.
It reads HAIL SANTA.
“Oh yeah,” Eddie laughs. “You see, we didn’t get around to doing anything for Halloween this year, what with the move, and it's Max's favorite holiday, so-”
“Yeah, great,” Steve says. “But the Homeowners’ Community has rules, and they clearly state that Christmas decorations must be-”
Eddie pats his cheek. His hand is even warmer on Steve’s face than it was against his fingers.
“But I'm not part of your little club, unfortunately.” His tone is all honest regret, but the quirk of his mouth and the laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes tell a different story. “And I'm not gonna join, so there's nothing you can do to stop me. And if she has an issue with that, I suggest chairwoman Carol Hagan come over and say it to my face, instead of hiding behind your back. Not that I blame her. It's a nice back.”
“But you said-” Steve sputters. “So you did read it!”
“You should go home now,” Eddie says, not unkindly. “Don't wanna be seen getting friendly with the likes of me. Plus, you might lose a toe if you stay like that.”
He nods down at Steve's soaked slippers - they may be unsalvageable by now - then starts to close the door in his face.
“Wait,” Steve says. Eddie does, peering out from behind the door with large, hopeful eyes. “Does that offer for coffee still stand?”
Eddie’s eyes light up. So do the led flames surrounding Santa's ghastly entourage.
Carol can mind her own business, Steve decides. He'll get friendly with whoever the hell he pleases.