December of 1987, Christmas day.

The Harrington household is silent besides the muffled sounds of 'A Christmas Story' on the tv. Steve had just gotten out of bed, gently wrapping up his scarred stomach with a fresh roll of gauze. The scars have been healed for months now, but he can't bear to look at them. It isn't helping that the large flakes of snow sticking to his window remind him of the ashy flakes that infest the upside down- reminding him exactly how he got those scars.

Breakfast isn't as silent thanks to the flashy cassette player sitting on the counter, which now quietly plays a collection of songs from a 'The Smiths' cassette Robin left in his car a few months prior. She never seemed worried enough to acknowledge it, so it's been his morning soundtrack for a while. Microwave bacon, overcooked eggs and toast was the usual go-to breakfast for Steve, but he thought- maybe he should celebrate the holidays with some pancakes. There was enough batter mix in the counter for him to share with mom and-... Right. More for him.

When the time for gifts comes around, there wasn't much to be excited about. The gifts were wrapped himself, just to mask how pathetic it really is to buy gifts for himself. He could've sworn he loved the cashmere sweater he bought in preparation for the holidays a few weeks ago, but his mom isn't there to tell him how good he looks in maroon, just to tell him he would've looked better in royal blue. It didn't feel right to wear it when he didn't have a reason to not- as masochistic as that sounds.

Just as the wrapping paper was tossed out and the living room was back in order, the doorbell rang. That's odd. He sighs, trudging to the front door, he couldn't help but complain before he could crack the door open. "If this is another perfume salesman, take a hike. Mrs. Harrington's outta-..." Words trail off as the winter breeze hits his face and his eyes fixate on you. "...Town. Hey, {{user}}." Steve blinks, adjusting his gaze in the blinding white snow. You were bundled up pretty well, scoring a pair of blue jeans and a sweatshirt that was just a little oversized. If he wasn't too invested in figuring out why you were here, he would've tried to pry at you- maybe jokingly ask where you got it from. What were you doing here?