Dec. 31st, 2022 12:30 am
(no subject)
Steve kind of sucks at picking out gifts. It's not that he doesn't want to. His heart's in it, but he's just dumb. He can own that.
Still, he does his best. On Christmas Eve, he leaves a gift for Robin under their dinky little tree, sets aside the rest to be handed out later, and slips his gift for Maeve into his overnight bag. He slips out of his apartment in a red sweater and fitted jeans, black pea coat and dark blue scarf, braving the chill and slick roads to make his way over to Maeve's. He stops on the way to pick up pizza, making sure to get all of Maeve's favorites, and then stops again to get some eggnog and brandy. It isn't really the sexiest meal, but it's all good and comforting, and that's what they both need on Christmas, he thinks.
When he gets to the building, he makes his way up to Maeve's floor and thinks about how if they were living together, they'd already be together. He wouldn't have to pack an overnight bag because his stuff would already be there. They just had their two year anniversary, and Steve knows that Maeve is it for him. He's pretty sure that he'd marry her tomorrow if she'd let him, even if that means that he'll never have kids of his own.
He isn't going to give up that shred of hope that she's given him, but he knows that he'll have to be okay if it never happens. He can't put that expectation on her, can't move forward expecting her to change her mind. Maybe she will, but it's okay if she doesn't.
It isn't time to propose, not for either of them, he's pretty sure, but maybe there's something else they could do, some smaller step to take. Maybe Steve will finally work up the courage to ask.
He makes it to her door almost in autopilot, lost in his thoughts, and he shakes it off before shifting the pizza boxes to one arm so he can knock on the door. "Santa's here to come down your chimney!"
The door across the hall opens and a family exits, dressed in church clothes and all ready for mass, and the mother glares deeply at Steve, who turns to grimace awkwardly at her. "Sorry, Mrs. Foster."
Still, he does his best. On Christmas Eve, he leaves a gift for Robin under their dinky little tree, sets aside the rest to be handed out later, and slips his gift for Maeve into his overnight bag. He slips out of his apartment in a red sweater and fitted jeans, black pea coat and dark blue scarf, braving the chill and slick roads to make his way over to Maeve's. He stops on the way to pick up pizza, making sure to get all of Maeve's favorites, and then stops again to get some eggnog and brandy. It isn't really the sexiest meal, but it's all good and comforting, and that's what they both need on Christmas, he thinks.
When he gets to the building, he makes his way up to Maeve's floor and thinks about how if they were living together, they'd already be together. He wouldn't have to pack an overnight bag because his stuff would already be there. They just had their two year anniversary, and Steve knows that Maeve is it for him. He's pretty sure that he'd marry her tomorrow if she'd let him, even if that means that he'll never have kids of his own.
He isn't going to give up that shred of hope that she's given him, but he knows that he'll have to be okay if it never happens. He can't put that expectation on her, can't move forward expecting her to change her mind. Maybe she will, but it's okay if she doesn't.
It isn't time to propose, not for either of them, he's pretty sure, but maybe there's something else they could do, some smaller step to take. Maybe Steve will finally work up the courage to ask.
He makes it to her door almost in autopilot, lost in his thoughts, and he shakes it off before shifting the pizza boxes to one arm so he can knock on the door. "Santa's here to come down your chimney!"
The door across the hall opens and a family exits, dressed in church clothes and all ready for mass, and the mother glares deeply at Steve, who turns to grimace awkwardly at her. "Sorry, Mrs. Foster."
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