Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Their legs tangle and overlap, sneakers squeaking on the hallway’s laminate floors, nearly tripping as they stumble away from the common room. Jonathan glances down the corridor, probably worried about people seeing, but Steve just pulls him back in by his shirt collar, sucks on his earlobe and kisses at the skin beneath his jaw, moves his hands down to wrap around Jonathan’s waist. Steve’s not willing to turn away from Jonathan’s pink mouth for a single stupid second, so he chooses to push his dorm room door open with his back instead, letting the handle cut into his skin.

They land on the bed, Steve’s sweatshirt falling alongside some textbooks he hasn’t read yet.

‘I can’t believe that was your line,’ Jonathan laughs, hiding the noise in the crook of Steve’s neck.

‘Yeah, well I do like your hair,’ Steve says, moving to kiss again, parting pink lips with his tongue, trying to taste inside. He likes when Jonathan talks, when he makes small jokes that he almost seems afraid of, but he also likes Jonathan’s mouth like this, and there’s some deep-rooted part of Steve being uncovered by the taste, a burnt out idea he could never shake as a teenager reigniting. Some fantasy he dreamt up in the back row of the science labs at Hawkins’ High, staring at the slice of skin revealed below the hem of Jonathan’s Byers' tee when he was forced to raise a hand.

Steve runs his fingers under Jonathan’s shirt, traces over his shoulder blades and counts down the bumps in his spine. He licks at Jonathan’s lower lip, feels delirious when he feels a soft whimper from way back in Jonathan's throat.

‘Yeah?’ Steve asks, pulling back, just to look at Jonathan’s eyes as he answers. Jonathan looks cautious, and there’s a horrible moment where Steve thinks he’s gonna jump and run, but he doesn’t, instead he goes cute, hiding in Steve’s chest, pushing Steve’s shirt down with his chin, kissing the dip under his collarbone.

‘Yeah,’ Jonathan whispers, and Steve swears he can feel soft tongue against his skin. With his nose resting in Jonathan’s hair, smelling mint and tea tree (he wasn’t lying when he said Jonathan's hair was nice), Steve grinds his hips downwards and wraps his feet around Jonathan’s legs.

Jonathan moves his crotch upwards, doesn’t seem afraid to show how hard he is, how hard Steve made him, sighs as he does it again, moving up and down, denim rubbing on denim.

There’s a juvenile excitement at the idea, that they could keep on grinding, fully clothed, because it feels good. It feels safe and separate and basically just as hot as Steve always secretly imagined it would as a teenager, but they’re adults, and he can do more, he can be better, he wants Jonathan to see his best. So, he sneaks a hand down between them, grips Jonathan’s through the jeans, only starts rubbing his palm against him after there's a gasp; a warm, short stutter against Steve's chest.

‘Can I…’ Steve asks, already undoing Jonathan’s zipper, but incredibly happy when Jonathan nods along with it, even more happy when Jonathan, unprompted, decides to do the same, reaches out and undoes Steve’s button, runs his fingers over the waistline of his underwear. He pulls Steve’s hips against his, with a sweet, determined little huff, like he just can’t stop himself, so Steve kisses him again, pleasantly surprised, and wondering if Jonathan’s done this before.

He doesn’t want to admit that he assumed Jonathan was a virgin - but he completely did. Jonathan never dated anyone in high school (rumours about him kissing Fred Benson in the dark room don’t count), he hasn’t been seen getting friendly with anyone at college so far, and he was never the type of dumb kid to talk about some girl at camp. Steve was; he totally made up a summer camp girlfriend, but then he got a real girl the fall afterwards; Tammy Thompson, and he dragged her by the hand around the cafeteria and kissed her under the bleachers and made her wear his letterman jacket and bought matching corsages with her for Homecoming, called her a frigid bitch for dumping him when she caught him sniggering with Tommy after calling the poor Byers' boy a freak.

Then he got another girlfriend; Nancy Wheeler, and repeated the whole process again, switching up Homecoming for Senior Prom, adding in falling in love like an idiot, squaring up with Jonathan a final time, switching freak for queer, and getting his comeuppance in the form of Nancy breaking his underdeveloped heart.

He then, in a mastermind act of posturing and self-destruction, used all that good quality heterosexual experience, as inspiration to never, ever, ever, become consciously aware of his tendency to, sometimes, in the dead of night when no one was around, imagine kissing boys while humping his mattress.

But then he moved up to Indy for college, and was forced to pick up a humiliating part-time job scooping ice cream, became best friends with the angry lesbian who was his shift-lead, let her rant at him over seasonal sundae specials until he reluctantly grew some empathy, discovered he was living in the same dorms as the enigmatic Jonathan Byers, had an enlightening wet dream starring said Jonathan Byers; got wrecked at the first cool party he wound up at (Tequila Rose and Sambuca: a deathly combination), ended up being dragged home by Byers, all while drunkenly slurring into his ear that he had; super nice hair, it’s really cool you let it grow out, and sorry about the shit at school, dude, turns out, I’m a ma-hoosive hypocrite, oh, nice jacket.

So, a week later, after his first lock-in shift with Robin at Scoops, discussing blatant sexual desires over the spilt litre of cream he helped her mop up from the blue tiles; feeling excited about his freshly confirmed and confident status as a bisexual, Steve, upon discovering Jonathan watching some boring arthouse movie alone in the common room, took his chance, and flirted his socks off; and is honestly, slightly shocked, that not only did it work; but that Jonathan is now pushing him onto his back, moving down the bed, resting his forehead on Steve’s happy trail.

‘I want to… I want…’ Jonathan mutters, slowly pulling down Steve’s jeans, staring at what lies beneath.

‘You don’t have to,’ Steve says, no matter how much he might want it too. Jonathan’s talking like this is new, a first, but his hands are moving all over, grabbing at warm skin, like he knows how good it feels. Steve was going to do his moves, but if Jonathan wants to lead, he’ll be powerless to stop it.

Jonathan kisses the top of Steve’s right thigh, then his left, then looks up; his sharp, sad eyes blinking in the soft light. Steve lowers a hand, runs his forefinger over the Jonathan’s dimples, distantly remembers, he imagined doing this as a teenager, tracing Jonathan Byers' dimples.

Jonathan smiles lightly, but then he shakes away from Steve’s hand, gulps before he talks. ‘Don’t laugh at me.’

‘Dude, why would I laugh at you?’ Steve drapes his arm over his own eyes, raises his hips a fraction, trying to gently remind Jonathan of the very hard erection bouncing in front of him. ‘I’m trying to get a blow job. I’m not going to laugh at you, that would be fucked.’

It’s not sexy, or even that nice, and Steve’s worried all the blood rushing away from his brain and into his cock might have led to him saying something stupid, well, more stupid than usual, but somehow, against all odds, it works, and he feels Jonathan plant both hands on his thighs, followed by a tentative lick.

‘Oh shit,’ he pants, more excited than he would normally be. Maybe it’s because it’s his first time he’s got this far with a guy, maybe it’s because it’s Jonathan, either way, he’s not going to disclose that information. ‘That’s good.’

He moves his arm, glances down at Jonathan, going slightly cross-eyed, looming over Steve’s crotch, looking, searching. Jonathan lowers his mouth, takes the head between his lips, pulls back, a string of saliva connecting them (Geezus Christ) then goes down again, further than Steve expected, makes him breathe heavy, pants sounding throughout the room.

Jonathan moves away, catches his breath before going down again, too far, ends up jumping up with a cough. ‘Shit, sorry.’

‘Don’t need to say sorry, man,’ Steve says, cautiously placing a hand on Jonathan’s head, not to push him, just to mess with his soft hair. ‘Seriously, it all feels good. Keep going.’

Jonathan starts licking again, not so nervous. He draws one hand away and down the bed, slipping under him, hums as his elbow moves back and forth, lips vibrating, makes Steve throw his head back onto the pillow and moan, just looking down in time to see Jonathan close his eyes as he quickly nuzzles against Steve’s balls, like he might get away with it without anyone noticing.

‘Goddamn,’ Steve mutters, hoping it’s quiet enough that Jonathan doesn’t hear, scared it will make it awkward, but maybe Jonathan does, and maybe it reassures him, because soon Steve feels fingers rubbing against his taint. That, with the wet mouth, tongue lathing around his dick, tight when Jonathan hollows his cheeks, makes Steve cling onto the sheets, feeling all his muscles uncoil, then tighten again, the familiar race inside taking hold. ‘Gonna- going to cum, soon.’

Jonathan keeps his mouth sealed over Steve for a dangerously good second, looks up with wide eyes, then releases him, leaving a wet line of kisses down to his hip, moving away and using his hand to finish him off.

Steve finishes with a choke, sees it land on Jonathan’s nose, smiles when he sees Jonathan wince, wiping it off with a frown. Then, Jonathan does something completely wack-a-doo hot, sucks Steve’s cum off his thumb, his pink tongue marked with it.

‘Fuck, Byers.’

Steve yanks him up by the shoulder, kisses the rest away from Jonathan’s tongue, because he’s always been filthy like that. He lowers his hand down to Jonathan’s briefs, feels them wet and warm. ‘Good time?’

Jonathan falters, his face freezes, eerily expressionless. He rolls away onto his side, not looking at Steve.

And it’s not like Steve is planning to delve into a serious relationship after only a couple weeks of college, he knows he’s meant to play the scene, and all the other bullshit his dad spouts; but he’s not against it morally, and he wouldn’t mind entertaining the idea, especially if it was Jonathan, so he whispers an apology, hopes there’s still a small chance of something good, like a date, maybe.

‘Sorry, sorry, it’s hot, like that was really hot.’

Jonathan laughs a little, lets Steve kiss him on the cheek, then the corner of his mouth, then lick at his lower lip, until they basically just start making out all over again, ignoring the sticky mess between them. ‘Would you want to-’ Steve starts, almost whimpering when he feels Jonathan’s tongue against his teeth. ‘Would you want to get breakfast, tomorrow, with me?’

‘Um, I dunno...’ Jonathan mumbles, moving his face away, but not letting go of Steve’s arms. ‘Maybe. But I’m not really… you know, with me… you…’

‘It’s cool if you don’t want to,’ Steve says, disappointed, but too blissed out to let it get to him. ‘We could just get breakfast as friends.’

‘Friends?’ Jonathan snorts, but he smiles with it, so Steve doesn’t care.

‘Yeah, friends,’ Steve says, smiling back. ‘What? You never heard of em’?’

Jonathan flinches, like he doesn’t hear it as a joke. ‘No, not that, just… I don’t think friends give their friends head, is all.’

‘We could be.’ Steve decides, linking his arms behind Jonathan’s back, pleased with the idea he’s cooked up. ‘We could be friends who give their friends head, if you want.’

Jonathan takes a while to reply, running his fingers through the hairs at the back of Steve’s neck, carefully, like he doesn’t want it to tickle, and it’s so calming that Steve almost falls asleep, forgetting he’s waiting on a reply.

Eyes closing, brain melting away, his limbs falling into place on the bed, he doesn’t think about the sweaty mess they need to clean up, just twitches slightly before he succumbs to the dreams, when at the back of his consciousness he, finally, hears Jonathan’s low answer.

‘Sure, whatever you want.’

Three Months Later

‘So, are you guys, like, a thing?’ Robin asks, her voice cutting through the thrum of the dining hall buzz. She steals the bacon from Steve’s plate, and he lets her, with a fake offended sigh, pretending he didn’t pick up extra just to keep her happy.

‘No, it’s just sex.’

‘Really?’ Vickie asks, leaning a little closer into the conversation. ‘I didn’t think he would be into that.’

‘Oh my god, I know.’ Robin pulls Vickie further in with a gentle tug to her shoulders. They share a brief look, knowing and smirking, that Steve really doesn’t like, but it’s too early in the morning to reckon with.  

‘You two are cute together though,’ Vickie says, abruptly.  

‘That’s not what you said the first time we saw them,’ Robin says, grinning. ‘You said…’

‘Aw, don’t do this to me…’

‘What did you say?’ Steve asks, pushing, in that careful way when it’s a new friend and he doesn’t know how mean he can be yet. Vickie doesn’t look that uncomfortable, so he thinks it’s okay, but she doesn’t answer either.

‘She said… that it was weird.’ Robin takes over, rubbing Vickie’s shoulder, like she’s apologising for it as she goes. ‘That it looked like Jonathan was your minder, dragging you out of that party.’

‘Vickie,’ Steve tuts, smiles up at her after, so she smiles back with a self-conscious roll of her eyes.

‘Sorry, sorry! You know what I mean, though, right? Right?’

‘Yeah, Steve, right?’ Robin mimics, not kindly, but Vickie doesn’t care, just makes Robin’s blush in retaliation by placing a kiss on her cheek, leaving a faint peach lipstick stain. She’s made of stronger stuff than he expected.

‘I’m not saying it’s bad. It’s nice, I like Jonathan,’ Vickie says, and Robin scowls, shakes her head in disagreement, because somehow, she’s even worse with Jonathan than she is with Tommy. ‘He’s just not who I thought you would go for.’

Steve stills, drinks up his coffee and checks his watch. He’s not trying to be rude, he just doesn’t know what to say, because she’s right. They both are. No one can work out why Steve and Jonathan have been a not-thing for the last few months, least of all Steve himself. He just knows he likes it. He knows it’s easy, that Jonathan is unexpectedly laidback as far as sex goes, doesn’t ask for much, even seems to like it when Steve tries to date other people.

‘I’ve got class,’ he says, pushing the rest of his food onto Robin’s tray. ‘See you guys tonight?’

Robin nods, and Vickie apologises again, and he sends her a reassuring smile, because he likes her. He likes that she’s sweet and silly and steady enough to handle Robin’s moods, without pretending like they do no harm. He likes that she wears long pearl earrings and watches foreign animated films that even Robin struggles to keep up with. There’s a lot of reasons to like Vickie, and Steve can list them, he can identify them easily.

He walks over to the lecture hall, chooses a seat in the back, pulls out his laptop and hits record. Gets a text from Jonathan halfway through the hour; a photo of some vinyl he pulled out at the record store, his thumb and forefinger holding it up by the corner. It’s some eighties pop star, big hair, wide smile, orange skin, not famous enough for Steve to recognise, and there’s a yellow reduced price sticker covering up the name.

J: Is this you?

S: Haha. Get some new material.

J: U jealous of the hair?

S: His hair is shit compared to mine

J: His hair is glorious compared to yours

S: Shut up. You love my hair

J: Argyle’s is better

S: You take that back

J: Never

Steve’s smiling into his phone, holding it under the armrest and acting like the girl next to him isn’t glaring at him for it. He starts searching through his photos, looking for the one of Jonathan freshly out of bed, long hair sideways and stuck to his forehead, just to shame him for it - when Jonathan texts first.

J: Want to come by the station tonight?

Not really, it’s Friday, he wants to go out with Robin, maybe see Tommy along the way, catch a drink, watch as the two of them barely hide their distaste for each other over another game of overly aggressive foosball. But Jonathan finally asked, and Steve’s been waiting a while, so…

S: Yeh. Your boss okay with me being there?

J: Bob won’t notice. Argyle wants to see you too. No pressure. Only if you want to

S: I want to

J: Cool

He puts his phone away, waits until the lecture is finished before messaging Robin.

S: Can’t come out tonight

R: Why Not?

She follows it up with a snap of her furious scowl hovering over a library computer keyboard, clearly procrastinating her revision.

S: Hanging out with Jonathan. Watching his radio show

R: omg

She doesn’t message anything else for a while, and Steve is almost nervous, sliding his phone back into his pocket as he walks back to dorms, the only student on the grass quad, feeling exposed. He checks his phone when he’s back in his room.

R: U r so boyfriends 😵 gross

He stuffs his phone away quickly, focuses on picking out his gym gear. He’s not Jonathan’s boyfriend. He doesn’t know much, but that’s been made clear. He knows Jonathan must like hanging out with him, he must, if he wants him at the station tonight. Steve can’t even work out why he likes hanging out with Jonathan, maybe if he did, he would be able to connect the dots, and he could finally stop feeling so confused, about someone that’s basically just a fuckbuddy, really, beneath it all.

Jonathan texts him, tells him to bring snacks along tonight (not red vines!), and Steve smiles.

He’s uncertain in a way he hasn’t been for a while, and the weed made him anxious, but Jonathan’s nose is pink and he looks cute when his eyes crinkle, and they stumble back to Steve's dorm room around eleven, because the radio show finished at nine, but they smoked up with Argyle afterwards, and Steve's room is closest. 

He pushes Jonathan onto the bed, kisses his jaw, then starts unbuttoning his jeans.

‘You liked the show, huh?’ Jonathan asks, breathing fast, caught off guard, but still widening his legs and leaving space for Steve to drop to his knees.

Yeah, Steve liked the show. He liked seeing Jonathan’s fingers run over the dials of the mixing board, choosing the songs that flow, followed by the quiet performative laugh piped into the mic after Argyle finished a ludicrous tangent. He always likes seeing Jonathan working with his hands, likes it when Jonathan takes out the camera, flips the switches and lets the bulb flash in Steve’s face when he least expects it. Last time was in Jonathan’s dorm room, Sunday morning, Steve smoking a cigarette out of the window with the broken latch, a leg hanging over the ledge.

‘I want to see that photo,’ Steve says, leaning in to rub his cheek against Jonathan, tenting in his briefs.

Jonathan smiles up at the ceiling and laughs, and Steve realises he did that thing where he jumped to a conclusion without tying anyone else into the lead up. He doesn’t do it often, mainly around Jonathan, it seems.

‘What?’ Jonathan runs a hand through Steve’s hair, uses the other to push his chin up. ‘What photo?’

With his hands like this, it’s almost like he’s cradling him, holding him, gentler than most. Makes Steve nervous, so he ducks out of the hold, pushes Jonathan’s underwear down and leaves kisses in the hair above the base of his dick.

‘That photo you took when we were at yours,’ he clarifies, ‘Me by the window. I want to see it. Bet I look good in it.’

It’s a gamble, but it pays off, because Jonathan smiles as he rises an inch to lower his jeans and underwear, lets Steve push his shirt up so it bunches under his arms. Steve kisses his stomach as he goes back down, smells sweat, and the woody ash that fell from the joint earlier.

Jonathan keeps one hand on Steve’s shoulder, gripping a little tighter when Steve licks a hot stripe down his dick, sealing his lips over the head. Raises his other hand to rub over his face as he pants, sounds good and hoarse from the smoke. ‘Fuck.’

Steve hums, looks up through his eyelashes, bobbing down further, speaks without speaking. Good?

‘Fuck you, you know you’re good at that,’ Jonathan says, bucking up slightly, doesn’t apologise like he used to, just swears under his breath and pinches his eyebrows. ‘I’ll get- I’ll get the photo developed… tomorrow. I’ll do it tomorrow.’

Steve removes his mouth, holds Jonathan’s dick in his hand, licks with the flat of his tongue, just around the tip, then takes it down again, going as far as he can, before pulling off completely. Jonathan groans, the taut skin around his abs heaving as all the air is pushed out his body.

‘Wanna fuck me?’ Steve asks, flippantly, like he’s not moving his hand lower, so his knuckles brush against Jonathan’s balls.

Jonathan groans again, and it’s still hot, but it’s mixed with that cynical surprise, like Steve is the only person he’s ever met who would ask like that. It should feel judgemental, a little mean, but it just makes Steve laugh as he clambers up and joins him on the bed. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah, yeah, come here.’ Jonathan pulls him into a kiss, starting timid, always so polite until Steve pushes. They kiss as they shuck off the rest of their clothes, Steve’s shirt last, only pulling away from the kiss so he can tear it up and over his head. It catches on his nose, and Jonathan tuts as he helps pull it up, which is basically the same as Jonathan laughing, so Steve laughs too.

Jonathan reaches over to the bedside cabinet, knows where Steve keeps the lube and condoms without asking, and searches for the bottle. Steve goes with him, running his hands through the fair hair on Jonathan’s chest. It’s as Jonathan flips the bottle cap open, that Steve’s phone starts vibrating, flashing yellow through the denim of his jeans lying on the floor.

‘You going to get that?’

‘Nah.’

He moves on top, knees either side Jonathan’s thighs. It always makes Jonathan blush when he straddles him, makes Steve like it even more. He lowers his mouth down to Jonathan’s ear, their dicks rubbing hot and hard against each other, whispers with wet lips as Jonathan reaches behind and slips his fingers between Steve’s cheeks, because he thinks Jonathan likes the encouragement, but he’s never asked cos’ he knows it would come out condescending. ‘Like that, more. Fuck. That’s good, like that.’

His phone stops ringing, then a second later, rings again. Jonathan’s fingers slow down, he quickly kisses Steve on the nose, then pushes his forehead up with his. ‘Are you sure you’re not going to get that?’ Looks at him with his eyebrows raised, like he knows better.

‘Urgh, fine.’ Steve rolls away, clambers over the edge of the bed to pick up his phone from the floor, doesn’t look at the screen when he answers the call with a huff. ‘What?’

Jonathan smiles at it, leans against the headboard and watches.

It’s Tommy on the other end, drunk and babbling and asking him why the fuck he didn’t come out tonight. Steve doesn’t want to admit that he was busy on campus, watching his not-boyfriend record a college radio show no one willingly listens to, so he tells Tommy to fuck off, and makes some half-assed promise about getting drinks with him tomorrow. Hangs up and throws the phone back onto the floor.

‘Who was it?’ Jonathan’s shuffled away during the call, has his arms crossed and there’s a couple inches separating their bodies, so Steve pulls him in, his chest bracketing Steve’s back, still close, but no eye contact, because he thinks Jonathan needs that sometimes.

‘Just Tommy, he always calls when he’s drunk.’

Jonathan gets a loose fist around Steve’s dick, running a thumb over the head, then making it tight and hot, talking like he isn’t pushing his thumb into the slit; mean but so good. ‘Tommy from upstairs?’

Steve closes his eyes and breathes quicker, speaks on an exhale. ‘No, Tommy Hagan, ya’ know, from high school?’

Jonathan’s hand stops, then quickly starts up again, like he’s trying to hide his reaction to Tommy’s name. He holds Steve faster, up and down, tighter than normal, and it’s really good, but it doesn’t distract Steve enough.

‘What is it?’ He glances over his neck, catching Jonathan’s concentrated stare, focussed on a cluster of freckles. 

‘Nothing, it’s nothing.’ He moves faster, starts pressing against Steve’s lubed up ass, but not pushing in.

Then, trying to make it as good as it was before, and relying on that only slightly faded confidence he picked up over the years, he goes rough and needy when he whispers, ‘You still gonna fuck me?’

Jonathan, unfortunately, doesn’t fall for it. He never does, not really.

‘Can we do it like this, just this, tonight.’ He doesn’t say sorry, but Steve can feel his lips moving against the back of his neck after he stops talking, like he wants to tack on the word anyway.

‘Yeah, yeah, keep going,’ Steve says, letting it happen. He doesn’t know what he did wrong, but if this is easier, less embarrassing somehow, the condom left unused by their legs - even though it’s basically Jonathan humping his ass - then he won’t complain.

Jonathan goes faster, whimpers when Steve sighs and cums into his fist with a shudder. Steve bends his hands round to grab at Jonathan’s thigh, moving him in and out between his cheeks, the head of his dick just brushing over Steve’s rim. His dick makes a valiant jump at the motion, the desperate stick of skin against skin making him feel feverish, but he doesn’t try again, just lets his voice sound whiny when he tells Jonathan, ‘You feel so good.’ 

Jonathan cums, then quickly rolls Steve over, pulls him in with hands either side of his face, and shoves their mouths together in a sloppy kiss. He’s only gets messy after he’s cum, like a good orgasm makes him forget his reservations. Steve loves it, makes the kiss last, pouts when Jonathan eventually pulls away and grabs a tissue to wipe them down.

Steve’s thinking about connecting his music to the Bluetooth speaker, normally does before they have sex, but got too caught up this time. He wants to play this album Robin told him about, that he’s very hopeful Jonathan might like, or at least be interested in enough that he details all the reasons why he doesn’t like it - when Jonathan swings his legs over the edge of the bed, pats his hands on a dirty towel, starts picking up his clothes.

‘I’ve gotta go,’ he says, quietly, shoulders sunk down. It reminds Steve of that first time, when he dragged Jonathan from the common room; and Jonathan froze up near the end, like he was bracing himself for the punchline, even though there wasn't one then; but now, maybe, and it’s landing on Steve.

He starts getting dressed, and Steve does too, because he feels too vulnerable asking these questions without his socks on. ‘Was it the phone call thing? Like... that won’t happen again, so don’t worry.’

‘No. No, just, my little brother is visiting tomorrow. I need to tidy my room, need to meet him at the station,’ Jonathan says, staring at his bootlaces as he ties them. ‘His bus arrives pretty early.’

‘Oh. Cool.’ He's annoyed that Jonathan’s lying, because they don’t have much, but they don’t lie to each other, not normally. ‘I didn’t know you had a brother.’

Jonathan nods, does up his zipper and pulls on his suede jacket. Steve sits on the bed, sheets creased and pooling by his bare knees, feeling dumb and embarrassed, but stupidly, he’s not nervous about trying again. ‘You sure you’re okay? Like, with Tommy and everything?’

Jonathan sucks in his lips, like he’s making his expression as small as possible, trying to reveal as little as he can, which only does the opposite. Steve’s not a clever guy, but he can make a guess at an expression like that. He could say goodbye, give Jonathan an easy exit, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t push, but he waits for an answer, waits to hear why Jonathan doesn’t trust him. He isn’t normally difficult like this.

‘I didn’t know you were still friends with Tommy,’ Jonathan says, eventually, carefully cool.

Steve shrugs, lets his hands fall onto the bed. ‘I mean, yeah, we hung out all the time in school. We go to the gym together, and he’s like, the only other guy from Hawkins who goes here, so it’s not like I can ignore him.’

‘What? The only other guy from Hawkins?’ Jonathan says, eyes going steely. ‘What does that make me?’

‘You’re different,’ Steve says, instantly regrets it. ‘Like, you’re different from Tommy, but it’s also like, well, we never hung out in high school, ya’ know? You were always doing your own thing.’

‘My own thing,’ Jonathan repeats, without emotion. ‘That’s what you call it?’

Steve falters, scans over Jonathan’s body before talking next, seeing the way his hand is tightly grasped around the strap of his messenger bag, his nostrils slightly flared. Out of anyone he’s ever met, Jonathan is the hardest person to read. Makes everything strange and quiet. Steve works harder, looking at Jonathan.

He skips a couple steps, maybe, but he tries to say the right thing. ‘Look, you know I’m sorry about how we were in high school.’

Jonathan snorts, ugly, takes a step towards the door. ‘You said sorry.’

‘Yeah, I did, and I mean it dude, I promise.’

‘Yeah, I remember.’ Jonathan seethes, ‘You said sorry, not Tommy, and now you guys go to the gym together.’

Steve doesn’t like it, how Jonathan’s turning this into something it doesn’t have to be. Steve apologised, ages ago, a month after moving into dorms, and approximately a week prior to getting over the whole shame-of-liking-dicks conundrum. They bumped into each other at that party, and he got it all out, said everything he’d been rehearsing with Robin days before. He thought they were over this.

He’s not certain if he’s angry because; Jonathan isn’t over it, or because; Jonathan’s so hard to fucking read that he only just realised that Jonathan isn’t over it; whatever reason, he’s angry, and he doesn’t hide it.

‘I’m not Tommy’s fucking babysitter, I can’t make him say shit.’

‘Fuck. Fuck…’ Jonathan stutters, going pale, because he gets embarrassed when the stutter comes back. ‘I’m not saying that.’ He pauses, arms holding his sides. ‘I just thought… I thought you weren’t like that. Not like Tommy, anymore.’

‘He’s not that bad.’

‘He is, Steve, he used to be a fucking asshole.’

‘That was high school!’ Steve says, waves his arms, annoyed and pent up. ‘I thought you were over it. You might even like him nowadays if you tried to talk to him.’

Jonathan’s jaw tenses, white veins illuminated by the light from the small lamp. ‘I’m sorry, but if you expect me to ever talk to Tommy, then you’re even dumber than I thought.’

‘Fuck you,’ Steve says, not shouting, but doing a bad job at hiding the hurt. ‘Maybe I should hang out with Tommy more, then, if I’m so dumb.’

Jonathan shakes his head, looks down, moves an inch closer to the bed, ‘no I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-’ but Steve’s not letting him get away with that.

‘I mean it. We’re actually really similar, me and Tommy, like we listen to the same music, and he comes to my swim meets, and he even tries with Robin, more than you do,’ he says, hoping it stings. ‘I don’t, actually, have anything in common with you.’ He shrugs, makes a show of it.

Jonathan is at the door, tilting his head, looking at Steve like he’s shit on his shoe. ‘You’re right, we don’t have anything in common.’

‘Yeah, I’m right,’ Steve says, already losing conviction. ‘We’re not friends. We just have sex.’ And the belief disappears before he’s even finished saying it.

‘Right.’ Jonathan opens the door, looking like he’s about to say something else, doesn’t.

It takes Steve a while, after the door clicks shut, to move. He stares at the door, the grey plywood, the dumb poster of the sexy tennis girl pinned up in the centre (he tried to call it ironic, Robin told him better), and briefly considers running after Jonathan, taking him by the arm, saying something clever.

But he’s angry, and he’s never been clever, so he raises the sheets over his head, and tries to not think about the smell of ash and tea tree.

Saturday

Robin, famously some would say, has never made it to the dining hall’s Saturday mega-breakfast buffet, as she refuses to leave her bed before noon on the weekend unless capitalism requires her to do so (i.e. Scoops calls her in for an opening shift and Steve refuses to skip practice to fill in for her). So, Steve, wet and tired, because he stayed up all night worrying, and the college’s gym’s changing rooms still haven’t installed hairdryers despite his frequent slips in the suggestion box, turns up outside her door twenty minutes after swim practice, chlorine dripping onto his shoulders, with two lattes and some hashbrowns from the local diner tucked under his arm.

Vickie opens the door, wearing a stolen sleep shirt, looking concerned, her worry only soothed after there’s a tired shout from the lump of bed sheets behind her.

‘He does this all the time. You better have brought me oat milk.’

‘I did not,’ he says, walking in and perching at the end of her unmade bed. ‘Do you want her latte?’ He offers Vickie, who accepts it with a confused smile.

The lump of blankets and choppy hair unravels as Robin pushes herself up by the elbows. She makes grabby hands at the hashbrowns, bites into them and gets the crumbs everywhere.

‘Yousmell-like-swimmingpool-watswrong?’ She asks, chewing.

While Vickie is slowly moving into first position as girlfriend, she has not as yet learnt how to translate Robin’s sleepy, food-logged mumblings like Steve has, so he answers, while Vickie sits on the floor, bemused with the pair.

‘I think… I did something stupid.’

Robin swallows down her food, wipes away some sleep from her eyes, black dust at the corners where she forgot to take off her makeup last night. She smiles sympathetically, reaches over and pats his shoulder. ‘What did you do?’

Steve sighs, takes a sip of his coffee, and shuffles so he can rest his spine against the wall, his sneakers hanging off the edge of the mattress. 

‘Oh no,’ she says, twisting her mouth, and, always too clever for her own good, she pulls no punches. ‘What did Jonathan do?’

He tells her, and she makes it funny, like she always does, and it helps, as do Vickie’s comments from their feet, little high-pitched questions that Steve can’t help but smile at, even when everything else feels bad.

‘What a fuckhead.’ Robin concludes, firmly.

‘It was my fault. I was the one to start it.’

‘He called you dumb,’ Robin says, ‘You’re not dumb, and it’s fucked he would try that.’

‘I’m a bit dumb. You call me dumb all the time.’

‘Yeah, but it’s with love,’ she says, glancing up at him with a twitching nose. ‘You know I’m joking, right? When I say that?’

Steve shrugs, and she tilts her head to rest on his shoulder, feeding him the last bite of hashbrown.

‘If you’re dumb, then I’m the dumbest,’ she lies, but it’s nice, so he laughs a little. ‘Like remember when I tried to buy weed for the first time? That was dumb. I would’ve been robbed blind if it wasn’t for you.’

‘Okay, yeah, that was dumb. I can’t believe that guy was trying to charge you a hundred for a half ounce.’

‘See!’ Robin squawks, forgetting any previous pride about the situation (‘I’m not a baby, Steve, I can roll my own doooobies’) and revelling in being proved correct.

‘You know a guy? Could you buy me some, babe?’ Vickie bats her eyelashes, with a touch of manipulation that Steve greatly respects.

Robin rolls her eyes, but promises to anyway, shares a quick glance with Steve, that says; you’ll help me? And Steve telepathically agrees to support the endeavour with a barely-there nod, making plans to message his usual guy.

Then, with a renewed confidence that Steve feels personally responsible for, she carries on needling.

‘You should have known this would happen, with Jonathan, I mean,’ Robin says, wiping her greasy hands on the sheets. (I’m washing them later, geez calm down.)

‘What do you mean, with Jonathan?’

‘You had that one sex dream about him, stormed into a friends-with-benefits sitch’, and now you’re surprised it’s getting complicated? It’s Jonathan.’

‘You guys share sex dreams?’ Vickie asks, with a curious smirk that only grows wider as Robin goes pink.

‘Not all of them.’

‘Most of them,’ Steve counters, because apparently, he likes embarrassing Robin just as much as Vickie does.

‘Not me, it’s all Steve,’ Robin snips, and Steve raises his eyebrows at Vickie, silently mouths ‘It’s all her.’ Which makes Vickie raise a hand to hide a giggle, so he counts it as a win.

Robin bats him on the shoulder, puffs out angry air from her nose. ‘Ha. Ha. All laugh at stupid me and my struggle to understand social boundaries. But, seriously, listen, this is Jonathan Byers, did you ever really think about the implications?’

‘Not really? I don’t know what you mean, like, obviously I know it’s weird because we never got on in high school, but I thought it was like, water under the sea.’

‘Do you mean under the bridge?’ Vickie asks, shimmying her butt over the rug and sitting between Robin’s ankles.

‘Yeah, that, sea under the bridge,’ Steve says, absentmindedly. ‘I thought we were past it.’

‘But dude, it’s Jonathan.’

‘Robin, what do you mean,’ Steve says, exasperated and still as utterly confused as he was when he walked into her dorm room.

‘It’s just-’ She flaps her arms, looks down at Vickie. ‘You know Jonathan, you get it?’

Vickie nods gently, frowns in a way that says she knows exactly what Robin’s talking about, but maybe doesn’t want to say it out loud.

‘Guys,’ Steve grumbles, beyond tired. ‘Please, just lay it out for me.’

‘Okay,’ Robin starts, ‘Jonathan is like, super delicate.’

‘Sensitive,’ Vickie suggests instead.

‘Sure, yeah, he’s sensitive. He’s also like, soo gloomy. He’s always, just, brooding.’

‘Introspective,’ Vickie throws in, ‘He’s introspective. He gets stuck in his own thoughts.’

‘Yeah, yeah! He’s sensitive and introspective.’

‘I can be sensitive and introspective,’ Steve says, on the defence, though he doesn’t know why.

‘Oh, you can be! You can be!’ Robin reassures, ‘Just… did you ever listen to his radio show? Like that was gloom town central. I never knew there were that many sad English morons singing about depressed Catholic saints until got I locked into the dining hall that Friday the tornado alert went out by accident, and they couldn’t turn off the speakers and it was just Morrissey and Robert Smith and Brett Anderson on constant repeat, with Jonathan’s sad little segways about his emotional responses to every single song, going on and on and on…’

‘Robin.’ Vickie interrupts with a warning tap on her shin.

‘Yeah, Robin,’ Steve says, ‘Plus, I listened to his radio show, like yesterday, and it was nothing like that. Argyle is a fucking hoot and a half, and it’s not just Morrissey, Jonathan plays cool music.’

At least, Steve thinks it’s cool, he would bet it’s cool, but all he’s ever heard since he’s arrived at college, is that his taste in his music is the main reason all the other students so quickly identified his apparent, deep lack of coolness, or whatever is it that makes someone cool at college, because it seems to be a completely different criteria to what he successfully followed in high school - so what does he know.

‘This was before he got that show with Argyle, he had this solo thing last year.’ Robin huffs, ‘But anyway, fine, I’ll get back on track.’ She composes herself, breathes in and out, lays her hands flat against her legs.  

‘All I’m saying is… you chose the shyest, saddest, most complicated little emo boy on campus, and you thought hey, I know what’s a good idea-’ She knocks her head side to side with each word, mocking, using this low-pitched nasal tone to imitate him. ‘Let’s get into a fuckbuddy situation with him, and I’ll ignore how I’m desperate for monogamy, and Jonathan will pretend he didn’t have a humungous crush on me in high school, and we’ll never talk about our feelings, ever.’

‘I don’t sound like that.’

‘You so do.’

‘And I’m not desperate for monogamy.’ Whatever the fuck that means.

‘You so are.’

‘And Jonathan didn’t have a crush on me in high school. You have no idea, you weren’t even there. He hated me,' Steve says, then sags, deflating. ‘He hated me, and it was justified, because I was a Grade-A asshole.’

Vickie jolts, spins her head round and stops smiling. ‘You weren’t that bad. Surely, I mean... what did you do? Flush his head down the toilet?’

Robin laughs, pulls Vickie up by her arms into her lap, then reaches over to ruffle Steve’s hair, smiling sadly between the two. ‘He wasn’t like that,’ she says, poking him in the chin, like she’s trying to force a smile. ‘He was, wait- what did we decide to call it again?’

‘Bitchy,’ Steve says, honestly, but still ashamed. ‘I was just, a bitch. I said some bad shit.’

Vickie’s small knees jut into Steve’s thighs, and she turns to Robin with a guilty, secret smile, whispering something into her ear, making her laugh.

‘Guys.’ Steve pouts. ‘You’re not allowed to joke without me when I’m literally being depressed less than a foot away from you.’

Robin laughs again, nudges Vickie on the shoulder, like; go on, tell him.

‘All I said was, that you’re still a bitch.’ Then, a quick blush, an even quicker blink. ‘In a cool way, like, it’s funny, that you’re a bitch.’

Steve groans, loudly, throws his empty coffee cup across the room and slumps down, hiding in his hoodie. ‘This isn’t helping me.’

‘Sorry! Sorry!’ Vickie says, sounds genuine but doesn’t stop giggling with Robin. ‘Come on, we'll help you. What sorta stuff did you say to him? Back in high school?’

Steve stews in the silence for a second too long, more than embarrassed, feeling all the guilt surge back into him.

‘It was me and Tommy…’

‘Ew. Tommy,’ Vickie says, biting her lip after like she didn’t mean to say it, but Robin bobs her head in agreement, lets Vickie know that no one is doubting her aversion to the dude. Steve shrugs along to, too tired to disagree. 

‘We used to act like dickheads, together, ya’ know? Used to call Jonathan loads of bad shit… made some jokes about him…’ Steve trails off, unsure what he wants to say.

‘We won’t tell anyone,’ Vickie says, ‘Everyone did stupid shit in high school, I know I did.’

Robin moves her head slightly, to look at Vickie easier, like she wasn’t expecting her to say that, but she nods too, looks over at Steve like she wants to encourage him. He’s told her most of this, the guiltiest parts, but it was drunk and stupid and she didn’t have very high expectations of him at the time, so this feels more revealing.

‘There was this thing... with my ex.’

‘Nancy?’ Robin adds, because she knows that part.

‘Oh. Nancy.’ Vickie repeats, shy, like she knows she shouldn't know. 

‘Yeah. Nancy. She was kinda his friend. He did the photos for the yearbook when she was in charge so they would hang out, and then there was this lake trip… and he took some photos of her that I didn’t like.’

‘What photos?’ Vickie asks.

‘Like, Nancy in her bikini. I dunno. She shouted at him for it, but forgave him in the end, but... well, I didn’t. Started telling people he was a pervert, a creep. That kinda thing.’

‘Weird. That is weird, taking photos like that,’ Robin says, thinking for a second, drawing more of her mental image of Hawkins High, another story added. ‘I didn’t know he was friends with Nancy.’

She told Steve she nearly moved to Hawkins when she was little; when her dad got a job offer at the Department of Energy, but it fizzled out. Her family stayed in Indy, and she grew up being a scrappy inner-city kid. Steve used to imagine how different it would have been if she’d moved, if he’d met her before. But then, he wasn’t friends with girls like Robin in high school, maybe he wouldn’t have even noticed.

‘I don’t know if they were real friends,’ Steve says, ‘But she stood up for him. She was good like that.’ Too good for Steve, even as a stupidly repressed seventeen-year-old, he knew that.  

‘Stood up for him?’ Vickie asks, then, more careful, ‘From you?’

‘Yeah, from me,’ Steve says, feeling like shit, but comfortable enough to admit it. ‘Everyone knew about him, about how he was with guys, and I was a dick about it.’ He sighs, ‘Used to call him queer.’

‘Ah.’ Vickie hums, not moving away from him, but not smiling either. ‘You said that kinda bad shit.’

‘Yeah, and worse.’ He wasn’t the only one, the Byers were an easy punching bag for the town. (Screw-ups, your whole family, man.)

‘And you apologised?’ Vickie asks, not hiding what Robin must have told her anymore. He’s not upset at the idea, but it keeps the shame simmering. He nods, pulls at the strings of his hoodie.

It feels too quiet, like no one knows who should speak next, so, predictably, Robin talks fast. Steve laughs at her for it, but he loves it too. Loves having a friend who never wants to leave him alone in the silence.

‘You could always apologise again? For high school, I mean, plus you really need to talk to Tommy, it’s not that your first apology wasn’t good, but from what you told me, you were really drunk, and Jonathan was really sober, and maybe- maybe-’

Maybe it wasn’t good enough, Steve realises, eyes widening. Robin sees it, jumps. ‘Not that it wasn’t good! I know you put the effort in, it’s just…’

‘What?’

‘It’s Jonathan,’ she says, with her bottom lip stuck out. ‘He’s fragile.’

‘Sensitive, Robin.’ Vickie corrects.

‘Yeah, sensitive.’ She agrees, ‘I know you’re gonna hate this, but maybe you just need to talk about your feelings, with him.’

He groans, sticks up his nose, gets a small laugh from Vickie, and the tension breaks. He knocks his head back against the wall. ‘I hate that; talking.’

Robin snorts. ‘Strong words for such a big mouth.’

‘You’re worse than me.’

‘Nu-uh. I ramble, you just love the sound of your own voice,’ she says, her lips curling. ‘Remember when you got caught trying to flirt with Stacy Thomson in the library?’ She turns to Vickie, letting her in on the gossip. ‘This dingus was so loud. The librarian made him leave, he nearly got banned.’

‘From the library?’ Vickie laughs, eyes wide in disbelief. ‘You nearly got barred, from the library?’

‘Fuck you.’ He mumbles, not nearly as offended as he’s pretending. ‘And it worked, didn’t it? I got a date with Stacy.’ Slept with her, didn’t get very far after that. She wasn’t looking for a thing. Because apparently no one is looking for a thing these days, at least not with Steve.

‘And how did Jonathan feel about that?’ Robin asks, not giving up. It gives Steve pause, reminds him of the parts he kept hidden, even now; but, he’s been humiliated enough, he can risk the shame boiling over.

‘He was fine with it. The dating stuff. He was the one who didn’t want us to be a thing.’

‘Really?’ Vickie says, sceptical, and not nearly as sympathetic as she should be. ‘Jonathan just really doesn’t seem like the type.’

‘Yes, well, obviously, he must be.’ Steve sulks. ‘Why’s that so hard to believe?’

Because Jonathan’s soft - or, sensitive and introspective - whatever, it doesn’t matter. He’s gentle. Doesn’t like getting angry, he likes holding Steve close, making him stay the night. Maybe that’s why Steve likes him, he thinks, embarrassed at the ordinary thought. Jonathan doesn’t want a relationship with Steve, but he would be a really good boyfriend, and Steve hates realising that, for the second, third, or hundredth time.

‘Oh my god, you boys have so much to talk about,’ Robin says, unhelpfully.

Steve doesn’t storm out, because he’s trying to not be childish like that, but he makes up some essay he needs to work on at the library, and in the process of lying, remembers there is actually, an essay he urgently needs to finish, at the library. So, he packs up, sets off, really hoping that the librarian who tried to ban him isn’t working behind the front desk, because there’s some fines he has no intention of paying back, and she didn’t seem very impressed when he tried to flirt his way out of the problem last time.

‘Let us know how it goes!’ Robin shouts as she pulls Vickie back under the covers, and like most things these days, Steve is confused, because he can’t tell if it’s kind encouragement, or a sarcastic threat.

Chapter Text

Steve’s favourite desk in the library is on the second floor, back corner, next to the window with the view of the large sycamore tree that hangs over the quad, the art department building blocking out the worst of the sun. He likes how the light falls through the tree branches, how he’s close to the water cooler, not too close to the toilets; he likes how it gives him a wide, open view of the floor and everyone who walks through.

Well, normally he likes it. He likes the easy distraction of recognising someone and starting a conversation, using that as an excuse to not study. Today, it makes him hide behind his laptop screen, and beg that the guy browsing the bookshelf to the left doesn’t see him. He’s hot, the dude; buzzcut and big shoulders, but Steve sucked him off last week at a party at Tommy’s frat, and he didn’t like how the guy jerked off into his hair instead of finishing in his mouth, like Steve respectfully requested him too, by pushing his thighs into the bathroom counter and digging in with his nails.

Weirdly, he doesn’t get like that with Jonathan. Things tend to go slower, they take their time enjoying it. Jonathan seems to like it that way, and Steve never felt nervous enough around him to pretend he didn’t too.  

It really is all Jonathan’s fault, now he thinks about it. He wouldn’t have got mad with Jonathan if he didn’t care about him, and he only cares about Jonathan because he’s all stupid and soft and sweet.

Robin's words echoing in his head, he tries to be the better man, always does, but this feels like the first time it ever mattered.

S: Can we talk?

He nearly types out I’m sorry, but deletes each letter, too proud to give in that easily.

S: I want to explain. Really need to talk to you

He sends it before he can make himself delete it, hates how it looks on his screen, the green online circle appearing by Jonathan’s name: Jon, because Steve put him as that in his phone before he could overthink it. He wouldn’t do that now, doesn’t think of Jonathan as anything other than Jonathan. It’s like he was born for that name, three demanding syllables that he never reduces to anything less, unless it’s Argyle talking, but then, no one can stop Argyle from his penchant for horrible nicknames. Steve has been Stevie, and Stevie-Evie, then Evie, then just Eve, then Beve, which eventually led to a long week where he was playfully tormented by the title Beaver, which literally no one other than Argyle understood, didn’t stop half the campus from joining in though. Tommy assumed it was a joke about Steve’s enthusiasm for eating pussy, and somehow that made it even more embarrassing.

There was a hot minute, leaning against the counter at Scoops by Robin’s side as they updated their name badges for the new uniform (he still has to wear the stupid hat, but he’s allowed full-length pants now, and he's struggling to admit he prefers the sailor shorts cos' they show off his legs better) where Steve considered changing it, his name, back to what his mom had christened him. Following Jonathan’s style. But Stephen Harrington sounds like a balding chartered accountant, and Robin stole the name badge and scribbled over it in permanent Sharpie before he could decide, so now all the other part-timers at the store call him Eager Beaver, because Robin thinks she’s funny.

He checks his phone. 

S: I want to explain. Really need to talk to you

..

               Read 1:57 PM

That fucker. The green circle by Jonathan’s name drops out of existence, and Steve resists the instinct to throw his phone against the closest bookshelf.

He doesn’t normally care when Jonathan leaves him on read, he knows he shouldn’t care when a fuckbuddy doesn’t have the energy to message back. No strings attached, that’s meant to be the beauty of the set-up.

He had a friends-with-benefits situation in high school, senior year, after Nancy dumped him. Heather Holloway, tall, really pretty, not book smart like Nancy, but clever in a sharp way, jokes that bit into his skin. Not always nice to hang out with, but she was bored, just like Steve was. It made a good way to waste away the holidays. They tried doing things that they hadn’t with people before. Let themselves be filthier, safe in the knowledge that it wouldn’t mean anything.

That’s how it’s meant to be; fuckbuddies, it’s meant to be like that. Filthy and meaningless. But Jonathan, the stupid introspective mophead, made it something else. All polite and sensitive. That’s what tripped Steve up. It really is Jonathan’s fault that Steve’s falling into an emotional whirlpool while staring at a blank Word document, the cursor blinking without direction.

He waits for the dude from Tommy’s party to walk away, turns up the volume on his headphones, bobs his head along to the song playing, gets annoyed with himself when he remembers it’s from an album that Jonathan showed him.

He types two introductory sentences, the same sentences he uses for all his essays, regardless of subject. Nancy wrote him a general essay plan to use in high school, and he’s used it for everything ever since. He’s passing his courses, which is more than anyone ever expected of him, so he thinks it’s an alright technique. But thinking about Nancy, thinking about Heather, and trying his best to not think about Jonathan, makes him spiral in a different way.

It really is Jonathan’s fault, that Steve ends up giving up on his essay, pulling out his phone and scrolling through Instagram. He finds Heather’s profile quickly, watches her story, daily updates on her Cali life, lots of surfing and acai bowls, tanning by the beach. She looks hot, he can admit that without feeling bitter, it’s not like she dumped him. She just left Indiana without saying anything, and Steve knew he didn’t have a right to call her out for it.

He scrolls down further, until he reaches a photo of the New Year’s party at Tina’s, the only post she has left up from her life back in Hawkins. He sees Tammy’s tag hovering in the back, clicks on that too. She posts more, a verified account. Some clips from her latest music video. There’s a post for some sponsorship deal with a detox tea that Steve is pretty sure is just liquid laxative with sugary pink packaging, and he bookmarks that to bitch about with Robin later. Because for all her judgement, Robin’s just as bad as him. It’s the main reason they ever became friends in the first place.

But while Tammy makes terrible business decisions, she was never a bad person. She was always friendlier than people assumed, part of the reason she dumped Steve, and unlike Heather, she doesn’t hide the old photos from her days in Hawkins. If he scrolls down far enough, he finds a photo of their class graduation, and in the back of a sea of account tags, floats Nancy Wheeler’s name.

He doesn’t regularly check on her profile, anymore, blocked her for a while just so he didn’t give into the urge, but now, he lets it happen.

Nancy doesn’t post much, just a couple photos of New York, some books she’s reading, a selfie of her smiling with arms thrown around a red-haired roommate on the steps of a brownstone. She doesn’t brag, doesn’t need to. Everyone knows she’s doing well. Full-ride scholarship, published articles in a few independent magazines, not loads of friends, but a few girls who pop up in her story again and again, drinking expensive cocktails and looking really cool. Steve lingers on her profile the longest. Kicks himself for it. He carefully (not risking any accidentally likes) glides through every post, reading every caption; gets to a scanned copy of magazine cover: a black and white photo of Nancy outside Benny’s Diner in Hawkins, some think-piece about the decline of small-town culture, and he almost skips past, thinks nothing of it, but then something sticks out. A name he can’t help but hang his thumb over.

@nancy_wheels I’m thrilled to have this piece out in @thevillagesun It was amazing to be given the space and support to inform people on the struggle facing communities like my hometown #buylocal …and as always, lots of love to my long-time collaborator @jonathan35mm for the beautiful accompanying photos 💛

He doesn’t click on Jonathan’s account, he refuses to out of spite, (and also some small worry that there could be an evil new Metaverse update that will immediately update Jonathan on his spying) but also, more importantly, because: what the fuck.

It’s like the universe, in its coincidental and confusing fuckery, agrees with Steve’s bewilderment, because just then, as he looks up and out of the window, sighing so dramatically that the girl a few desks ahead of him startles at the noise, he spots Jonathan’s stupid black suede jacket between the sycamore tree branches, as he races out of the art block’s fire exit.

Steve doesn’t think hard about it. He shoves his laptop into his backpack and runs out the library.

Jonathan is surprisingly fast, walking across the quad, his messenger bag bouncing against his thigh. But Steve is faster, and he has the advantage of surprise, so he runs up to an unassuming Jonathan and slaps him on the back, not waiting for him to pull down his headphones to start shouting.

‘Hey. Hey!’ Steve pulls back as Jonathan turns, a few feet separating them. ‘Why did you never tell me you were friends with Nancy?’

Jonathan blinks as he takes it in, slowly narrowing his eyes, dropping his hands by his sides. ‘What?’

‘Nancy,’ Steve repeats, and deep down, he knows he’s doing that annoying thing where he reaches a conclusion without telling anyone how he got there, but he’s pissed, and he doesn’t care about making sense right now. ‘Your long-time collaborator.’

‘Steve. What are you on about?’

‘It’s just hypocritical, isn’t it?’ Steve says, feeling it. ‘You were annoyed that you didn’t realise I was still friends with Tommy, but here you are, best buddies with Nancy, my ex-girlfriend, and you never brought it up. Not once.’

There’s a long moment, maybe just seconds, but it feels like minutes, birds singing above them, students walking past and pretending to not be eavesdropping, sun falling behind the buildings; where Jonathan’s face remains frozen in place, expressionless.

Steve remembers seeing Jonathan cry, a couple times. Tommy going too far, Steve too, Carol egging them on from the bleachers. Jonathan hunched over on the track marks, covering his ears, heaving because he was made to run the mile twice cos’ coach wasn’t impressed with his lack of school spirit. It’s weird, how the kids back home used to call him sensitive; weak, too soft, and Steve would go along with it, agreeing with nothing more than a disaffected snort. But now, he’s looking at Jonathan’s strong hands, tapping against his thighs. And all Steve can think is, Jonathan’s not soft. He’s hard. Cold. Always so fucking difficult to read.

He likes it when Jonathan’s soft, Steve misses it, even. Christ, it’s barely been a day.

‘It’s not like Tommy’s my ex, Steve,’ Jonathan says, like stone, turning away to carry on walking. ‘It’s completely different.’

Steve takes a couple long strides to catch up with him, talking fast as they walk faster. ‘Yeah, it’s worse, actually.’

Jonathan just shakes his head, like he’s not listening. Makes Steve angrier.

‘You can’t just walk away from me. We need to talk.’

‘Talk?’ Jonathan shoves his hands into pockets, eyes fixed ahead. ‘We’re not friends. We don’t talk.’

Robin said we should, she said we needed to, Steve thinks, but he can’t say it, knows it will sound stupid.  

‘So… what? You won’t talk to me, you won’t look at me, are we just… not going to see each other anymore?’ And that’s far worse, maybe being stupid is better than whatever that was. Steve recoils at his own words, so deeply afraid of how desperate they came out.

Jonathan slows down, doesn’t stop walking, but he raises his head and points it in the direction of the dorms, like he wants the conversation to continue.

Steve follows, but he doesn’t like it, doesn’t like being one step behind. Makes him lash out.

‘You were always weird with Nancy.’

Jonathan speeds up, pushes through the dorms’ entrance, and doesn’t hold the glass doors open for Steve.

‘Yeah, maybe, but I apologised. We kept in touch. That’s all,' Jonathan says, charging up the stairwell, not looking at Steve as he rounds the steps.

‘It’s weird that you’d lied about talking to her,’ Steve says, taking two steps at a time to keep up.

‘I didn’t lie, you just never asked.’

‘And you never asked about Tommy.’

‘And Nancy never threw my camera into Lover’s Lake over some photos.’

‘They were creepy fucking photos, dude. Tommy was just worried for her.’

‘Tommy never gave a shit about Nancy.’

They reach Jonathan’s floor, and this time he does hold the hallway door open, lets Steve follow him to his room. ‘Tommy only did it because he thought it would impress you. He did all that shit just to impress you.’ Jonathan pulls out his room key, nearly fumbling it and dropping it on the floor, cheeks dusted with pink. 

When the door finally opens, Jonathan looks up. ‘I just thought you’d changed.’

‘Yeah, well, I clearly haven’t. You think I’m a dumb asshole, so I am a dumb asshole.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘Yeah, you did,’ Steve tells him, giving up. ‘You need to stop lying, dude. Weren’t you meant to be busy today? With your brother?’

‘His bus was late.’

‘Sure it was.’

‘His bus was late,' Jonathan repeats adamantly. 'So I used the time to get some commissions done at the lab. Argyle drove over to pick him up.’

‘Stop fucking lying, dude.’

‘I’m not lying.’

‘Yeah, you are. You lied about Nancy, you lied about your brother, and you lied about liking me.’

It's embarrassing. The truth slipping out and the shape of things going past the edges. 

‘What?’ Jonathan asks.

Steve stays in the lines. ‘Nothing,’ he says. ‘It doesn’t matter. Fuck this.’ He spins on his feet.

‘Steve?’

‘What.’

There’s a rush of air as strong arms pull him in, and Steve doesn’t react fast enough to protest, just lets Jonathan kiss him, likes it so much he nearly sighs into Jonathan’s mouth. It’s messy, open mouthed, both hands clinging onto Steve’s jaw, and Steve would love it, if Jonathan would only start telling the truth.

‘I’m not a liar.'

It's whispered into Steve's mouth on a breathy exhale. 

‘Yeah, you fucking are,’ Steve says, before kissing back, pushing Jonathan into his room, biting on his top lip. ‘Can’t fucking believe you sometimes.’

Jonathan twists his hands in Steve’s hair, uses it as an anchor to keep his mouth in place, and they share warm, angry breath, neither one of them willing to give in. ‘You say so much shit.’

‘Well you don’t say anything.’ Steve breaks free, licks over Jonathan’s cheek, over his dimples, his chin, down his neck, and biting his Adam’s apple. Waits until Jonathan gasps before talking again. ‘You’re quiet at the worst times. So fucking stupid.’

The bed sheets slip at the sides of the mattress as Steve rips Jonathan’s jacket off, hands grappling with the black shirt underneath. He fucking hates this outfit, hates how good Jonathan looks in it. Steve tried to copy it last week, the black tee, black jacket, black jeans. Tommy said he looked like a pallbearer.

Jonathan yanks down Steve’s hoodie, then yanks it up, like he doesn’t know where he wants it, he just wants to stretch it out to ruin. They’re basically wrestling now, legs rough and kicking below, arms twisting into fabrics unafraid of tearing. Jonathan keeps on panting, swearing under his breath, throwing his head back on the pillow like he hates that he can’t stop kissing Steve.

Steve nearly tried to fight Jonathan, once, back in Hawkins, alley behind the cinema, some bullshit to do with the lake trip. He didn’t land a punch. Nancy pulled him back by the shoulder and made him drive her home, just to cool off, but he nearly did. Nearly pushed Jonathan onto the dirty street and raised a fist. Even back then, the urge buried deep under his repressed bird-brained soul, which refused to admit anything even remotely gay, even then. Steve knew he shouldn’t have been so excited by the idea.

Maybe that’s why they normally play nice, gentle hands and earnest questions and no dirty talk, unless Steve manages to coax it out of Jonathan through delicate suggestion. They don’t fuck like this, because it reminds them of how they used to be.

But now, they’re not being nice. And it should feel better, doing it like this, filthy, this is how fuckbuddies are meant to be. This is what Steve should want. Maybe it's what Jonathan wants too. 

‘Fuck you. Why are you so... you’re so…’ Jonathan hisses as Steve runs his fingers over his nipples, leaving scratch marks along his chest.

Steve’s hoodie disappears, doesn’t matter where. He unbuttons Jonathan’s jeans, then pulls down his own sweatpants to his knees. Presses the heel of his palm against Jonathan, takes his delicious responding groan as confirmation that the angry sex is going to happen, guns blazing, full steam ahead; and pulls out Jonathan's dick, watches it bounce up in the air.

‘Turn over.’

Jonathan gets his tee off as he turns onto his front, arches his back like he doesn’t realise he’s doing it. Steve shoves Jonathan’s briefs  - black too, obnoxiously - down to his shins. Jonathan’s still got his shoes on, jeans pooling by his ankles, the rest of him bare, skin pale and gleaming, and it looks so filthy it makes Steve’s mouth go dry.

‘Where is it?’ 

Jonathan sighs, lurches his torso over the edge of the bed, comes back with lube and a condom. Steve takes the bottle, pours too much over Jonathan’s ass, spits too for good measure.

‘You didn’t need to do that,’ Jonathan says, still groaning as Steve brings down his hand.

‘I don’t care,’ Steve says.

But then he makes a liar of himself, slips in his finger, still a little shocked that they’re doing it like this, going slowly, because he doesn’t want it to hurt. He’s had Jonathan before, fucked different guys too, but Jonathan normally wants it the other way, and Steve likes it too much to make a fuss. But this, nasty words muttered around slapping skin, this, is the kind of dirty that Steve hasn’t had in a long time. It’s weird, with Jonathan, but it’s also really, really good.

He slides in another finger, starts really thrusting, presses his other hand into the space between Jonathan’s shoulder blades, the skin pink and damp with sweat. Steve doesn’t get it, Jonathan doesn’t work out, he literally doesn’t play any sports, but he has these shoulders, wide and flexing, and this tiny, trim waist. Jonathan’s shoulders make no fucking sense.

‘Why are you-’ Jonathan cuts himself off, moaning low and deep. ‘What about my shoulders?’

Because yeah, Steve was thinking out loud.

‘You’ve got stupid shoulders.’

Jonathan laughs, it's short and cold. He shivers before moving back on Steve’s hand. ‘You talk too much.’

‘Fuck you.’

‘Fuck you too,’ Jonathan says quieter, his cheek smashed against the pillow, then even more low, ‘I don’t get you, Steve.’

‘What’s there to get,’ Steve says, pulling out his fingers. Jonathan lets out a tiny sigh, and Steve spits again, knows Jonathan can’t hate it because his dick looks hard as hell from the side, pre smeared on the sheets, a wet spot on the bed. Steve reaches for the condom. ‘I’m a simple dude.’

He holds himself against Jonathan, sizing himself up. Steve’s big, he’s always known that, but he likes to remember the day he realised Jonathan liked that. Jonathan with flushed cheeks, fully undressed and under the covers, orange morning light illuminating the bags under his eyes, whispering, because Jonathan never talks, but especially not during sex. They were kissing easily, facing each other, fingers entwined above Jonathan’s head. Whatever they’re on the edge of, is a world away from that snoozy Sunday morning.

‘You’re really not,’ Jonathan says, raising his hips, inhaling deep as Steve pushes in. ‘Fuck- okay, okay.’

‘What? Can’t take it, Byers?’

It’s more teasing than he’d usually be, but they’re talking more than they ever had before, and it’s better, if Jonathan keeps on talking back, Steve thinks he might evaporate if he’s left in the silence.

‘Keep going,’ Jonathan says, trying to move his arm under him, but Steve grabs it, twists it and holds it by the base of Jonathan’s spine.

‘No.’ Steve pulls all the way out, then back in. He forgot how tight Jonathan was, how hot it could be, wants it dirtier, thinks he could make it like that, like this, where it all means everything and nothing simultaneously. ‘You can only touch yourself when I tell you to.’

Jonathan groans, shakes his head, but he doesn’t say no. Just pushes back onto Steve, clenches down.

‘Like this, only like this,’ Steve pants, moving in and out, knows he’s muttering nonsense, but Jonathan moans even louder. He’s never been this vocal before.

‘Fuck you. Touch me,’ Jonathan says, and it comes out thin and weak and gorgeous.

‘You want it?’

‘Just do it, fuck.’

‘You want me to touch you?’ Steve asks, pulling out to just the tip, letting go of Jonathan’s wrist to push his face into the pillow, then thrusting back in again. ‘You gotta ask.’

Jonathan doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t move his hand back under, just sighs and groans into the pillow, going breathless as Steve keeps fucking him, two hands gripping onto Jonathan’s hips, leaving red marks when his fingers are digging in. He’s getting there, fast, moaning when the wet sounds of him against Jonathan’s hole echo throughout the room, so fucking dirty, and so not anything they’ve done before.

Then, as Steve pauses, pinching himself at the base just to hold out, he sees Jonathan raise his face - always full of surprises, practically whispering into the headboard, ‘Please.’

‘Please what?’ Steve says, so fucking hot he feels like his dick is a live wire to his brain, draping his chest over Jonathan’s back, pushing in lightly.

‘Please touch me.’

Steve trails his fingers across Jonathan’s stomach, then down to crease between his thigh and pelvis, featherlight touch; teasing. ‘Yeah, you want it that bad?’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ The back of Jonathan’s neck tenses as he swallows. 

‘You want it so bad,’ Steve says, falling into the role like an old friend.

‘Fuck, fuck- yeah, I do.’

Steve wishes he could see Jonathan’s face, that moment where his pinched eyebrows relax, where he’s so horny he can’t be angry at himself for it anymore. It takes him a while to get there, Steve likes to hold his thumb over the wrinkle between Jonathan’s eyebrows as it happens, feel it disappear as he melts into the moment. But they’re not looking at each other, Steve’s fucking him from behind, and it’s hard, and dirty, and filthier than it’s ever been before, and Steve doesn’t know if he loves it, but he knows he likes it, and it’s making him think crazy things.

He ghosts his hand over Jonathan’s dick, makes him beg again, then curls his fist, feel Jonathan hot and pulsing. ‘You fucking love it. Say it.’

‘I fucking love it.’ Jonathan whimpers, bucking up into Steve’s hand. ‘Don’t stop.’

Steve bites back a whine, because this is insane. This is madness. Jonathan’s talking so fucking much, and it feels so good. Makes Steve talk more, too confident, like how he used to be. Stupider, showier, too turned on to second guess it. ‘You’re so desperate, you’d do anything for me.’

‘Yeah, yeah anything.’

Speaking with his lips against Jonathan’s neck, ‘Then beg for it’, he tastes salt and tea tree, makes him plant a quick kiss, quick enough he hopes Jonathan won’t notice, then grazes at the skin with his teeth. ‘Say please.'

‘Please fuck me, please, harder.’ Jonathan sounds winded, but it’s confident, and louder than ever before.

Steve pumps Jonathan once more, then lets go, plants his knees onto the bed, and using all the energy he has left to make a show of it; starts jack hammering.

It’s going so well, faster and faster, and Steve can’t think, he can only talk, and cling onto Jonathan’s stupid sexy waist. It’s dangerous, for Steve to not think, got him into trouble before, plenty of times. He slaps Jonathan’s ass, claws at the flesh and slaps it again, and Jonathan groans something mean, but it comes from his throat, gutted out and pent up.

His body stings with it: this cruel desperation to see Jonathan cum untouched, to shout, to get complaints from the neighbours and make everything awkward in the dining hall. Steve wants so much - that he doesn’t think at all.

With the confidence of someone who’s done it before, but the illiteracy of a guy obsessed with a hard-to-read Byers he may have grown up with, but never successfully understood, Steve growls, then fucks up into Jonathan; and, in a feat of jaw-dropping stupidity, he gives into what maybe is, the dumbest impulse imaginable.

‘Yeah, that’s it, beg for daddy.’

There’s a second, filled with wheezy panting, where he thinks he might have got away with it, but then Jonathan’s shoulders freeze, he holds up his head, gulps, and the click of his mouth closing is the loudest thing Steve has ever heard.

‘Um,’ Steve says, lost, burning with embarrassment. ‘Ignore that.’

Jonathan sags onto the bed, and Steve doesn’t mean to, but his hand slips over Jonathan’s dick as he pulls away, and suddenly, so sudden it must be a scientific achievement, Jonathan has gone soft. Not good soft. Soft-soft, his dick having completely lost any interest in the game.

And like, that happens sometimes, it’s fine, dick and ass biology never really worked procedurally (G-spot up the shitter, seriously God?) but Steve knows this isn’t one of life’s funny mishaps, because Jonathan shuffles away, quickly spins on the bed, pulls up his jeans and sits up, staring ahead, lips sucked in.

‘I didn’t mean to-’ Steve tries.

‘It’s fine.’

Again, Jonathan’s lying. And Steve knows this is his fault, like, actually his fault, but there’s still a petty part of him, that wants to point it out, wants to highlight Jonathan’s bad habits. He perches at the end of the bed, his own erection going down a little too slowly for his liking, as he forces the condom off to chuck at the trash under Jonathan’s desk.

‘You know… you really shouldn’t lie,’ he says, trying to be funny, but then he finally sees Jonathan’s face up close, and fuck, that’s not good, he’s breathing heavy, cheeks pale with ruddy circles, looking like a panicked bunny. It would be cute, if it wasn’t so scary.

‘Hey. Hey? You okay? I really wasn’t trying to be weird. It just came out.’ 

‘It’s fine, its fine.’ Jonathan clutches at his sides, and the tension crackles, too obvious that the vulnerability has crept in where they least wanted it. ‘It’s just… my shit, I dunno…’

‘What is it?’ Steve asks, vaguely aware that he should be apologising by now, for more than this, but he’s petty, and confused, mortified to boot. ‘It’ll be alright, like, you can tell me, if you want,’ he says, trying to be kind.

Jonathan doesn’t move closer, but he lets Steve shuffle up next to him. ‘It’s just… with my dad. I can’t really- I don’t like things like that.’

Steve nods hurriedly, wants to ask, expecting the usual stories, because everyone loves to complain about their dad. Steve does, all the time. ‘What is it? With your dad?’

Jonathan’s pale face changes, eyes swinging over with a harsh glint. He talks rough, annoyed, like Steve is missing the obvious. ‘I think it’s normal to not want to think about my dad when having sex.’

‘Yeah, yeah, I get it.’ Not really, but he’s not going to be asshole about it. ‘But it’s not like your dad, ya’ know? It’s just something guys say, it’s not like….’

‘Dude, just stop talking,’ Jonathan says, ending any hope they had of miraculously making this situation nice.

Which pisses Steve off, makes him huff loudly, flicking his head away with a put-upon sigh. ‘I’m just asking, don’t be a dick.’

‘You don’t need to ask me things. We’re not friends, remember?’

‘Geezus, Byers, can you stop being so fucking difficult? Is it so hard for you to just talk, properly, without being an asshole about it?’

‘Don’t take it so personally, I don’t like talking to most people.’

But Jonathan talks to Argyle, chats up a storm over the college radio, meets up with his friends in the art school every other night, hangs out with Vickie too, apparently, and he’s got his secret long-time collaboration going with Nancy fuckin’ Wheeler. He has loads of friends. Friends he actually talks to, just not Steve. For some reason, Steve’s never been good enough for Jonathan to talk to.

‘You’re so fucking pretentious,’ Steve says, standing up. ‘Why do you say shit like that.’

Jonathan sighs. ‘What do you want me to say.’ It’s not a question, but Steve’s been looking for an opening, so he takes it.

‘You could say what’s going on, with us, or, with you. Just say something honest, for once.’

Jonathan finally turns away from the wall, looks over, his face a little softer. ‘With us?’

‘Yeah, us, dude.’ Steve doubles down, runs a hand through his hair and starts looking for his hoodie on the floor, easier to look down at the carpet than up. ‘Like you don’t need to tell me about your dad, but we need to talk, sometimes, at least.’

‘You seriously don’t remember the stuff with my dad?’

It’s not the part he thought Jonathan would linger on, if he’s honest, but he pushes his head through his hoodie, and finds Jonathan’s face waiting for him, looking up, confused. Expecting.

‘What stuff with your dad?’

‘Oh my god,’ Jonathan mutters, hiding his face in his hands. ‘I can’t…’

‘Dude. Just tell me, I want to know but I’m not a mind-reader.’

‘How do you not remember?’ Jonathan doesn’t shout, because he never does. ‘I told you all of it, and you knew about the shit back home, even when I didn’t want you to.’

‘Back home? What? When did you tell me what?’

‘At that party at the start of the year, you with the Tequila Rose.’

‘We were drunk,' Steve says, thrown off, frantically searching his memory for a clue to help him here. ‘I don’t really remember most of that night.’

‘I wasn’t drunk.’

‘Yeah, but you know what I mean.’

‘No, I fucking don’t know what you mean,’ Jonathan says, standing up, level with Steve. ‘I wasn’t drunk, because I don’t drink, because of my dad.’

These days, Steve, he likes to think, would try to be kinder, he would ask the right questions. Give the person time to open up, but he’s pissed, ashamed, and he hasn’t forgotten all the other shit going on; so, in this porcelain moment, it’s not so easy to be the person he wants to be. It cracks in his hands.

‘You know I was drunk. And you can’t hold that against me. It’s not my fault you don’t tell me anything. Get your shit together or we’re not doing this again.’

‘Oh, woe is me,’ Jonathan deadpans, his sarcasm not as cutting as usual with his throat still bobbing, taking in hasty breaths. ‘I won’t be able to sleep with King Steve again.’

‘Fuck you, don’t call me that.’

‘Just leave, Steve.’

‘I’m already gone.’

He tries to remain haughty as he shoves his feet into his sneakers, grabbing his bag and reaching the door; but with his palm on the handle, he doesn’t want to glance, can’t risk losing here, but Jonathan is still breathing heavy behind him, and Steve knows he basically managed to do everything Robin explicitly told him not to, so….

‘Look, I just… I want to…’

Maybe it would have been the best apology ever given, maybe Jonathan would have gotten over his bullshit and jumped across the room to kiss Steve’s lips numb, then burrow into his side, carve out a space for himself in Steve’s chest, whisper lovely, little soft words into his heart.

But eh, even when it was good, they were never that romantic. Steve too scared to give into those urges, too worried about scaring Jonathan off. More likely, it would just end up as another fight, where Jonathan would say something else pretentious, and Steve would deliberately bring up Tommy again just to be a bitch.

Steve doesn’t know, doesn’t get the chance to find out, because just then, there’s a knock at Jonathan’s door.

They both stare at the grey plywood. Steve retracts his hand. He can’t open the door, this is Jonathan’s room, it’s not Steve’s place to open the goddamn door, but Jonathan is busy looking petrified.

‘Jon-bons? You in? Me and Baby Byers are out here.’

‘Oh my god,’ Jonathan mumbles, trying his best to straighten out his clothes, grabbing his shirt from the floor, flattening his messed-up hair. He motions for Steve to get out the way.

Steve stands by the edge, waiting for the right moment to slip out. Maybe Jonathan’s brother won’t even notice he’s here. Argyle will, but he’s chill, probably knows most of the bullshit anyway.  

There’s another knock, a different voice, sing-song pitch. ‘Jonathan, are you ignoring me?’

Despite everything, Jonathan can’t hide his sudden smile, but he shakes it away soon after, quickly glancing over at Steve.

‘Don’t say anything.’

Steve nods, wipes his mouth, like that will somehow erase any of the illicit activities they recently failed to finish.

‘He’s important to me, okay? You have to take this seriously.’

‘Dude, I want to get outta here as fast as you want me to, do not worry.’

‘Good,’ Jonathan says, approaching the door, turning round to warn Steve one more time. ‘You’re not part of my life, you don’t get to talk to him.’

It stings more than anything else he’s said tonight, so Steve closes his eyes, and snorts like he doesn’t care. ‘No talking, got it.’

He watches as the Jonathan opens the door, and Argyle falls in with a grin, slurping at a Big Gulp, followed by the mysterious Baby Byers, swaying in with both hands holding onto the straps of a filled to the brim backpack.

Jonathan seems to forget his previous panic, just pulls his brother in for a hug, and they both smile, eyes closed, chins hooked over shoulders. They have the same shaggy hair, and Steve guesses that Baby Byers also suffered through a bowl-cut era, growing it out into something presentable just like Jonathan. It’s cute, how they match.

‘You bros are so sweet,’ Argyle says, chewing on his straw. He leans an elbow on Steve’s shoulder as they watch, effectively halting Steve’s planned exit. ‘Me and S'evie are jealous.’

‘Speak for yourself, man,’ Steve says, not meaning it, but it’s easy joking with Argyle. He talks to everyone, unlike some people.

‘Nah, come here, lets hug to balance out the universe, dude.’ And then he throws his arms around Steve and lifts him up in a bear hug, his feet dangling off the floor. What is it with these artistic types who literally never work out? How can they be so stupidly strong?

Still, he giggles with it, Argyle’s good vibes unstoppable to improve his mood despite the sheen of sweaty shame on his forehead. Eventually he gets plopped down on the floor, and thinks, this is it; time to run. But now that Baby Byers isn’t being hugged, he’s standing separate of his brother, observing Steve like a bug trapped under a water glass.

‘You’re Steve,’ he says, ignoring his older brother's gentle bat to his arm. His eyes are rounder than Jonathan’s, but no less sharp, glinting with a scrutinising shine.

‘Yeah, I’m Steve. Sorry, Jonathan didn’t tell me your name.’

‘It’s Will,’ Says Will, eyes still tight, but hand thrown out, strangely formal for a teenager, and the corner of his mouth twitches when Steve accepts it; remembering to shake firm and strong, because Steve’s dad didn’t teach him much, but he did teach him that a strong handshake goes a long way when feeling intimidated.

‘Nice to meet you Steve, I’ve heard a lot about you.’

‘Really?’ Steve asks, genuinely surprised, as Jonathan sighs heavy and says, ‘Really?’ not sounding surprised, just unimpressed, in that brotherly way that Steve is actually, always a little jealous of when watching siblings in action, after growing up in his perpetual only child solitude.

‘Yeah,’ Will says, leaning forward on his toes, smiling at his brother with a touch of unexpected malice. ‘Loads.’

Will lowers his backpack, holds it above the bed, like he’s looking for a place to settle; and then Argyle and Jonathan’s eyes meet with a sudden jolt, brainwaves jumping across the room.

It’s not like Steve is overly proud of his growing telepathy with Robin, but he knows they’ve got some psychic connection that few other friendships can compete with; so he’s a little miffed to realise that Argyle and Jonathan maybe catching up on those skills; because they both swing their eyeline over to the incriminating wet patch on the bed (Steve does kinda feel guilty about the spit now) with Argyle nodding solemnly, whispering a ‘Hail Mary’ under his breath, before proceeding to fling the considerable leftovers of his Big Gulp onto the blankets, a pint of Dr Pepper covering the mess of lube and pre-cum.

‘What…’ Will laughs, ‘What was that?’

‘Butter fingers me, honestly, I gotta build up the traction on these guys.’ Argyle flutters his fingers, rubbing his thumbs against his palms. ‘Looks like you are in need of a laundry run, my dude.’ He doesn’t ask before tearing off the bed sheets and bundling them up in his arms. ‘Wanna see how students wash their clothes? There’s hella machines down there, shit goes on for miles.’

Will shakes his head politely, doesn’t hide his laughter at the situation, but luckily for all blushing adults involved, he seems none the wiser. Argyle turns his attention onto Jonathan, and now post Big Gulp flood, seems to realise why Steve is there, why Steve is standing next to a wet patch on the bed, fortunately - because Argyle is cool, he’s not angry at Steve, but he’s got some stern expressions suggesting big questions for Jonathan to answer, ushering him away in the direction of the laundry room.

‘It’s really fine, dude, we can sort out the sheets later.’

‘Nah Byers, andale, andale, your bro will be fine on his own, anyway you gotta show me how much fabric softener you like, maybe tell me more about how you kerplunked your cold turkey romance plans and if I gotta deal with mopey dick any longer….’

And the rest of Argyle’s confusing tangent is lost behind a closed door.

So now, with a bare mattress smelling like soda behind them, Steve stands, his speedy exit ruined entirely, with Will Byers, who keeps on looking at him.

‘I should head, but um, nice meeting you, man.’

‘When did you start hanging out with my brother?’

Will takes the desk chair, sits with his legs spread out. He’s got this shy quirk to his brows, like he’s surprised by his own forthright attitude, but he’s committed, and he keeps looking, and Steve realises quick, that in the course of saving Jonathan from his distress of post-failed-sexual-escapade shame, Argyle may have thrown Steve to the wolves; if the wolf in question is an underage nerd wearing a Caroline Polachek t-shirt under a very sensible blue button up.

Steve’s phone buzzes in the pocket of his backpack, and he knows it’s Tommy, remembers the lazy plan about meeting up for drinks he made last night to placate him. He has no obligation to stay in this dorm room, with Will Byers’ strangely confronting questions, but it’s not like he wants to hang out with Tommy either.

‘He mentioned you’re from Hawkins?’ Will adds on.

‘Yeah, yeah, I graduated with him. We started hanging out after moving here, same dorm, ya’ know.’

‘Huh,’ Will says, tapping a finger against his chin, like it’s a performance he prepared earlier. ‘But you didn’t hang out with him back home?’

‘Not really,’ Steve says, feels his phone buzz again and takes it out to check. ‘Different classes and stuff.’

‘Sure.’ Will rests his arms on his knees, smiles like he doesn’t believe it, but doesn’t hate Steve for it either.

Steve checks his phone and yep, two messages from Tommy, talking about some party going on just off campus, demanding Steve come along, then, another buzz, texts not from Tommy.

J: can you leave before I get back?

…

J: please don’t be weird

Which is super accusatory, Steve thinks. He gets why Jonathan is still pissed, but it’s not like Steve would say anything to Will, he’s not that spiteful.

Will is searching through his backpack, looks up to smile at Steve again. ‘You getting food with us? Argyle said he was going to get us a deal at that pizza place nearby.’

Another message blinks on his screen. Jonathan rarely double texts, let alone thrice.

J: don’t say anything

..

J: I don’t want to see you again

Steve leaves him on read.

‘Yeah, lets get pizza. I’ll pay. You like pineapple and ham?’

Will nods happily, and Steve sits on the floor, cross-legged, setting up for a long night. It feels wrong, skin tacky from sweat and guilt, but then Will is asking questions, looking bright and excited to see Steve, so it feels easy to stay too.

‘So, Will. Do you know Nancy too?’

‘Yeah, kinda, why? Oh god, please don’t tell me Jonathan’s been moping over her again.’

‘Bet he wouldn’t want you hearing that.’

Will laughs, and Steve can’t help but notice how similar it is to Jonathan; the quiet shake of his head, cheeks squeezing.

‘You’re his friend though, you get it.’

And Steve doesn’t correct him, just sits and asks more questions he knows Jonathan would hate to hear.

If feels good, if crude, forcing his way into even more of Jonathan's life, with a vindictive sharpness he hasn’t used in a long time.

Maybe Steve is that spiteful after all.  

Chapter Text

Some people have an uncanny ability to pick up on Steve’s bullshit before they ever come close to even encountering it. Robin did, the smarty pants. Steve had barely tripped through Scoops’ red archway with his shaky job application before she threw up her arms and declared him a buffoon. Buffoon, she literally used that word, made it hard to be scared of her after that. Made it easier for Steve to ignore her instant disdain for his everything; and slide up to her in his shiny new uniform and spin his stupid sailor hat in the air trying to impress. Robin learnt to like him, not the way he wanted at first, but she saw his bullshit clear as day, called him out on the King Steve attitude, and still, somehow became his friend.

He loves her more, for that. Seeing his bullshit, and still choosing to be his friend.

Looking back, Nancy picked up on it immediately. Steve passing her a note in English class and smiling like he knew it was silly, hounding her through the halls and offering to carry her books everyday until she gave him a reply; a handwritten YES on a scrap of yellow college rule, underlined and capitalised, not because she was keen, but because she was tired of him asking.

Nancy probably thought she could hack it, tear down the bullshit and rebuild him better. An intellectual pursuit: breaking Steve Harrington down into something malleable, making him good, spinning gold from cotton thread. Besides Nancy failing to get into Emerson, Steve may have ended up being her greatest intellectual failure.

She broke up with him a couple days after the almost-fight in the alleyway. She was rehearsed and methodical, said they were going in different directions, an unexpected offer for Columbia waiting for her, announcing a new life in a city of nameless people. She told him he was a good boyfriend, but maybe not a good person. She used her kinder tone, the sweet one that always slightly mesmerised him, meant the pain of letting her down only kicked in an hour after she drove out of Loch Nora.

But teenage breakups happen all the time, like Tommy said, consoling him over beers stolen from the gas station, atop the Beemer with their feet dangling by the quarry, lying low, the short mirage making it look like they were closer to the edge, teenage boys playing with oblivion; told Steve that only weirdos stay with their high school sweethearts.

That’s what Steve tells himself when he thinks about letting Nancy down.

He always knew Jonathan could see it. Jonathan had suffered through it first-hand, wasn’t given a chance to prepare. Got the metaphorical bullshit flung onto his face every day from the start of middle school onwards. Steve thought he was getting better at hiding it, disguising the muddy parts that make up his insides. But Jonathan Byers always saw past the mask, because Steve never went to the effort of a beautiful disguise around him, not until it was too late.

Makes sense that Will Byers sees past it too.

The difference here, the saving grace in Steve’s return to the bitchy bullshit that powered his youth, is that Will simply doesn’t care. Because maybe Will knows that Steve has very recently acted like a douchebag around his big brother, and maybe Will is having a lot of fun fucking with him because of that knowledge. Because every time Steve asks him something leading, wanting to uncover another shred of top-secret Jonathan Byers’ intel, Will ignores him, and keeps on talking about fucking wizards.

Or warlocks, and spellcasting, and knights- no not knights, Will was very clear about that. It’s Paladins, actually. Will keeps on talking about Paladins, and Steve is completely lost.

He’d asked about Nancy, and Will brought up how Jonathan used to have a crush on her (old news, not very useful) and then Will mentioned how his wizard game character used to have a crush on a Cleric, and then Steve had to dumbly ask what the fuck a Cleric was, and he didn’t have the attitude to send a withering glare over as Will pulled out his sketchbook and soared into a ten minute deep-dive, because Will looked so ridiculously happy, and Steve always has a soft spot for nerds, especially when they get all over-eager about bullshit like this.

Jonathan does the same thing when talking about camera parts, so Steve feels like he should be grateful they’re talking about wizards, and not the miniscule degrade in quality when scanning 35mm film digitally, because at least there’s some funky magic going on here.

‘So, did Jonathan ever play wizards with you guys?’

‘It’s Dungeon and Dragons,’ Will says, correcting him politely, and he does this thing where he plays coy, eyes wide and honest, like he just has no idea how frustrating he’s being, but then a quick smirk sneaks through the act, and Steve fucking knows, alright? He fucking knows that this kid is taking delight in messing with him.

‘It’s not his thing, but Nancy dressed up as an elf princess once for a game, but anyway, doesn’t matter. What’s important is, that Mike’s Paladin is having a baby with this Tiefling that Dustin dragged into the party…’

And on Will goes, spinning through the pages of his sketchbook, showing off different character designs.

Steve looks down to the tracker on his DoorDash, willing the driver to get here quicker, so he has an excuse to take a breather outside when he picks up the pizza.

Will turns another page of his sketchbook, revealing an admittedly, very cool looking Paladin in shining armour; a heart emblazoned on his chest piece, the drawing made from black lines outlining pools of watery paint.

‘That’s sick, man,’ Steve says, pointing.

Will blushes slightly, slows down, chooses his words carefully as he describes the character, an interpretation of Mike’s Paladin. He says Mike, like it’s obvious, like he’s a friend Steve’s known for years.

Steve, giving up on his attempt at deducing secrets about Jonathan, picks up on the change in tone, tries to pick up something else he might be able to use against Jonathan.

‘How long have you known Mike?’ And the unsaid part too; does your big brother know that you have a massive crush on this fellow nerd, or can Steve be given the smug glee of telling him first. See, your little brother wants to talk to me. He tells me secrets.

‘We grew up together.’

‘What's he like? He a good dude?’

It’s a risk, asking. Steve almost led with do you like-like him, but that would have been too childish, to head on for a teenager, so he leaves space for Will to deflect, to bend anyway from his questions, like Jonathan always does.

Maybe it’s because he’s cross-legged on the bedroom floor, Will sitting knees up on the desk chair above him. Like whatever Steve says can’t be scary, can’t ring with the King Steve demeanour that used to hurt kids like Will Byers, not when he’s so far below.

‘He’s my best friend.’ Will closes his sketchbook, his eyes move up and down, examining Steve for something that he hopes can’t be found. ‘He’s my boyfriend.’

Steve doesn’t wait long to react, thinks he needs to look happy, fast, doesn’t want to look scary, not after something that brave. 

‘Nice.’ Followed by a bright smile, grinning with his teeth hidden behind his lips, nothing sharp. ‘That’s sweet, dude. How long have you been dating?’

‘Only a couple weeks,’ Will says, looking down at his lap in thought. ‘He came out after me… so ya’ know how it is.’

‘Yeah, yeah, I sure do.’

It wasn’t meant to be funny, but he’s not sad when he hears Will laughs a little, looking up with a secretive smile. ‘Are you…?’

Steve wants to quip something fast; silly and smart, like Robin would – like queer as a five-dollar bill, buckaroo – but they’re not quite there yet, not in a conversation which started with Steve’s petty lies and Will’s confronting truths.

So, he shrugs, lets the silence speak for him.

‘Girls too?’

‘Yeah, I’m bi.’

‘Oh. Cool. Mike is too.’ Will nods, almost too enthusiastic, like he’s the one comforting Steve, like he’s the wise gay elder in the situation. Steve has had enough of Robin assuming the position as his queer motivator (she’s totally unqualified for the job, her gaydar is atrocious) that it makes him bristle. He sits up straighter, reminds himself of his previous objective.

‘Does your brother know?’

‘Yeah.’ Will smiles. ‘He does.’

Shoot. Steve isn’t in the habit of outing people, but he would have had a delicious moment of righteousness, if say; Will had decided to come out to Jonathan tonight, and Jonathan would mention it tomorrow, and Steve could upturn his entire world by going; hahaha actually, your brother told me first, because he thinks I’m cool like that.

‘Have you told him about Mike?’

‘No, no,’ Will says, fiddling with his sketchbook. ‘It’s a new thing, figuring out how I want to tell him.’

Score. Steve can use that. Lace it into conversation, a tight bind connecting him to Jonathan’s life.

‘Does your family know about Jonathan?’ Will pulls back after he says it, like he knows it’s revealing. In the motion, Steve measures the careful dip to Will’s confidence, the confession of knowing something long before he was meant to.

It wasn’t just Steve playing the gossip game, seeking out secrets he wasn’t indebted to. Will was playing too, with a stealthier hand.

Will knew Steve liked boys before he even asked, most likely because he knew Steve likes one specific mopheaded moody-as-shit boy, the boy who pulled him into this mean little mess.

The mophead in question, somehow taking close to an hour to shove his sheets into the laundry machine downstairs.

The mood changes, or maybe Steve just feels that in himself, less petty, less of an urge to keep up the bitterness. Without planning, he’s ended up pleasantly chatting to Will Byers, and he can’t say he entirely regrets it.

‘My mom knows about me,’ Steve says, skirting the truth. ‘I haven’t mentioned Jonathan to them.’

‘Why not?’ Will asks, derisive. He still looks nervous about it, but it’s like the scorn outweighs his worries; he’s not happy about someone hiding his big brother.

And Steve almost wants to tell him, wants to break down the varying levels of bullshit to his relationship with his Jonathan, but somewhere along the line, the word fuckbuddy might pop out, and he can’t be the one to explain that to sweet Will Byers, definitely not when those explicit words apply to his big brother.

‘We’re not there yet.’

Will accepts this with a funny, sharp nod.  

‘Does your dad know about you?’ He asks, not giving up on digging down inside Steve’s brain. He doesn’t seem like someone who doesn’t know the unspoken conversational boundary, just today, he’s set with a determination that beats social awkwardness.

‘Not really.’ Steve hasn’t told his mom, but he’s pretty sure she worked it out. His dad doesn’t care enough to investigate.

‘Me neither,’ Will says, ‘Not really.’

‘What’s your dad like?’ Steve remembers the old high school stories, but he wants the truth.

Will’s eyes flash, piercing but calm. ‘Not around much. He’s trying to talk to me more, keeps on inviting us up to stay at his place. But Jonathan won’t go. I can’t decide.’

‘Why would Jonathan not go?’ Steve asks. ‘I know dads are shit, but it might be worth it. Make amends and all that.’

Will nods along, but huffs slightly, preparing to talk. ‘You know in Hawkins…’ It’s the start of another story, but it feels important, so Steve tries his best to listen, to say better things than before.

‘Jonathan said you used to have massive house parties.’

Steve laughs, confused. ‘Yeah, I suppose. Why?’

‘You ever meet Chief Hopper?’ Will asks, more serious than Steve expected. ‘Did he ever break up your parties?’

‘Oh my god. Hopper, man, I forgot all about him.’ Steve groans, smiling like it’s a fond memory, like he didn’t nearly shit his pants when Hopper turned up on his doorstep, kicking at the litter of red solo cups and inebriated underclassmen.

Will laughs, props his arm up on a knee and rests his chin in his hand. ‘Yeah? You remember Hopper?’

‘I remember him, really hope he doesn’t remember me,’ Steve says, ‘He was ruthless when he wanted to be.’

‘He’s alright when you get to know him. Kinda a softie, really.’

Steve laughs at it, Will talking about Hopper like their old friends. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’ Will repeats, adamant, and the assuredness isn’t an echo, but the bell that rung out; like Jonathan picked up his certainness from his younger brother, and not the other way round.

‘How’d you get to know Chief Hopper then?’

‘My mom’s dating him.’

‘Woah.’

Will shakes his head with an abashed smile, rolls his eyes, clearly having experienced this reaction before. ‘It’s not that weird.’

‘I didn’t say it was weird.’

‘Well, I know it’s a bit weird.’

‘Super weird.’

Will laughs brightly, amused by the contradiction.

Steve presses his hands into the carpet, his arms stretched out behind him, laughing too.

‘When did that happen then? Hopper and your mom?’ Last he heard, small town gossip said Hopper was living out his middle-aged years in his singledom, locked up in a dusty trailer by the interstate.

Will tilts his head slightly, an obvious tell, a warning. This is what Steve’s been hoping for all night. From Jonathan, from Will, from anyone good; trusting him with something real.

‘He used to drop by our house a lot, checking in on me and mom. Jonathan called him over a couple times,’ Will says, looking up, like he’s checking that Steve’s listening. ‘Our dad used to get in trouble, I thought you’d maybe heard about it.’

‘I heard rumours.’

He started rumours, more like. Sudden defence, his parents chatter round the dining table following Steve into the cafeteria, chewed on, spat out when he needed a way to separate himself from Jonathan, split the levels. Couldn’t have Jonathan telling anyone, that sometimes when he glanced over, Steve was already looking.

The Byers were an easy punching bag, his mom used to say, and Steve picked up the boxing gloves quicker than most, afraid and unthinking.

Poor family, bad haircuts, cheap clothes, distant dad, probably unscrupulous, used to beat his wife, did ya’ hear, no one minding checking in on Joyce Byers for it, well, no one other than Chief Hopper, apparently.

‘You should. You should believe the rumours,’ Will says, quieter. 

‘Shit,’ Steve says, his mouth moving before he can stop it. Only further proof that he’s the emotionally constipated idiot he is, but the truth is dropping, heavy landing, crestfallen, and the guilt is rising to replace the empty space, hanging negative in the air.

‘Yeah. Shit.’

‘Did he… prison?’

‘Only county jail, a couple months. He’s been out for a few years. He got sober while he was in there.’

‘And you… Jonathan, I mean… did he hurt…’

It’s useless, it’s nothing, stumbling and muttering around the darkness, but Steve can’t hide his clumsy need to know, to finally understand what he got wrong. Suspicions and rumours aren’t anything until he knows the truth.

Will confirms it with a glib, ‘Yep.’ Popping the P, like it’s funny, but his eyes shine a little wetter, he raises the back of his hand to wipe his nose. It confirms every nightmare floating in Steve’s head. ‘Not me. But Jonathan, and mom.’

His phone buzzes, their driver nearby. Steve leaves the screen awake on the floor, hands on his knees, not happy to finish just yet.

He tries; he tries so fucking hard. Because understanding breeds guilt quickly, and he feels the shame stick to his skin again, the sweat and lube dried tacky on his legs. He didn’t know, but he did, he knew enough to make it hurt, back in the day.

Daddy.

Christ, what was he thinking.

He's spent the last few months counting the ways Jonathan shrinks and wavers in conversation, quiet confidence growing on an unsteady path; only now does Steve realise it was maybe because college is the first time he hasn’t had obstacles in his way.

A looming, horribly human figure following him through Hawkins, if not in person, in hearsay. Lonnie Byers, that was his name, how could Steve forget that name. Jacked a car or two. Screaming matches on the outskirts of the suburbs, the ugly prefabs a mile behind Steve’s house, the families the town pretends to not despise.

Steve was stupid enough to forget, clouded by Tequila Rose and Sambuca and the excitement of being a new person. Steve thinks everyone hates their dad, but Jonathan is one of the few people who has a right to despise his. So different from Steve, from Tommy, from anyone else he’s ever met.

He can make it right, properly this time. A sober apology.

He needs to talk to Jonathan.

‘Thank you for telling me.’

The smile grows slowly on Will’s face, wiser than his years, tired, there’s something else in the fine lines by his lips, the curl that suggests the lighter side of mocking. Will knows Steve forgot.

‘It’s alright. I think Jonathan would want you to know.’

‘I dunno about that.’ The phone buzzes again, and Steve checks the rider’s distance, stands up and rests the door on the latch. ‘But seriously, thank you for telling me, you didn’t have to.’

‘I like you, Steve.’

‘Oh.’ He can’t hide his surprise, can’t help but hope that Will sees through him, just like Jonathan, but that maybe he doesn’t hate what’s behind the veil. ‘I like you too, man.’

‘Cool. You can go get my pizza now,’ Will says, acting up, making everything funny again. Jonathan’s good at that too, when he wants to be.

Steve laughs, too relieved to be offended, anxiety and excitement growing in the same breath. He throws Will some finger guns before he leaves. ‘On it, dude.’ 

The door closes and he runs down the stairs with his phone in his hands, both thumbs tapping away at the screen.

J: I don’t want to see you again

..

               Read 17:36

S: Can we talk?

Let me apologise, let me say sorry, let me make a fool out of myself one more time just to make it fair.

Never Daddy, literally never again. I’ll honestly let you gag me and decorate me with a pink collar and walk me like a dog in sexual retaliation, if that helps.

But Jonathan’s not a freak like that (Steve might be, he doesn’t know, still figuring it out) so Steve leaves the message short and simple. Picks up the food from the driver and runs back up the stairs, eyeing up the ticking bubble under his message, as Jonathan types, deletes, then types again.

He stares at his phone as he pushes into Jonathan’s room, drops the food on the bare bed and doesn’t look up when Will thanks him.

Jonathan types some more. The bubble disappears completely. Then it comes back. Steve decides to be more honest.

S: I want to say sorry.

‘What’s up?’ Will asks, folding open the pizza box and stealing a chunk of pineapple.

‘Nothing, just, waiting on your bro.’

‘He messaged just now, said he’s on his way back with pizza from Argyle’s place, so we’re going to have loads of food.’

So Jonathan’s hands do still work, they haven’t been ripped apart in a freak laundry accident leaving him incapable of replying to Steve’s message.

He rips up the pizza box into plates, takes out the tissues from Jonathan’s side table to leave aside for greasy hands. Settles back on the carpet, listening to Will talk between bites, glancing between him and the phone, the message never coming through.

He doesn’t hear them walking down the hallway, just jumps when Argyle and Jonathan open the door. Jonathan jumps too, the boxes in his arms nearly falling.

‘You’re still here.’

‘I’m still here.’

Steve likes to think that Jonathan was a cat in another life, keeping some of those habits, like now, eyes wide, jumping on hindlegs when he doesn’t expect a person to be lurking in his den. One of those black cats that cross the sidewalk and make old ladies whisper about bad luck, who narrow their feline eyes while licking at their claws, reminding onlookers that if they could, if they wanted to, leave a red scratch, but then with a little perseverance, and some dishes of tuna left out by the alleyway steps, they’ll warm up to you, let you pet their head as they nuzzle your shins.  

‘I told you to leave,’ Jonathan says, his surprised tone morphing back into a nervous purr again. He winces after he says it, shakes his head, knows he’s being too blunt in the presence of others, even though Argyle clearly knows what’s up, keeps on wiggling his eyebrows in Steve’s direction as he takes the food from Jonathan’s arms. He drops the boxes by Will’s side on the desk, and the two of them watch on, eyebrows dancing and lips curling, aware in an infuriatingly goofy way.

There’s an apology at the tip of Steve’s tongue, but like normal, Jonathan gets their first.

‘Sorry.’

Steve almost flinches at the sound, wants to run up and make it right, instantly, can’t wait for this to be over, the awkward in-between, but how can he say what he needs to say now, here, without making it even ickier.

‘Sorry, of course you can stay, I just…’

‘I can go.’ Steve moves on to his knees, grabbing at his bag.

‘No! Dude, you can’t.’ Argyle lunges forward, forces Steve back down on to the floor by his shoulders. ‘You ordered food too! You have to eat some of this bounty, we gonna be living off pizza for days if you don’t.’

‘Yeah, dude, stay,’ Will says, delicately wiping tomato sauce from his lips.

He waits for Jonathan to look at him, to confirm. Jonathan tilts his head in a quiet nod, a shy smile, a wave of his hand as he pulls out fresh sheets for the bed. It’s enough.

They decide to eat in the common room. As Argyle amuses with his, honestly, confusingly high praise for Surfer Boy pizza, Steve takes out his phone.

S: I’m dumb

And because he never fucked up with Robin like he fucked up with Jonathan, she replies in seconds.

R: Stop it! Ur not

S: I am the dumbest

S: You need to make me stop

R: Jonathan?

S: Yeah.

He slides to a different contact, glances over at Jonathan as he asks Argyle and Will to pack up the food and soda.

S: Is it really okay?

Jonathan doesn’t reply, and Steve doesn't see him touch his phone, but as he stands, Jonathan takes his shoulder, talks under his breath.

‘It’s okay.’

His hand slides down to Steve’s arm, sweaty palm lingering, but he looks away fast, letting go to run after his brother. It’s the nicest thing Steve’s heard all day, so he follows too.

It’s late enough on a Saturday that everyone leaves them alone in the common room, doors from the hallway slamming as people make big plans for the night. Steve would usually be with them, reminds himself to come up with a good excuse to tell Tommy next time he sees him, because this; hanging out with his not-boyfriend’s best friend and his not-boyfriend’s little brother, eating too much pizza and drinking off brand cola, as Star Trek reruns play on the TV beside the tacky grey pleather couches, this, is not the kind of Saturday night Tommy would be impressed by, not when there was a party off-campus Steve was expected to show face at.

Jonathan sits next to Steve on the couch, takes a while to move his legs into position, leaning a little into Steve’s side. He smiles when he’s settled, doesn’t look at Steve, just lets their arms touch. He doesn’t say: I accept your apology and you’re the best I’ve ever had and you are too handsome for me to behave like a normal human being and also, I think we should be boyfriends - But it feels a step closer.

‘Wait. You study astrophysics?’

‘Yeah, dude, why are you so surprised?’

Will ponders this for a moment, chewing rapidly on his last slice of pepperoni, swallows before speaking. ‘You’re right. It makes total sense that you study astrophysics.’

‘Thank you.’ Argyle nods, his frown disappearing. ‘You thinking of college? Wanna come here like your big bro?’

‘I looked at the art school, like illustration, maybe? I dunno. I don’t think I’d get a scholarship like Jonathan.’

‘Hey.’ Jonathan perks up. ‘You could totally get a scholarship. We’ll find a way.’

Will shrugs, but he smiles after. ‘Do you have one, Steve?’

Steve pretends to sigh, knocks his fist against his head. ‘No way, dude. Not brainy enough.’

‘Oh.’ Will laughs. ‘Sorry.’

‘Nah, don’t be. I'm lucky, my parents help me out. I just wasn’t that good at school, ya’know? Never been that hardworking.’

Jonathan tuts. ‘That’s not true.’ He turns to Will. ‘He gets up at 5am, everyday, for swim practice.’

‘Ew. Gross,’ Will says, genuinely horrified at the idea.

‘I get Sundays off.’

‘Yeah, but, like, 5am, dude,’ Jonathan says, smiling up at him, making Steve squirm.

‘Yeah, but that’s not like hardworking, that’s just swimming.’

‘Aren’t you guys like, super-duper champions of the water world or something?’ Argyle asks. ‘You swim like a dolphin, man.’ He raises his hand and bends the fingers in a wave motion. ‘Just up and down and up and down…’

Jonathan looks confused. ‘You’ve seen him swim?’

‘Yeah,’ Argyle says, still waving his fingers. ‘You haven’t?’

‘Um. No, he hasn’t,’ Steve says, embarrassed, because, yeah, he’s asked people to his swim meets before; Robin screams from the seats if she can, Tommy always comes along, usually hungover but still cheering; Argyle only came once and he snuck in weed brownies to eat poolside which was kinda gross, to be honest, but Jonathan…

‘N-no, I never got the chance.’

‘But! But, like, like you’re busy with commissions and things right?’ Steve says, desperate to push past the awkwardness. ‘Talk about hardworking, am'irght?’ He swings a thumb up to Jonathan. ‘This guy’s taking photos for more newspapers than I can read.’

‘You don’t read any newspapers,’ Jonathan says, blushing slightly.

‘Yeah, exactly,’ Steve says, looks over to Will. ‘Have you seen his photos?’

‘Not in a while,’ Will says, tilting his head, ‘Can I see what you’ve been working on?’

Jonathan shuffles on the couch, crosses his arms, opens his mouth to start saying No.

‘Pretty please?’ Will adds, with a put upon pout. ‘Please?’

Jonathan falls for it, instantly, sighs happily as he waves Will away and tells him to get the folder of his recent work from the messenger bag left in the dorm room. Which was a mistake, because now it’s just the three of them, and with no seemingly innocent younger sibling to encourage restraint, Argyle goes back to looking stupidly smug about the whole situation.

'What.' Steve huffs.

'You filthy beanpoles.'

Jonathan rolls his eyes. Argyle keeps smirking.

Steve, while feeling slightly disgusting and icky, is always less embarrassed about these things. 'Why do you look so happy about it?' 

Argyle wipes his greasy hands on his sweatpants, then starts braiding his hair, maddeningly nonchalant. ‘Just cool to see you dudes getting along again is all.’

‘It’s not like that…’ Jonathan says, sitting up, moving away from Steve’s side.

‘It’s not?’ Steve asks, stupidly hopeful.

‘It’s not,’ Says Jonathan, certain, but just above a whisper.

Argyle braids his hair silently, making faces at Jonathan that Steve pretends to not see.

And it’s so so fucking awkward.

There’s the sound of another door slamming in the hallway, with Will bouncing back in shortly after. He lands next to Jonathan, inhales slowly as he takes in the scene, and he’s a perceptive nerd it seems, because he immediately gives Steve this unbearably soft smile, top lip bitten, like he feels sorry for him. Steve shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair, smiles back, like nothing is wrong.

Will holds the folder of photos by his chest. ‘Are you sure I can see them?’

‘Yeah,’ Jonathan says, moving an inch so his shoulders block Steve’s view. ‘Of course.’

Will goes through them carefully, holding each by the edge, fingers under the gloss. ‘These are so cool. Is that the tree by the library?’

‘Yeah, do you like the negative space thing I did-’

‘With the shadows?’ Will nods excitedly. ‘The contrast looks great.’

‘That one is from the convention they had on campus last week.’

‘They have a comic con here? That's so cool. Wow, her costume is amazing.’

‘You should come next year,’ Jonathan says, smiling like he really means it. 'Bring your friends.'

‘That would be fun, Dustin would explode if he got a chance to show off his cosplay.’ He turns to another photo. ‘Oh my god, how did you make furries look so artistic.’

Jonathan beams as he stretches an arm over Will’s shoulder.

‘That dude’s codpiece is insane.’ Argyle comments, leaning closer to look. ‘What’s he meant to be?’

‘Furry Deadpool,’ Jonathan says, ‘Don’t ask, he didn’t explain. Do you like the composition though?’

‘Oh yeah, the line work around the mega Deadpool Dick is superb, man,’ Argyle says, with complete sincerity.

Steve watches on, trying to catch a glimpse over Jonathan’s shoulder. It always makes him feel dumb when Jonathan shows him his photographs, he never has anything to say, just cool, or really cool, or why black and white dude, they invented colours back in the 70s, and Jonathan pretends to scowl before launching into a lecture about the importance of learning lighting before colour contrast, and Steve listens on, with a dreamy gaze that Robin calls his loved-up loser look.

Will turns to the last photo, nearly drops the entire pile on the dirty coffee table. He goes pale, wide eyed, blinking rapidly. Argyle laughs, loudly.

‘What is it?’ Steve asks, finally pushing a frozen Jonathan out the way to get a look, and - Shit. He hears Will cough pointedly. Double shit.

It’s Steve. (That photograph, I bet I look good in it.)

Black and white, light cascading through the window, the edge of Jonathan’s plaid bed sheets peeking out at the bottom, it’s Steve, sitting on the window ledge, cigarette in hand, smoke gathering in a cloud behind his head.

It would be fine and dandy for some college art project, probably get a stellar critique because he looks good, like, Jonathan’s made him look movie-star good, but one glaring detail makes the image entirely inappropriate for present company.

Steve is topless, almost naked really, only thing hiding the juiciest details being a pair of boxers, black, because he remembers stealing a pair off Jonathan that morning.

‘Woah. I didn’t know you were doing that kind of photography, man,’ Argyle says, grinning.

Jonathan snatches it back from him. ‘Okay, photo time over.’

Will wakes up from his dumbfounded state with a startle, reaching out for the photo. ‘What! No, no it’s fine. Hey, do you have anymore…’

‘Absolutely not.’

A red faced Jonathan quickly ties the folder up, flicking the band and standing up suddenly. ‘I’m putting these away.’

Maybe Steve should be more embarrassed, but like, he looks good, and Jonathan said he would give him that photo, so… when Jonathan hightails it out of the common room, escaping a giggling Will and Argyle, Steve runs after him.

Jonathan stops outside his room, sags against the wall. ‘Kill me.’

Steve laughs, leans against the wall next to him.

‘Seriously, please just knock me out and throw my body into the White River.’

‘No can do, sorry.’

Jonathan slaps his head against the wall with his eyes closed. ‘Do you think we could go back to the time when Will thought I didn’t have any friends, or ya’know, a sex life.’

‘Too late,’ Steve says, smiling. ‘He definitely knows. But if his reaction to my photo is anything to go by….’

‘Steve, please no…’

‘He definitely approves of your sex life.’

Jonathan groans, a shy almost-laughing smile slipping through the exhaustion. ‘Sorry.’

‘What for?’

‘I should have remembered that photo was there.’

Steve smiles, leans closer. ‘No sweat dude, and anyway, I don’t care, like, I looked really good.’

‘Of course that’s your reaction.’ Jonathan slowly opens his eyes, eyelashes fluttering. He turns slightly, nearly facing Steve, realises how close they are, moves away from the wall, standing opposite him. ‘I told you to go.’

‘I got caught up talking to Will.’ Steve lies, feeling guiltier than he thought it would. ‘He’s cool.’

‘Yeah, he is.’ Jonathan stands up straighter, the hand holding the folder moving down to his waist. ‘I got your text.’

Steve says it again, pours all he has into making it sound genuine. ‘I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have tried that shit. You were totally right to be pissed with me... like it doesn’t matter about the party, I just- I fucked up and I don’t want to-’

Jonathan stops him with a gentle touch on his arm, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin above the crook of his elbow. ‘Thanks. It’s okay.’

Steve takes it, places a hand on Jonathan’s waist, pulls him in closer. He has more to say. ‘I want to fix this.’

Jonathan looks down, away, his chest rises, the deep lines around his jaw tense. ‘I wasn’t lying.’

‘I know dude, I know, I see that now…’

‘I wasn’t lying about not wanting to see you anymore.’

Steve’s mouth goes dry, he swallows, tight. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ Jonathan says, still standing close. ‘I don’t think it works, for us, I mean.’

‘Why not?’ Steve asks, ‘It’s just- It’s just sex.’

Jonathan sighs. ‘I don’t think I can do just sex.’

Then date me, you weird handsome prick.

‘Oh,’ Steve says, quietly, feeling the warmth of Jonathan’s breath on his chin.

‘We should just be friends.’

‘I didn’t think we were friends,’ Steve says, letting some of the pettiness break free. Jonathan laughs, his eyes slanting, an almost smile.

‘We should be friends. I like you, I like hanging out with you, but we can’t do this, anymore.’ He lets go of Steve’s arm. ‘I should have told you before, but I chickened out. It’s not you, honestly, I’m still going through some stuff.’

‘Will you still talk to me? If we’re just friends?’ Steve asks, feeling silly. He’s heard these lines before, coming out his own mouth. He’s lied that way before, he doesn’t want to be on other end of a shitty breakup line. That wouldn’t be fair, not if he never got the chance to date Jonathan in the first place. 

‘Yeah. Yeah, I will,’ Jonathan says, and he glances downward.

‘Okay.’ Steve nods, staring at Jonathan’s mouth, the creases in his lips, the dry skin he wants to lick at. ‘How about one last time? For the road?’

Jonathan laughs, shakes his head lightly. ‘I can’t believe you.’ But it sounds sweet, like it’s a nice surprise. ‘We nearly got interrupted already today, and you want to try again? With my brother down the hall?’

Steve pulls him in the by arms, smiles when Jonathan leans his forehead against his. ‘I don’t want that. I’m not a freakin’ sex addict.’

‘Could’a fooled me.’

‘Fuck you.’ Steve laughs quietly. ‘I just meant, a kiss?’

‘A kiss?’

‘Yeah, just a little one.’

The hallway is empty, but they both must be so aware of who could walk in, who could see, but they don’t touch Jonathan’s door. If they keep it here, then it might just be what Steve asked for, nothing more.

‘Sure, Steve, whatever you want.’

Jonathan smiles serenely, lifts his head up, then presses a simple, chaste kiss on Steve’s mouth. 

Steve licks his lips, tastes grease and cola. ‘Come on, man, I need more than that.’

He pushes into Jonathan’s space, kisses him softly, until he feels hot breath and lips parting for him. Jonathan lingers in space, not pulling away, his tongue barely swiping over Steve’s, but it makes him moan, makes him move his mouth, finding another angle, then another, and another, like he has to try every possible way there was to kiss Jonathan with their last remaining moment.

Jonathan pulls back, and Steve thinks the end has come too soon, but then there’s another kiss, a long one, and Jonathan raises a hand to Steve’s jaw, his palm holding him, fingers moving to stroke under his ear. He always holds Steve when they kiss, strong hands gentle to the touch. 

He stops, eventually, his hand falling, taking a step back and away from Steve. ‘There ya’ go, one last kiss.’

Steve tastes it like a ghost. Puts on a brave face. ‘That was good one, right?’

‘Yeah, it was.’ Jonathan smiles, but it’s forced, his eyes even more tired than normal. ‘I’m not trying to be an asshole, but…’

‘I’ll go.’ Steve nods, the moment ending and everything else with it.

‘Thank you.’ Jonathan takes a step towards the common room.

‘See you around?’

‘Yeah. Definitely.’

And as much as he might want to, Steve doesn’t believe it.

Chapter Text

He checks his phone before bed. No new texts. Nothing from Jonathan. He slides to Robin’s contact, feels mortified.

R: Jonathan?

S: Yeah.

               Read 19:56

He puts his phone face down on the bedside table, away from his itching fingers, a million possible messages flying into his head.

He wants to play it cool. But like most things with Jonathan, it’s really fucking difficult.

Sunday

R: !!!

R: I need you to gag me with a chainsaw

S: calm it heather. what’s up?

R: I’m so lesbian

S: yes u are

S: but is that bad…?

R: Lesbians are the worst

R: I hate them

..

S: Vickie?

R: Yeah.

Steve rolls over on to side, holds the phone close to his nose. He doesn’t know how to help Robin, because he doesn’t know how to help himself.

Cold light filters through his blinds, and he lets it wake his skin up slowly, stretching his free arm above his head, spine cracking. Sundays are for sleeping in, cosy and dead to the world, letting his body rest fully for once, without his usual alarm beckoning swim practice, or better; Sunday mornings are for waking up in someone else’s bed, tired yawns and warm feet shuffling next to each other, the whispered suggestions of coffee-making beaten by kisses tainted with stale breath and unbearable softness. 

Who’s he kidding, not just someone’s bed, it was Jonathan’s bed. Steve always spent Sunday mornings there, wrapped around Jonathan, feeling the way his chest shuddered as he woke up, quick breath in, slow breath out, melting into Steve’s arms.

But that’s no more, and Steve doesn’t care, he reminds himself. He doesn’t care, because it wasn’t a relationship, they weren’t dating, they were just fucking. And now, they’re not.

But they were close, they were going past the boundary, they could have… they nearly….

Always quick to distract himself from pesky introspective thoughts, Steve throws the phone down, and swings his bare feet over the edge of the bed, deciding to indulge in one of his few Sunday delights that never involved Jonathan: deep conditioning his hair. He doesn’t care what coach says, the swim cap does not protect his locks from the toxic chlorine damage, and he’s never going to risk the development of split ends.

In the dirty bathroom mirror, he takes a photo while he’s brushing his teeth, wearing his most bitchy and above-it-all stare, contradicted by the blue band of the disposable shower cap digging into his skin, leaving a pink ring, foam bubbles coating the thick head of hair trapped underneath the clear plastic.

He doesn’t know if it’s what Robin needs, but she seems to like it anyway.

R: lol

R: that looks uncomfy

S: beauty is pain

R: u vain slut

Steve grins, sends her another photo with toothpaste seeping out of his wide smile.

She replies with a selfie, a tired smile half covered by the sheets, raccoon bags under crusty, red-lined eyes.

R: I’m sad

S: do u want to talk about Vickie?

R: yes pls

R: bring me food? xx

S: ofc

The dining hall is quieter on a Sunday, people recovering from nights at the few piss-stained bars that don’t card, and the sweaty frat parties everyone pretends are a big deal. Steve isn’t hungover like the few students who have dragged themselves down for sustenance, but he’s not doing much better. No alcohol in his body, just disgusting, pathetic misery, that he cannot bear to admit to anyone other than Robin. This isn’t the first time he’s walked down on his own, filling up a brown bag with hashbrowns and fruit pots for Robin to gorge on in bed, but it’s the first time he’s ever been nervous to.

If he spent a few extra minutes choosing a nice sweater and slapping on some aftershave after showering, just some small defence of his little remaining pride, in preparation for the possibility that he bumps into Jonathan down here, fresh off their not-breakup, then no one knows better of it.

Still, he rushes, doesn’t stop to put his tray down, just drinks up his coffee as he walks, his breakfast packed up to go. He thinks he’s got away with it, no one he recognises stopping to say hello, approaching the end of the queue, paying up by the till, ready to run upstairs and disappear into the lump of blankets on Robin’s bed in their matching relationship woes - when a sharp chirp calls his name.

‘Steve?’

Vickie looks genuinely awful, red hair lying in greasy waves against her forehead, lips chewed into ruin, acne blooming on her cheeks, wearing a massive t-shirt with holes around the collar and stains under her armpits.

Normally, he would immediately ask her what’s wrong, because he likes Vickie, she’s cool, she’s sweet, and most importantly, she normally has much higher standards for her personal hygiene. All things Steve has great respect for.

But his best friend is lying in her melancholic bed because of something Vickie did, and deep down, he’s a ride or die bitch (part of the reason he’s never dropped Tommy), so he doesn’t care what argument the girls had, he is on Robin’s side. He isn’t going to play nice around the petite bisexual who may have broken his bestie’s heart.

He flicks his head, starts walking off to the stack of shelves to put his tray away.

‘Steve! Steve, please!’

Vickie follows after him, her neon orange Crocs (Christ, he thought she had better style than that), squeaking on the floor. He slides his tray back into the shelf, carrying his food, and spins round just in time to watch her as she stumbles over nothing, falling into his shoulder.

She rights herself quickly, blushing purple. ‘Sorry! Sorry… oh my god… sorry…’

In an instant, a memory floods back, a deja’vu that makes his bitchy reserve crumble. A busy lunchtime at Hawkins' High, the centre of the cafeteria, Carol sprawled over one side of the bench, Tommy waving him over on the other, Steve walking up without worry, because why would he ever have to worry about finding a seat in the cafeteria, because the three of them always claimed an entire table, like the over-confident assholes they were; but then, his tray nearly slipping from his fingers, a mop of mousy hair brushing against his chin, black jacket stained with blue ink, not as nice as the suede jacket Jonathan wears now; mumbling, Sorry… sorry, fuck, sorry…

He probably did it deliberately, Carol whispered loudly, he likes you, probably just pretended to trip just to touch you. And didn’t Steve find that hilariously offensive, flicking fries at Jonathan’s back as he ran out of the cafeteria.

It’s Jonathan, scared, that Steve thinks of, Jonathan; scared and alone, because of what Steve did, something too similar to this moment, that makes him give Vickie a second chance.

He tries a smile. ‘Are you alright?’ 

She sniffles. ‘Can I talk to you?’

They end up sitting at the far back of the dining hall. He buys her a coffee, because she admits her food card ran out two days ago, and honestly, he thinks she needs to drink some caffeine to warn off becoming even more pathetic looking.

‘I got you creamer, hope that’s okay.’

‘It’s amazing. Thank you.’ She takes a big gulp, gripping the mug tightly.

‘What’s up?’

‘She didn’t tell you?’

‘All I know is… Robin is sad, and it’s probably your fault.’ He tilts his head to look down at her, hunched over the table. ‘To be honest, even if it’s not your fault, I’m still going to be on Robin’s side.’

She laughs, small and claggy. ‘That’s what I expected.’ She wipes her eyes and glances up at him. ‘I really didn’t mean to hurt her.’

He expected that. ‘What happened?’

She folds further into herself, the coffee clutched to her chest, steam rising up to make her chin shine. ‘It’s not nice to talk about.’

‘If you want my help, you need to tell me,’ He says, ‘I need to know what you did.’

‘I made her sad.’

‘I got that.’ He snaps, because, yeah, that’s obvious, and he’s not going to be that nice.

She nods, puts down the coffee, looks up, direct eye contact. She’s good at that, eye contact, way better than Robin is. ‘I told her about some shit at school, we were talking about you and Jonathan… and I compared it to this thing I did… and I…’

She stops, blinks slowly, chews her top lip, throws the conversation into the deep end. ‘Do you remember Barb?’

‘Eh?’ Steve asks, caught off-guard.

‘Barbara Holland? From Hawkins?’

Steve gulps, his brain moving very, very slowly.

‘Yes,’ He says, but it comes out as one long and waveringly pitched yeeeeesss.

‘She was friends with my ex.’ He hesitates, ‘With Nancy, she was friends with Nancy. How the fuck do you know Barb?’

Vickie continues to chew her lip, really gnawing at it, like she’s trying to bite it off completely. ‘She was my first girlfriend.’

‘Wait, when did you guys date?’

‘I was sixteen, it was sophomore year. I’d just got the first clarinet position in band.’ She raises her fist in an air punch, and with no feeling, says, ‘Go tigers.’ Followed by a short and tired ‘Woo.’

‘Woah.’ Steve spins. ‘What the fuck.’

‘I don’t know why you’re so surprised, everyone at Hawkins High knew Barb was gay.’

‘That’s not the part I’m struggling with.’

‘Ah.’ Vickie nods. ‘I didn’t tell you.’

‘I didn’t realise.’

‘You forgot.’

‘And you never called me out on it?’ Steve asks, feeling sick, feeling worthless and stupid and exactly like the piece of shit he is. ‘I went to school with you, and I forgot… and you… you…’

She puts down her coffee, inches a little closer to him. ‘You never mentioned it when we met, and by the time I realised you genuinely forgot, it was too late, and I dunno…’

He’s trying to imagine a younger Vickie, a smaller, shyer girl. Trying to see where she would fit in to his view of his backwash hometown, but he can’t see it, not her. Too technicolour for grey-scale Hawkins. He’s been hanging out with Vickie for months, and not once did he recognise her as an apparent band nerd from his hometown. There must be something seriously wrong with him. He glances over at her, sipping her coffee, and when he really looks, harder than he ever had before, maybe he can see someone, a clarinet player who sat with the theatre kids and always raised her hand a little too eagerly in Mrs Click’s class.

‘Senior year English, Macbeth?’

She shrugs, smiles sweetly, if a little confused. ‘Yeah, I read for one of the witches, you were Malcolm, right?’

‘Yep,’ He says, and nothing else.

She widens her oh so earnest eyes. ‘Steve?’

‘I think I have brain damage.’

She splutters, coffee spitting out over the table, and chokes out a questioning, ‘Uh?’

‘Maybe it's that time I nearly drowned when I was on life-guard duty. I just forget so much important shit.’ He slumps, letting Vickie know how he reached that jarring conclusion. But honestly, what else could it be. ‘I did the same thing with Jonathan.’

He throws his head back in a low moan. ‘God. I need to fix my brain.’

‘It’s really alright, Steve. I didn’t tell you.’

He sighs, rubs his fingers into his eyes. ‘No, no, it’s so stupid. I should have remembered you.’

She taps her fingers against the table, nails with peeling lavender nail polish making a sharp beat. ‘I kinda liked you not remembering me.’

‘Hmm?’ He groans, face in his hands.

‘It’s what me and Robin were fighting about… I don’t like who I was in high school. I liked you not remembering.’ She grabs a napkin and wipes her coffee mess, going quiet. ‘I liked being someone new.’

She looks shy, guiltier, lips wobbling.

‘You can’t have been as bad as me, you know about me and Jonathan, and it turns out I was so caught up in the bullshit with Tommy and Carol, I didn’t even pay enough attention to realise there was this cool weirdo band girl I could have been hanging out with instead.’

‘Cool weirdo band girl?’

‘Yeah. You.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘I mean, obviously, if you don’t make up with Robin asap, I’m taking that all back, but yeah. You’re cool, Vickie.’

She smiles, looks a little brighter, plays with a strand of hair. ‘I don’t think I was that cool…’

‘Not like, popular cool, like real cool, ya’ know? Like Robin.’ Matching smiles, too fond to play sarcastic. ‘I was so busy being popular, being fuckin’ King Steve, that I screwed everyone else over.’

Vickie snorts, but jumps after, like she didn’t mean to.

‘What?’ Steve asks.

‘Nothing… nothing… sorry…’

‘Vickie. What is it.’

‘Well… I wouldn’t say you were popular.’

Steve scowls. ‘I thought you were meant to be grovelling.’

She laughs, giving up on hiding it. ‘It’s a good thing. But yeah, you weren’t that popular. I remember when Nancy brought Barb along to one of your epic parties, Barb told me it was just Tommy and Carol making out while you threw shit into the pool.'

He feigns offence, but laughs too, because yeah, only half the parties were as epic as they liked to talk up. 

‘Don’t get me wrong, you guys were super intimidating, but you weren’t popular, just-’ She taps a finger against her chin, pretending to think. ‘Bitchy.’

‘Wow. That’s true, but fuck you for saying it,’ He says, with no bite. Vickie laughs again, like she's a little more comfortable, if still pathetically sad. 

‘So, while I was hosting, apparently, really uncool parties, what were you up to with Barb? I didn’t know she dated anyone.’

Suddenly, Vickie tenses again, letting go of her hair, and slamming her hands down to her thighs. ‘That’s because I told her not to tell anyone.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yeah,’ She says, the guilt writ in the droplets of sweat on her forehead. ‘Oh.’

‘You weren’t out?’

She shakes her head. ‘No. I didn’t even know what I was. I knew I liked guys, ended up with a boyfriend, Dan Shelter? But I still kept on messing around with Barb, didn’t let her tell anyone, not even Nancy. I made her turn it into this whole dirty stupid secret.’ She sighs. ‘I was horrible to her.’

‘And you told Robin,’ Steve says, the picture becoming clear.

‘I thought…’ Vickie trails off, inhaling deep before starting again. ‘I thought, maybe, because she understood everything you went through, that she would get it with me. But the more I tried to explain… I just kept on saying the wrong thing.’

‘I’ve been there,’ Steve says, can’t help thinking of Jonathan again.

She nods, empathically, exhaling as her shoulders untense. ‘She was never like that. I think Robin’s always been good. She never hurt anyone. She never tried to hide.’

Steve shuffles closer to her, almost expects her to lean her head against his shoulder like Robin does, but she doesn’t, just carries on nervously tapping her fingers against the table.

He doesn’t know what to say. If he did, then maybe he would have never lost Jonathan in the first place.

Instead, he thinks about Robin.

‘She was so nervous when she first met you.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, so nervous.' His mind wanders, remembering, memory tinted signature Scoops blue and red. 'We had just started working together, back when she still kinda hated me and I still kinda thought I had a crush on her, and you came in asking for a peanut butter swirl waffle cone  - she memorised it, your order, never wanted to forget it  - and she dropped her scooper three times and nearly threw the ice cream at you, like seriously, she loses all control of her limbs when she’s flustered.’

Vickie laughs, in a way that says she’s seen it before; Robin’s long-legged clumsiness. It's a quiet laugh, tears trapped. 

‘And I couldn’t work out why at first, because I barely knew her. I just thought she was like, jealous of your nice shoes or something.’ He smiles. ‘But then, we ended up having to stay late, three hours past closing time, just to mop up this ten-gallon tin of cream she knocked over, and she was being really pissy about being stuck there with me, and I…’

‘Yeah?’

‘I just asked her, outright. I was like, why were you being weird with that red-haired girl from your class? And she looked so sad, and so… she looked scared.’ He turns slightly, sees Vickie listening. ‘She hadn’t come out to anyone before. No one at her school knew she was gay. There was one girl she tried with, but it wasn’t fun, just confusing. I don’t think she had any friends she could talk about it even if she wanted to.’

‘Oh, Robin…’

‘Yeah,’ Steve says, ‘That's when she told me. Turns out she had this crush on Tammy Thompson, you remember her? It was after her first music video came out, and Robin found it while she was up late on some insomniac YouTube session and was obsessed, so I just, totally judged her for it. Because Tammy is my ex, and she is not a good singer, but Robin was so blinded by her stupid internet crush she insisted she sounded like Lana Del Ray.' 

‘To be fair, Tammy is really hot.’

‘Yeah, duh,’ Steve says, ‘But what I mean is, I think you’re wrong. She hid, for a really long time. Just like you and me, just without the other bullshit.’

He stops, doesn’t really want to indulge in his and Robin’s unfortunately honest sexual discussions, but it feels important, here. ‘Don’t think she really felt comfortable with touch for a long time too, not before you.’

‘Intimacy is hard,’ Vickie says, simply, but true.

‘Yeah. Hard to trust people with that stuff. She was wary.’

‘Like Jonathan?’

‘Yeah.’ Steve nods, because that realisation was hitting it him slowly as he said it, the similarities between the pair. ‘God, we’re dumb.’

‘We are so dumb.’ Vickie repeats, and it somehow comes out kind.

‘I think she’ll forgive you.’

‘Really?’ She asks, loaded with desperate hope.

‘Yeah. You just need to let her know, she doesn’t need to be scared of you. You’re different now.’ He swats her forehead lightly, ‘No one can be scared of you.’

It makes her laugh, so he thinks he said the right thing.

‘I will.’ She nods to herself, trying to summon the energy. ‘I’m gonna.’ She turns to Steve, places a hand on his shoulder. ‘Are you going to talk to Jonathan?’

He sighs, waves her arm away. ‘Nah, don’t know if ya’ heard, but I basically got dumped last night.’

‘Oh, Steve.’ She hugs him, and he leans into it, because she’s a good hugger. ‘That sucks.’

He smells the funk of her stained clothes and greasy hair, sucks in his lips, pats her on the back and pulls away. ‘It’s alright, I mean, we were never really dating. Jonathan never wanted that.’

‘Seriously?’ She cocks her head, her nose wrinkling. ‘You still think that?’

‘Oh my god.’ He groans quietly. ‘Yes. Why is it that so hard for you believe?’

She snorts, pushes him away with a smirk. ‘Uh, could it be because he used to have massive crush on you in high school?’

‘Why do you and Robin think that? You can’t just assume these things.’

‘Steve,’ Vickie says, confident, despite the greasy hair and overall dishevelment. ‘I know Jonathan had a crush on you, because he told me.’

‘What?' He reels. 'What!’

‘He told me, like a day after I found out about your guys thing. Incidentally, the same day he was moping about how he’d finally got to third base with this mysterious douchebag he refused to name – even though it was so obvious, everyone in our class knew it was you – and he was freaking out because he was just realising that you might actually be a good guy.’

‘He told everyone about us getting to third base? Wait. He thinks I’m a good guy?’

Vickie smiles, pleased with herself. ‘Yeah, I think it really annoyed him when he realised. But he talks about you all the time, he thinks you’re sweet.’

Steve leans back on his chair, slumped down, overwhelmed by the possibility. A good guy. Good. Jonathan might think Steve is good. It's heavy-laden, like he knows this shouldn't be an opinion that decides everything for him, but it's Jonathan, and the weight washes away, just leaving the heavenly chance, the possibility of being good enough. His entire body tingles with it. 

Screw being just friends. If he's good enough, he wants more. 

‘You should talk to him.’

‘I want to,’ He says, blinking as he comes back down to earth. ‘And you should talk to Robin.’

Talking of the awkward devil, Steve’s phone buzzes. He checks it as Vickie rattles off a list of excuses as to why she can’t talk to Robin today, not like this.

R: WHERE ARE YOU

R: I need hashbrowns and sympathy

‘I really can’t, not today, I need to prepare, I need to write a speech or something….’

‘Uh-huh,’ Steve says, not listening, standing up and dragging Vickie with him.

‘And I really need to wash my hair, hey!’ She nearly trips up on her Crocs again as Steve pulls her in the direction of the elevator. ‘Steve! Steve! What are you doing?’

‘Taking you to Robin.’

‘No! No, Steve, I can’t, not right now. I need to wash my hair and change my clothes, and god, have you smelt me? I need perfume and shit, maybe lipstick...’

Steve hums as he frogmarches her out of the dining hall and pushes her into the elevator, pressing the button for Robin’s floor.

‘Steve! Please!’

‘Trust me. This whole pathetic dumpster-fire look will really help you here.’

‘You’re a douchebag.’

‘I know.’ The elevator dings when they reach the right floor, and he doesn’t manhandle Vickie, but he gives her a very judgemental stare until she feels intimidated enough to follow him out and to the front of Robin’s door.  

He knocks on the door, then stands behind her.

‘Are you going to come in with me?’

‘Nope.’ And he thrusts the bounty of breakfast food into her hands.

‘It’s open!’ Robin calls out from inside.

‘Cool.’ Steve shouts back, before pushing Vickie into the room. He slams the door shut from the hallway. Waits a few minutes to see if Vickie is going through with it, and when he doesn’t hear any frantic shouts or see the flash of a small-bodied awkward bisexual being booted out by Robin, he happily walks off, dusting his hands.

He’s in the library, still trying to finish the same fucking essay that’s been giving him a headache for the last week, when he gets an update.

R: You are scum of the earth

R: I bet the minions love you

R: Because you are despicable

R: Truly evil

R: I hate you

..

S: So…. did you and Vickie make up?

..

R: Yes

R: We’re official girlfriends and I’ve never been happier

R: Fuck you

S: you are so welcome

R: I might love her

R: but I love you more

S: love you too

R: see you at work tomorrow dingus

Monday

‘So… your plan is just to bump into him?’

‘Basically, yeah.’

‘You’re just hoping for serendipity to lead him back to you?’

‘Better than me texting and begging to meet up only two days after our…’

‘Not-breakup?’

‘Yeah, that.’ 

A child with thick braids appears in front of the counter, dropping a handful of coins and silently jabbing her finger into the glass, pointing at the pink sherbet. Robin dutifully scoops out a portion into a small white tub and hands it over as Steve counts up the payment. The kid accepts the tub with a solemn nod before throwing a couple cents into the tip jar and scampering away from the parlour, leaving it deserted once again.

Robin sifts through the jar, counting out their meagre tips. Scoops isn’t a great job, but Monday morning shifts are pretty perfect for a pair of apathetic students, because apart from the occasional stray child wandering over from the nearby middle school, no one comes in. They’re basically being paid minimum wage to have a weekly bitch-fest while dressed as overgrown Victorian sailors with accompanying oceanic chimes. Usually, they just complain about customers while seeing who can beat the store record for flicking dippin dots furthest across the tiles (Steve is winning with a 5-foot personal best, Robin is horrifically failing with an abysmal 10 inches), but today the gossip is hitting a little too close too home.

With Robin’s relationship practically glowing, the attention is entirely on Steve’s fading love life, flickering out like an old lightbulb.

‘So, we know you like him, and we know he must like-like you, more than a little bit, at least.’ She counts out three dollars, huffs, then pours them back into the jar.

‘Yep.’

‘And you’re just going to wait? That’s like the opposite of what worked for me and Vickie.’

‘What worked for you and Vickie, was me; your local, friendly Cupid turning up and shoving you two together again.’

‘Sure.’ She rolls her eyes with a smile. ‘But I’m not going to turn up at Jonathan’s room with a bow and arrow and shoot love hearts into his eyes. If you want him, you gotta do something about it.’

‘Well, I’m not, not doing something about it.’

‘Hmmm, not-not, are we?’

‘Yeah, I’m floating, ya’ know, I’m hanging about.’

‘Floating towards….?’

‘Just like… where he hangs out, and stuff. Trying to make some serendipity.’

‘Oh my god.’ She grins, perching up on the counter. ‘Are you stalking him?’

‘It’s not stalking.’ He pouts. ‘I’m just keeping an eye on the art school and that coffee shop he likes….’

‘It’s not-not stalking.’

He winces, spins his scooper, a stupid habit he’s developed for his restless hands. ‘Is that bad?’

‘Oh yeah, it is. Absolutely pathetic. But if you’re not going to man up and text the boy, this is probably our best bet.’

She jumps down and tears off a scrap of till roll, chews on the end of her pen, takes on the role of a pestering but lazy private detective, asking him about Jonathan’s regular haunts. Steve tells her what he can, mentally kicks himself for anything he can’t answer. They come up with a list, not a long one, but enough for a game plan. He folds it up neatly and slides it into his back pocket. Robin takes him by the chin, squishes his mouth, because she thinks he looks funny like a guppy fish.

‘You really like him, don’t you?’

‘Yeah, I do,’ He says, the words squishy and soft. 

She lets go, her gaze resting just above his nose, a slight twinkle to her eyes, charming, if a little dangerous, shining like that time she dragged him out to a bar crawl, before he came out, and she lost him for two hours, finding him several daiquiris deep, settled in a stranger’s lap in a dusty booth, playing with his beard and talking about his cool new best friend and her proclivity for teasing him in French.

Her eyes shine, like she’s just figured something out about him, before he even got the chance.

‘Is he nice to you?’

Steve nods, distracts himself by tapping away at the till meaninglessly. ‘Yeah, he can be really nice. Why?’

‘I just worry.’ She shrugs, leans into his side. ‘He’s so pretentious sometimes. I wouldn’t want you falling for an asshole.’

‘You’re pretentious too.’

She shakes her head in mock-horror, a hand raised to hide a feigned gasp. ‘Am not.’

‘You are.’ Steve takes the opportunity to steal her scooper, using both handles to tap a beat against the counter. ‘All my favourite people are.’

She laughs, blushing lightly, slaps her hand down on the counter to stop his drumming.

‘You all are! Turns out that’s my type; pretentious stupid-clever assholes.’

‘You are such a dingus.’ She smiles. ‘Go get your boy, Harrington.’

Saturday

Bubblegum scented vape clouds hover above, upstairs someone is crying thunder about an empty keg, there's a girl in the corner shrieking about a spilt drink, EDM that Jonathan would despise is being blared out the speakers next to the seats, a couple guys from the swim team stride by, sending Steve appropriately masculine nods of recognition, leaving him to melt into the stained couch, Tommy by his side, muttering into his ear.

‘Dude. You could do so much better.’

‘That’s not the point.’

‘No, yeah, yeah, man. I get it.’

Tommy doesn’t get it, but he’s trying, which is cool. He takes another hit of his vape, Candy Apple, and the scent joins the mingling cloud of fratboy exhaled nicotine that surrounds the basement. Steve scowls, because at the last party, when he pulled out his pack of Camels, he got them slapped out of his hand, but apparently noxious vapes don’t count. It’s one of the many new rules in Tommy’s frat, alongside their group promise to respect others and their all their varying beliefs and identities - because even frats can't ignore the existence of gay himbos anymore - a boy scout reminiscent swearing-in that all the new pledges must undergo if they want to join.

Like all his brothers, Tommy is an ally these days, and as an ally, he wants it to be very clear, that he doesn’t hate Jonathan because he’s queer, he hates Jonathan because Jonathan is avoiding Steve.

‘He’s not avoiding me,’ Steve says, ‘He’s not.’

Tommy winces, because while he might always be a douchebag, he’s trying to be a better person these days, and after a small lifetime of shared mistakes and breakups, their friendship runs deep, so he knows instantly when Steve is lying to himself.

‘Sooo, why not, when you’re waiting for Byers to get his shit together, find some other guy?’ Tommy shouts over the music. ‘Stuart is asking after you all the time, and like, I’m saying this as a straight dude, Stuart is way hotter than Jonathan. The man is stacked.’  

And objectively, Steve sees it. But Stuart is the same big-ass shoulders dude he shared an illicitly disappointing bathroom blowjob with the last time he was here, and also, more importantly, he’s not Jonathan.

Steve still has his list, of Jonathan’s usual hangouts, folded up in his jean pocket. He’s spent the whole week subtly strolling near the art block, meeting up in the library to revise with Argyle; dragging Robin along to the indie cinema downtown; skipping breakfast at the dining hall to hang out at Jonathan’s favourite hipster hellhole and shelling out $5 for black coffee; even skipping a swim practice just to dawdle outside Jonathan’s room, trying to catch him before he left for an early shift at the print lab; all in the embarrassing hope, that maybe, if he was lucky, they could talk, and Steve could pretend serendipity was bringing them together. Fate saying what he couldn’t.

But there’s been no sight of Jonathan. Nothing.  

Steve stooped as low as texting him, like that was normal.

He pulls out his phone as Tommy chats away, scrolls through all his old messages with Jon. He didn’t go as far as being honest, and say, asking Jonathan out for a drink. He sent a stupid meme instead, the guy from the Talking Heads (because he knows Jonathan likes that band, Steve doesn’t get it, sounds like goofball grandad music), his trademark oversized suit stretched out to take up the entire stage, but he couldn’t think of anything clever to say, so underneath, after many failed drafts, he just added a useless lol.

And the useless lol, evidently didn’t accurately translate Steve’s immense desire, because Jonathan, the rat bastard, didn’t even reply. He just liked it, a pointless red heart tagged on.

He’s complained about it to Robin and Vickie, a lot, a staggeringly insane amount of time wasted on Steve sighing at the foot of Robin’s bed, as both girls pet his hair like the lovesick puppy he is, as he made them listen to Jonathan and Argyle’s radio show, earnestly listening in for hints of affection hidden in Jonathan’s quiet segways between songs (see, he hates Alex Turner, but he knows I like that Arctic Monkeys song, he’d only play it for me, I know it. No. Robin it’s not a coincidence, and yeah, I know it’s a basic bitch song, that’s why I like it.) The moping, eventually, got too much, as when Tommy called up begging him to turn up tonight, Robin practically ordered Steve to go. She said, with love, that if she had to give up on another night of sex with her brand-new girlfriend just to hang out with him, then she would leave college and runaway to join a convent, because even celibate nuns are probably getting more action than she is, what with Steve bothering them every night.

‘Shit. She’s here. That’s her. That’s her, ya’ see her?’ Tommy startles on the couch, brushing down his shirt, running a hand through his hair. He waves towards a five-foot-tall girl with thick black hair and heavy eyeliner wandering down the stairs. ‘How do I look?’

He looks goofy as fuck, like every other fratboy to become obsessed with the idea of goth girlfriend in the last year, but the girl waves back with a scarlet painted smile, daintily swaying through the crowd as she approaches.

‘You look great, dude. She’s into you.’

‘Thanks, man,’ Tommy says, clasping a hand onto Steve’s shoulder before standing up. ‘Hey Samantha!’  

And in the rush of Tommy standing, the couch sagging with just Steve on it, he doesn’t notice the person following Samantha into the room. But Tommy does, screams it so loudly over the thumping music that Steve jumps onto his toes.

‘Hey! It’s Jonathan!’

Jonathan has his hands in his pockets, looking down, smiling in that way where he’s trying to seem calmer than he is. Samantha taps him on the arm, whispers into his ear, before disappearing with Tommy upstairs. And Steve is left staring, on the balls of his feet, his face heating up like a bonfire.

‘Hey,’ He says, and Jonathan can’t hear it over the music.

‘Hey.’ Jonathan mouths, the words lost to Basshunter and Avicii, he raises his hand in an awkward wave, fluttering fingers, and Steve misses him so much his ribs hurt.

A group of girls walk past, bumping into Jonathan’s back, making him stumble closer. He smells good, tea tree and mint and Sunday morning, and Steve knows that doesn’t make sense, but he does, Jonathan smells like Sunday morning and it makes Steve’s heart twist.

‘You look good!’

‘Eh?’ Jonathan shouts back, squinting, like he could maybe hear Steve over the music if he looks harder.

Steve takes out his pack of Camels, shakes them in the direction of upstairs, and Jonathan nods with a heavy smile. 

They find a balcony on the second floor, just off Tommy’s room, and it smells like teenage boy and Axe body spray, so Steve shuts the door behind them, the night air like crystal.

‘Want one?’ Steve asks, already lighting up, but Jonathan says no, because he never smokes, not really, he just always seemed to have a pack when Steve needed them, hidden somewhere in the stack of novels by Jonathan’s bedside.

They can still feel the beat from the music downstairs, see students running in and out the main entrance, the flashes of cars driving off in the night. Jonathan observes it all for the first time, holding onto the side rail, lips twitching.

‘Didn’t think this was your scene.’

‘Is it your scene?’ It could be cruel, but Jonathan says it with a half-smile, testing. ‘Really?’

Steve shrugs, takes a drag. ‘It’s good to see the guys.’

‘The guys?’ Jonathan asks, leading in a direction Steve is a little scared of. ‘Sounds macho.’

‘It’s just a smokescreen,’ Steve says, ‘They’re all massive softies really.’

‘I can see that, someone tried to wish me a happy pride when I walked in.’

‘Shit.’ Steve laughs, ‘Sorry.’

‘No sweat. Just can’t tell how they could tell…’ Jonathan smiles, looking over the edge at his feet. ‘I didn’t even have my rainbow flag cape on today.’

Steve grins, ‘You joke, but you’d look really good with one.’

Jonathan scowls, because he is vain like that sometimes, vainer than Steve even. ‘Could I borrow yours?’

‘I stole mine off Tommy.’

‘Shit. Tommy?’ Jonathan laughs.

‘Yeah, Tommy. He’s an ally.’

‘That makes sense why he’s going after goth bisexuals.’

Steve exhales his smoke, rising above them into the night, the white balcony pillars framing the cloud. ‘I was talking to him, actually.’

‘Talking about what?’ Jonathan asks, looking down at the sidewalk, the angle of his nose a pale white cut against the navy sky. 

‘I was telling him to ya’ know, to not be a dickhead, basically.’ He thought it would be harder to say, but maybe because it’s true, it’s easy.

Jonathan turns his head, hiding a smirk with the back of his hand. Just a small smirk, like always, barely a twitching lip. 

‘I was saying…’ Steve smiles, because he thinks this might just be working. He’s finally saying the right thing. ‘If he ever messes with you, that I’d have to…’

‘Defend my honour?’

‘You've not got any honour, Jonathan.’

Jonathan pushes off against the railing, laughing with his lips closed. ‘Yet you’re still acting like my shining knight.’

It almost sounds dreamy, laced in the same lovesickness that’s had Steve moping the last week. It makes him take a risk, taking a step into Jonathan’s space, not hiding how he glances downward. ‘I’ve missed you.’

It might not be an original line, but it’s a good one, because Jonathan blushes, two short stripes of pink below his eyes, but just as his mouth opens, something captivating at the tip of his tongue, they hear the door to the frat house launch open from below, followed by the unmistakable sounds of someone retching in the bushes.

Jonathan takes a step back, scratches his nose, barely hiding his disgust. ‘I hate this.’

Steve laughs, on edge. ‘The party?’

‘Yeah, these things are gross. Did you hear the music in there? Who the fuck plays that? In public?’

‘It gets people dancing,’ Steve says with an uneasy smile, sickly sweat going down his back. He tries to be cool. ‘Can’t be playing The Queen Is Dead when the girls are here, dude.’

Jonathan pants out a laugh, waving Steve away. ‘The Queen Is Dead, huh?’ He smiles. ‘You like that one?’

‘Yeah, I mean, you do, don’t you? The Smiths, right?’

A slow nod, the line of his neck stretched, his eyes blinking wide, light from the streetlamps reflected in the whites. He’s wearing the all-black outfit again, the collar of his tee cutting contrast against his pale skin. ‘I’m gonna go home.’

‘Oh.’

‘…wanna come with me?’

More vomit echoes from the street, the sound of Tommy’s terrible DJ-ing only growing louder, though noticeably moodier, a Crystal Castles tempo sneaking in. Possible goth influences suspected.

Steve stubs out half a cigarette. ‘God, yes.’

He kicks a rock across the path into the grass, the skittering filling up the awkward silence. He didn’t think this far. Just got too excited about finally hanging out with Jonathan, kinda forgot, when they don’t have a clear sex-based objective, conversation can pitter out pretty quickly. Steve can small-talk like a pro, an upbringing regularly celebrated with waspy dinner parties with his parent’s colleagues raised an arrogant charmer with a talent for meaningless chatter; but Jonathan was never that interested in the mindless drivel that Steve used to entertain those fuckers with; his quiet talk demands more. Steve doesn’t always feel up to the task.

Jonathan has his hands in his pockets, jacket buttoned up high, walking slowly, keeping the same leisurely pace as Steve. It’s quieter on the quad, just a couple girls scurrying along the path next to them, barefoot with stilettos in hand, the end of a long night.

The lateness feels incriminating, like there’s only one outcome from Steve walking home with Jonathan, but Jonathan keeps his distance, only speaking to comment on the spring leaves blooming on the sycamore tree, because he notices things like that. It doesn’t feel like a hook-up. Jonathan made that clear last week.

Steve reaches over, pats Jonathan on the shoulder, and he jumps, tuts, looking back with an embarrassed smile.

Fuck. Steve missed him.

‘How do you know Samantha?’

‘She’s works at the radio station.’

‘She seems cool,’ Steve says, ‘Tommy is really into her.’

Jonathan laughs, sways a little closer to Steve, like he can’t hear him. ‘Good luck to Tommy.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. She’s tough.’

‘Sounds like you’re talking from experience,’ Steve says, unthinking, just happy that Jonathan’s so close, their feet matching in strides, stepping over the cracks of the pavement in the same rhythm.

‘We went on a couple dates.’

‘Woah.’ Steve nearly trips, tries to hide it with a showy skip over a tear in the path. Makes sense that Jonathan dated, it just something they never talked about before. ‘Really?’

‘God. Do you have to sound so surprised?’

‘Sorry,’ Steve says, only calming after he sees Jonathan hide a sweet smile in his collar. ‘Why did you end it?’

Jonathan shrugs, walks faster. ‘Not enough in common.’

Steve speeds up. ‘But she’s like... music-ey, and goth-ey.’ And he knows it sounds stupid, but Jonathan just laughs, louder than before, his arms jostling and rubbing against Steve’s side.

‘Goth-ey, is that what you think I am?’

Steve laughs too, the clumsy sound of it melting into Jonathan’s. It feels warm, two voices and two steps matching in the night, makes him soft, makes him speak without thinking. ‘Nah, you’re just Jonathan.’

It comes out unbearably tender. Steve blushes, moves away, doesn't look to see how Jonathan reacts. They reach the entrance for their dorms, and Jonathan holds the door open for him, avoiding his eye.

They don’t take the elevator, barely talk as they round the stairs, walking past Steve’s room first, their journey ending. They both look up, lock eyes, and maybe Steve isn’t the only one desperate for more, because Jonathan suggests the common room, and Steve follows.

He puts mugs of hot water in the microwave, without asking if Steve wants any tea. It’s with the machine whirring behind them, static and spinning, Steve leaning against the counter, that Jonathan makes him choke on thin air.

‘Did you really miss me?’

It would help if Jonathan was readable, if there was any hint of what he was feeling behind his expressionless. His eyes dart over Steve’s shoulders, not frantic, not needy, just waiting.

Steve hasn’t said anything stupid tonight, if anything, it’s been going spectacularly well. He answers honestly, quickly, before he can overthink it.

‘I did. Haven’t seen you around this week.’

‘I thought maybe… you weren’t here so…’

‘What?’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Jonathan says, smiling. The microwave dings and he takes out the mugs. Steve reaches for his cupboard, takes out the mint tea sachets and drops them by Jonathan’s hands.

‘I tried to go to a swim meet.’ He mumbles into the lip of his mug, steam rising and making soft dewdrops on his eyelashes. ‘You weren’t there.’

‘But I didn’t have a swim meet this week?’

‘Yeah, found that out for myself, thanks. Turned up outside the pool at 6am thinking it was real quiet considering the team is such a big deal.’ He sighs, eyes crinkling with embarrassment he’s turning funny. ‘Didn’t realise practice and matches were a different thing.’

‘Matches.’ Steve laughs, putting his mug down. ‘You called it a match?’

‘Yep. All your team probably thought I was a huge creep, just hanging around with my camera in the seats.’ He closes his eyes. ‘You weren’t even there.’

‘You’re not a creep,’ Steve says, ‘Anyone who’d try to say that is an idiot.’

Jonathan takes a sip, puts down the mug, his eyes going go to the floor, and so quiet it’s barely audible. ‘Well, you’re not an idiot.’ 

Steve’s heart stings, like too many cigarettes on an empty stomach. It might not be the moment, but he's going to make it. Can't wait any longer, staring at Jonathan's mouth, remembering how it used to feel against his skin. He takes Jonathan’s arm, pulls him in close. Jonathan doesn’t fight it, just brushes the hair out of his face, pulling at his sleeves.

‘I really did miss you. You’d said you’d talk to me still, like we were friends.’

‘We were never really friends.’ Jonathan whispers, an echo of something petty made bittersweet.

‘Did you want to be something more?’ Steve asks, memories changing, truth uncovered. ‘Because I did. I think I always did.’

Jonathan sighs, the lines around his jaw tensing. It’s bright in the common room, just the ugly overhead fluorescent and the pitch-black windows. There’s a slamming door from the corridor that they both ignore. Steve raises a hand, brushes over Jonathan’s dimples, the acne marks that never faded by his ear, the light stubble under his nose.

‘I didn’t know. Sorry.’ Jonathan gulps, his neck bobbing under Steve’s moving palm. ‘You really scare me, man.’

Before, he would have asked why. He would have made it a fight.

‘Because of high school.’ Not a question, a statement, an offering. I know what I was.

'Yeah.' 

'I'm sorry.'

'I know.' 

'I won't ever not be sorry.' 

'You don't need to be, not now. I know,' Jonathan says, and Steve nearly believes it. Jonathan moves his lips closer, speaking against Steve's ear. 'I think I knew for a long time, just couldn't admit it to myself. Even that first time. You were so weirdly nice.’

Steve smiles against Jonathan’s cheek, doesn’t want to laugh, doesn’t want to risk Jonathan moving away. (Weirdly, though?)

It’s like Jonathan can hear his thoughts, the sharp echo that has him confused.

‘Yeah. Weird. Made me want to hang out with you, like, all the time.’ He places a chaste kiss below Steve’s earlobe, pulls back, hands remaining on Steve’s waist. ‘You’re my best friend here.’

‘What about Argyle?’

‘He knows, he won’t be offended.’ Jonathan smiles, the crease under his eyes tensing, bashful. ‘Somehow, everyone important in my life worked out I liked you long before I did. I know Will did, he made me realise how dumb it was that I tried to stop- stop whatever it was I had with you.’

It makes Steve giddy, fingers almost shaking as he trails an arm round Jonathan’s side, tracing the shape of his shoulder blades through the thick suede jacket. The unsteady fingers by Jonathan’s jaw move down to mess with his collar button, making him tut, amused, as Steve tries to get it undone without asking.  

‘Can I kiss you?’ He’s never been patient, and the button pop opens after some ungraceful fidgeting.

Jonathan lets out a cold breath, and Steve inhales it in, takes that as an answer. Jonathan’s lips are soft, the same crease in the centre like always, a scar that’s never healed. Steve licks over it, waits for Jonathan to open up. He expects it to be reserved, polite, like Jonathan always is before things gets heated, but quickly, two hands are at Steve’s jaw, pulling him in, and there’s spit on his chin and a knee between his legs.

‘Oh my god.’ Steve pushes Jonathan against the counter, just missing the mugs of steaming tea, kisses the corner of his mouth, traces his thumb over the wet lower lip. Jonathan sucks it, like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t make Steve’s eyes bulge out his head, before pushing it away with his tongue and kissing Steve’s cheeks, under his eyes, left and right, then his nose.

‘You’re such a freakin' cute kisser,’ Steve says, and it’s not even a lie, despite the contradicting spit covering his face, the hot tongue on his neck. Jonathan bites his shoulder, licks over it, nibbling to finish; and that’s new. Maybe Steve is as immature as the world assumes, because fuck, hickeys are always kinda going to make him go weak at the knees.

‘Still cute?’ Jonathan asks, with a confident raise of his eyebrow.

‘Adorable,’ Steve says, acting like a little shit, pretending he isn’t spreading his legs, pushing up onto Jonathan’s thigh. He’s hard already, dizzy with it. He rests a hand on Jonathan’s belt, slipping his fingers under the waistline, feels his skin hot and smooth. Jonathan laughs into his throat, teeth catching on Steve’s sweater.

Steve still has something else on his mind. ‘Did you get some practice in, with Samantha?’

‘I knew you wouldn’t let that go.’ Jonathan places a kiss on his collar bone, pushing his hand up Steve’s shirt. ‘It was just a couple dates.’

‘Well, they must have sucked, because you didn’t get very far.’ Steve whimpers, almost acting, as Jonathan runs nails down his spine, and Jonathan snorts at the artifice of it, but kisses him again on the lips, like he secretly enjoys it too. ‘Dating is stupid.’

‘You can hardly talk. How many dates have you been on? This semester alone.’

The number is past counting on his fingers, and his stutter as several guesses go past his big mouth makes Jonathan laugh again.

'Twelve- no. Fifteen… maybe, do we count second dates?’

‘Yes,’ Jonathan says, sadly taking his knee away, and pulling Steve away from the counter to the common room doors.

‘Oh, then at least thirty.’

‘Slut,’ Jonathan says, quietly, like it’s a joke he’s unsure of.

Steve grins, because he’s never cared about that, he loves it, maybe more than Jonathan knows. ‘Yeah, I am. That good?’

Jonathan blushes, huffs as Steve kisses him eagerly and pushes him against the hallway wall. ‘Yeah, yeah I like it.’

‘Fucking knew it.’

Jonathan smirks, walking towards Steve's room, only a few feet away, but Steve stops him. ‘Your room?’

‘Sure, why?’ Jonathan asks as they start walking upstairs, arms wrapped around shoulders.

‘I like your room. You’ve got cool stuff.’

‘You’re weirdly sweet, ya’ know that?’

‘I keep on hearing weird, Jonathan.’

‘Yeah, well. I’m weird, that good?’

‘Perfect,’ Steve says, nearly making them fall down the staircase as he kisses Jonathan’s neck, places a slutty hand against Jonathan, ecstatic when he feels him hard and thick, stuttering as Jonathan whines, moving against his palm.

He’s not against a stairwell fuck, thinks there might be something there in the future, when he can get Jonathan grinding against him again in midmorning, when everyone is out at class. But Jonathan’s eyes are closed, brows pinched, trying to move away to the room, so Steve lets go. Idea tabled for a later day - when he doesn’t feel like his heart might burst if he looks at Jonathan’s scrunched up nose for a second too long. 

As they tumble into Jonathan’s room, he wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling him in for another sloppy kiss, sucking on Steve’s tongue, Steve feels his lips go dry.

‘I’m not like this with anyone else.’

Steve takes too long, and Jonathan breathes heavy, like he regrets it immediately. ‘Sorry, just…’

‘Me too,’ Steve says, meaning it. ‘It’s not like this with anyone else.’ It’s better with Jonathan, makes the bad times so much worse. Jonathan melts into him, hugs him tightly, then moves away swift, sitting at the end of his bed to pull of his boots.

The window with the broken latch is open, cold air seeping in, the wind rustling the posters above Jonathan’s bed. He turns on the lamp, old patchwork thing he brought from home, the room’s light tinted with square patches of mismatched fabric. Steve lets his fingers trail over the stacks of novels lined up by the walls before he sits down. Jonathan’s plaid bed sheets are clean and starched, crisp against bare skin. He looks over, sees Jonathan take off his watch, leaving the leather strap on his side table, perpendicular with the book he's reading. 

Steve is slower getting undressed, and Jonathan watches him as he takes off his shirt with both arms, criss-cross, leaving them both in their underwear.

Jonathan looks good, eyes soft, hands crawling across the sheets. The skin below his abs sags as he breathes, his thighs pressed against the bed, and Steve reaches out to hold them, to watch his fingers press into the flesh, feel the fair hairs.

‘What do you want?’

‘This is real, isn’t it?’ Jonathan asks, suddenly sounding nervous again. Everything too much.

Steve nods, moves closer, one knee over Jonathan’s, not quite straddling him. ‘I know what I want. I want this to be real. But what do you want?’

Jonathan looks up, irises scaling to the dim light, sharp eyes focused. ‘I want this. I want all of this.’

It's everything and too much still, but Steve's greedy, he wants more. 

‘Why?’ Maybe it’s insecurity, or maybe it’s the kind of comfort he’s always wanted from Jonathan. He lets his neediness show. ‘Why do you like me?’

‘Steve…’ Jonathan almost teases, taking Steve’s other leg, pulling him over his lap. He bites his lip as he does it, like he’s surprised he’s being that obvious. Makes Steve smile, and try again.

‘Seriously dude, I don’t know if it’s like, a crisis, or maybe I’m just this fucking insecure, but I need to hear you say it. I need to know.’

Jonathan rubs small circles into the skin under the edge of Steve’s briefs, loosening the tight knots. ‘You can’t tell?’

If Steve was weaker, he would give up out of sheer embarrassment, but he grinds down, feeling Jonathan pulsing against him, keeps on doing it as he waits for an answer. The stubbornness holding out.

Jonathan sighs, places a quick kiss on Steve’s shoulder, hooks his chin over, like he can’t look at him as he talks.

‘It’s selfish.’

‘I’m selfish?’ Steve asks, not shocked, but confused.

‘No, no, I’m not saying that.’ Jonathan mutters, nuzzling into Steve’s ear. ‘It’s selfish, the reason I like you.’

‘Oh, come on. That’s so fucking… you.’ Steve's sigh comes out as a laugh. ‘Whatever it is, it’s not selfish, even if it was, why would I care. I’m a pretty simple dude, dude, I just like that you like me.’

Jonathan runs his teeth over Steve’s earlobe, feeling like the cut of a smile.

‘I mean- I mean, you know that you’re hot, right?’

Steve grinds down, waits until Jonathan has gasped, moved back with his eyes open, to wave a hand over his torso, an overly confident acknowledgment of said fact, that makes Jonathan roll his eyes and huff lightly, and eases the sick pit of anxiety in Steve’s stomach, because it’s almost like they’re joking.

He knows Jonathan thinks he’s hot. Jonathan’s not a liar, not the type to say that shit in the heat of the moment, wet whispers on the back of Steve’s neck in the early morning. But it must be more than that. He hopes it’s more than that. Jonathan deserves more than that.

‘Sorry,’ Jonathan says, giving up. He moves down so the back of his arms are on the bed, and Steve moves with him, hands braced by his head, his chest pressing down.

‘It’s alright.’ 

Jonathan kisses him on the corner of his mouth, their noses brushing. Steve takes a strand of Jonathan’s hair, twisting it, and Jonathan smiles easily. He’s such a fucking cat, honestly, acts all weird around human touch then turns into putty when Steve starts petting him. He scratches against Jonathan’s scalp, manoeuvres his dick up, their legs just overlapping. He’s so hard it hurts, but they’re on the edge of something else, can’t lose it.

He’s waited so long to hear Jonathan talk.

‘Can you go first?’

‘Huh?’

‘Can you tell me why, first,’ Jonathan says, looking shy. ‘I don’t know how to say it, so can you go first.’

‘You want me to tell you why I like you?’

‘Yeah, suppose I do.’

Steve plants his hands closer to Jonathan’s head, his thumbs just touching the tip of Jonathan’s ears. He might regret this, asking Steve, because Steve’s a sappy, always has been. He likes to love. He used to struggle before, naming the reasons why, but now, faces a kiss away from each other, perfectly horizontal, it's like waving a hand through clear water. Like coming home. 

‘You’re funny.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Shut up,’ Steve says, fondly. ‘You’re funny like no one I’ve ever met. Clever funny, like you really think before you say a joke, like you care.’ He kisses Jonathan, lips closed, feels the warmth of his pink cheeks, pulls away again. ‘And you know so much stuff, about, like everything. You know every band ever, even the ones you claim to hate.’

Jonathan goes red, his tongue rolling against his teeth nervously. 

Steve smiles, so far past hiding. ‘You played that Arctic Monkeys’ song I like.’

Jonathan’s eyes widen. ‘You were listening?’

‘Always do.’

‘Argyle called me a simp for playing it.’

‘Yeah, well, it worked.’

‘Good to know,’ Jonathan says, pensively, amused. ‘I didn’t think anyone listened to the radio show.’

‘I do.' Steve's firm, only slightly joking with it. 'I liked it when you invited me to watch you guys record.’

Jonathan lets out a puff of warm air, losing the small smile, moving his hands down to Steve’s waist, gripping tighter. ‘Me too.’

‘It was like a date.’

‘It was a date.’ Jonathan swallows. 'I wanted it to be like a date.' 

‘Ah,’ Steve says, not totally surprised. Kisses Jonathan's left dimple. Smells sweet wood-ash where nothing has burnt. Tea-tree tingle. ‘That’s another reason I like you.’

‘What is?' Jonathan whispers. 

‘I have fun with you. I feel better after hanging out with you, always.’

Jonathan pushes up on to his elbows, forehead gently knocking into Steve’s. Their eyes meet. ‘You make me feel better too.’

Steve places his hands on Jonathan’s chest, moving his legs wider again, feeling like their moving towards something good.

‘It’s like- It’s like I steal your over-confidence, selfish, you see? I take some of it second-hand.’

‘Rude.’ 

‘It’s good.’ Jonathan mutters, his eyelashes tickling Steve's cheek. ‘You make me do things I’d never do before. Like, if you think I can do it, then I know I can.’

A sharp flutter in his heart, ribs pinching, Steve kisses him, running his tongue over Jonathan’s teeth. He asks again, thinks they’re ready now.

‘What do you want? Wanna fuck me?’

Jonathan moves his hands down to Steve’s ass, his fingers just creeping towards the middle, always so fucking polite.

‘Do you want that?’ Jonathan swallows. ‘You don’t have to- you don’t have to pretend, with me.’

‘I don’t,’ Steve says, embarrassed but feeling braver than he ever did before, the sight of pink blooming on Jonathan's bobbing neck like a starting flag. ‘I promise, I don’t. I’m just like this.’

‘Good.’ Jonathan kisses him, slowly moves on to his side, bringing their crotches together, hitches his feet behind Steve’s knees, drawing him in to rub against him. ‘I want to fuck you.’

Steve starts breathing quicker, moving quicker, trying to hold off, but it feels like he’s been waiting an eternity. ‘How?’

Jonathan unravels his legs, pulls Steve’s briefs away and throws them onto the floor, exhales and the breath washes over Steve’s dick, makes it jump. ‘Like this,’ He says, moving on top. ‘Can we? Like this.’

Steve wordlessly agrees, pulling down Jonathan’s underwear, not getting them off his legs, just bunched up under his ass. Steve pulls him in by the shoulder, hot and hard against each other, looks over and sees Jonathan’s cheeks pushed up. 

‘You have a nice ass,’ He says, before sighing low and long, because Jonathan has just snuck a hand behind his thigh, moving his leg up.

‘Sure, Steve.’

‘You do! I don’t lie about butts.’

Jonathan laughs, the same cynical laugh as always, but it feels so warm that Steve tries to swallow it, kissing him and sucking at his upper lip, biting before he can move away.

Jonathan sits back, his briefs wrapped around one leg, his fingers massaging a tender spot at the top of Steve’s thigh. Steve automatically reaches for the lube and condoms from the bedside table.

There’s a cold splash on his dick, Jonathan letting it drip from the bottle, then taking some more and warming it between his fingers, taking Steve in hand, rough skin and wide palm, pumping him twice. Kissing Steve again, then pulling back.

‘Have you been with anyone else this week?’

‘No. You?’ Even though Steve already knows the answer. 

‘No,’ Jonathan says, moving Steve’s legs up higher, pushing his hips down, Steve’s ankles nearly resting on his shoulders. ‘Do you want to…’

‘Yes,’ Steve says, horny as hell, and already throwing the condom at the far wall, hitting a poster of Robert Smith square on the nose.

‘I was going to ask if you’d been tested recently.’

‘Duh, dude. Every month. Come on, fuck me raw.’

Jonathan groans, hoarse and needy, his eyebrows pinched as he pumps Steve once more, before moving his slippery fingers down, circling with his thumb. 

‘More.’

Steve’s legs ache as Jonathan pushes them further past his shoulders, Steve on his back, ass in the air, his dick hitting his stomach. Feeling so fucking vulnerable. He couldn’t do this with anyone else.

Jonathan gets two fingers in, pours more lube out, and thrusts three times, stopping to kiss Steve’s kneecap.

‘Could you talk to me?’ Steve asks, feeling greedy and full and wanting more. ‘I like it when you talk.’

He runs his fingers over the space between Jonathan’s eyebrows, soothing the crease in his skin. Jonathan smiles with his eyes closed, opens them slowly. ‘I- I like you.’ A third finger, deeper, filthy contradiction of the delicate words. ‘I like you so much.’

He removes his hand, presses his dick against the side of Steve’s pelvis. Pushes in with three fingers again. ‘You’re really fucking weird. It’s so nice.’ Stupidly sweet and strange, makes Steve wants to remember that, just to tease it later. 

He takes Steve’s hand, holds it against Steve’s leg, telling him to hold on. Then spreads his fingers gently, closing, then opening. Sighing as Steve whines, removing his fingers, then pushes the tip inside.

‘Fuck.’ Steve inhales, his chest too tight.

‘You okay?’

Steve breathes out, uncoiling. ‘Yeah, yeah, keep going.’

Jonathan pulls out, rubs the head of his cock around Steve’s rim - one of those dirty moves Steve never expects from him but makes his mouth water  - then pushes back inside, further.

Steve shifts his hips, hears Jonathan gasp, burying inside. Makes his fingers tingle, all his bloods racing. ‘You feel so good. Always feel so good.’ 

‘Fuck, Steve.’ Jonathan thrusts in, then lets go of Steve’s leg, collapsing forward. Steve wraps his legs around Jonathan’s spine, feels him almost slip out, thrusting back in a little harder. ‘God. You’re going to kill me.’

Steve smirks, licks at Jonathan’s lower lip, moving to whisper taunts into his ear. ‘Harder. I know you can go harder.’

Jonathan clicks his tongue, wheezes like he’s amused, then starts fucking again in earnest. Starting slow, getting faster before Steve can ask again.

‘It is good?’

‘Fucking, fuck...’ Steve murmurs, breath stuttering as he feels Jonathan reach the sweet spot. ‘So good.’

Jonathan’s hips start jerking out of rhythm, and he pulls out suddenly, pinching himself at the base. Steve whines at the emptiness, gets the sudden urge to rock upwards and take Jonathan between his lips, stops just to admire it, Jonathan sweaty and pink, his dick wet and throbbing. Jonathan staring down at Steve with slanted eyes, smiling like he can’t help it.

‘Want me to ride you?’

Jonathan's smile twists into a charming scowl as he groans again, comically loud this time, dropping his chin to his chest. ‘That’s not going to help.’

‘Fuck that,’ Steve says, ‘I don’t care, I wanna ride you.’

For all his protest, Jonathan flops down the bed quickly enough, dragging Steve on to his waist with firm hands. He holds his dick up as Steve lowers down (Fucking hell), takes Steve’s hand and kisses his knuckles.

He grabs at Steve’s ass, pulling the cheeks apart, cold air touching him, when everything else is boiling hot, like the wind is just as indecent. Steve starts bouncing, can already feel Jonathan hitting the sweet spot again, grinding too fast, wanting it now. He looks down at Jonathan, feels his strong hands move to his thighs, thumb pressing into a large freckle, and it makes him move even faster. They've done this dance before, made each other sweat, but there was always a wall; a mouth muffled against skin. 

Now, he speaks. 

‘Fuck, you’re amazing.’ Jonathan takes Steve’s dick, starts pumping it just as fast, making him choke. 

‘Yeah?’ Steve whines, high-pitched, fucking indulging in it, because Jonathan likes this, Jonathan is telling him how much he likes it. He feels so full, so good. 

Maybe the understanding, the openness, desperate breaths and embarrassing confessions makes everything easier, because Steve looks down, tears beading in his waterline, and the word travels. 

‘So good. Good boy.’ Jonathan’s eyes widen as he says it, surprising himself, but his hand jerks wildly at the same time, pushing Steve over the edge, and he can’t reply with anything other than a nod and a shout, as he cums all over Jonathan’s hands.

Jonathan plants his feet on the bed, thrusting as Steve finishes, taking Steve’s chin and pulling him to his mouth, muttering, ‘Steve, Steve, fuck.’

He feels Jonathan cum inside him, the wet mess seeping out, and he circles his hips, letting the overbearing sensation sting, the burn undeniably delicious. Jonathan kisses him, hands either side of his face, keeps him there a moment longer.

Steve places one last kiss onto his cheek, before falling down on to his side, Jonathan slipping out of him with an obscene squelch, that even makes Jonathan laugh. 

‘We need to clean up.’ He pants, moving Steve up the bed by his hips.

Steve moans, ‘I’m not moving. I did all the work.’

Jonathan tuts, spins round to face him with some tissues, wipes them both down. ‘All the work?’

‘Okay, you did some good work too, a strong contribution.’

‘You dick.’ Jonathan smiles, throwing the tissues away and kissing him on the cheek. ‘Was it okay, though?’

Steve shuffles under the covers, hitting the pillow down until it fits under his arm. ‘More than okay.’

Jonathan gets up, changes into his sleep clothes, matching white tee and shorts, throws some shorts at Steve. Doesn’t seem to care that they’ve already made a mess of the sheets, says he doesn’t want Steve to get cold at night. He settles in beside Steve, cheeks on the pillow, reaching over him to switch off the small lamp.

‘I missed you sleeping over,’ He says, voice small in the dark.

‘Me too.’ Steve yawns. ‘No swim practice tomorrow, I can sleep in.’

‘Good,’ Jonathan says, his hands lying in the space between them. Steve falls asleep quickly, and when he wakes in the night, he laces their fingers together, holding hands until the morning comes.

Sunday

S: sealed the deal

R: gross

..

R: send proof?

Jonathan yelps as Steve pulls him back into bed by the edge of his white tee, blinking as the he takes a photo of them with his phone. ‘Steve!’

‘You look cute. Stupid with your eyes closed, but cute.’ He sends it off to Robin before Jonathan can stop him. Jonathan huffs, carefully places a record on the player by his desk, then shuffles back under the covers, drawing him up to his shoulders, a strip of morning sunlight hitting the bed.

‘I’m going to make this my phone background,’ Steve says, refusing to let the nerves back in. Jonathan takes him by the chin, kisses him.  

‘You’re so cheesy.’

‘You could do the same,’ Steve says, smirking, because Jonathan is smiling, not even trying to hide it.

‘Too late, got there before you.’ He picks up his phone from the bedside table, holds it in his lap, their knees touching. He unlocks it, holds it up to Steve so he can see the private screen. ‘See?’

Steve grins, sits up, taking the phone to zoom in. ‘I knew I looked good in that photo.’ He really does, the cut of his jaw illuminated by another beautiful Sunday morning.

‘You always look good, asshole,’ Jonathan says, throwing his phone to the side, placing a palm to Steve’s cheek, kissing him like the morning is long and bright, because it is. Guitar strings plucked and a gentle drumbeat speeding up beside them. 

Jonathan pulls back and smiles, lets Steve fall into him, as he asks, ‘Breakfast?’

Chapter Text

Two Months Later

‘When did Tommy become an okay person?’ Vickie asks, legs crossed on the dirty couch, sucking on a Cola flavoured vape she pickpocketed off an unsuspecting fratboy earlier, distracting him by batting her eyelashes at his bad jokes.

‘I like to think he changed after I came out, but I dunno really,’ Steve says, pushing the vape away with a faux gag. Vickie exhales like a grenade, bopping her head along to the song playing.

‘Well, it’s nice, anyway,’ She says, ‘He complimented my Crocs.’

Steve sighs, smiling. ‘I can’t believe you wore Crocs to your first frat party.’

It’s another Saturday at Phi Delta, terrible music and grating smells only made slightly more tolerable by Vickie’s presence, Robin and Jonathan arguing in the corner. Last week, Vickie kept on making shy comments, suggesting how she’d always wanted to go along to a frat party (like the movies!) but never knew if she could, so Steve got her a personal invite (not that the invites ever really matter) and was delighted to discover that she was forcing Robin and Jonathan to come along and suffer too, make them go through the real college experience. Argyle’s around somewhere, probably making deals with Samantha, usually ends up smoking on the roof at this time in the evening. 

Tommy was complaining about how the party was a dud; a total snoozefest, only half the crowd they expected. Steve is secretly far happier with it this way, just quiet enough to keep an eye on his boyfriend huffing away by the speakers. 

Vickie kicks one orange Croc into his side. ‘Crocs are cool. I know this, because I wear them. And someone very cool, told me that I was cool, therefore as a wearer of Crocs, I can confidently say, they are cool.’

‘I take it all back.’ Steve grins. ‘You’re lame as hell.’

Vickie snorts, throws her vape away into the air, and takes his drink. She glances over at Robin as she sips through the straw, wiggling her eyebrows at him. ‘They’re having that argument again.’

‘God.’ Steve groans. ‘I knew it.’

Jonathan walks over, bringing a beer for Steve, dropping by his side on the couch, sighing heavily. ‘Can you tell your platonic life partner to stop?'

‘Nope. She’s a free agent.’ Steve takes the beer, opens it with his teeth, just to make Jonathan cringe.

Robin runs over, crosses her arms in front of them, eyes set in fury. ‘Jonathan. You can’t run away from this. You need to admit it.’

‘Babe,’ Vickie says, pulling her down to sit on her knee. ‘Does it really matter?’

‘Yes.’ Robin croaks, losing some of her angry resolve as Vickie wraps her arms around her waist. She nuzzles a tipsy kiss into Robin’s ear, and Steve nods to Jonathan, knocking his head upstairs. Jonathan finishes his drink, places a hand on Steve’s waist as he stands.

‘That’s our sign to go.’

‘This isn’t over Jonathan!’ Robin shouts, even as she’s pulled into a clandestine makeout session.

‘Again, seriously?’ Steve mutters into his ear as they go upstairs, looking for fresh air.

Jonathan doesn’t pout, because he never really does, but he shakes his head, like it’s obvious. ‘You have to be on my side.’

‘Not really.’

‘I am so more autistic coded than she is.’ Jonathan tuts, scrunching his nose. Steve leads him to a corridor of the main hall, backs him onto the wall, their bodies hidden by a large houseplant, kisses Jonathan’s nose, just to make him blush.

‘Sure you are, babe.’

‘Steve, are you listening? I’ve been over all the diagnostics, I’ve….’

Steve shuts him up with a wet kiss to the lips, a dirty move he'll never grow out of, ‘So autistic, babe.’

‘That’s not the point, Steve.’ Jonathan tugs at his collar, kissing him back, his lips vibrating with the sound, his fingers running through Steve’s hair.

He’s not drunk, but he’s had more than a couple of rum and cokes, and Jonathan’s nose is pink, and his hair is messed up from dancing (how Vickie convinced him to dance, Steve has no idea, but he’s not complaining) and his lips feel rough from the joint they smoked earlier, and his neck smells like tea tree and salt. Steve kisses him on the jaw, then takes his hand, pulling him further into the house, towards the bathroom.

He flips the light switch, locks the door, and pushes Jonathan against the counter, cradling his head as he leans back against the mirror, starts tearing at his jacket. Steve plants kisses down his neck, thumb running over Jonathan’s belt.

‘Stop.’

Steve looks up, worried, finds Jonathan smiling above him with hooded eyes, feels Jonathan’s hands twisting his shoulders. ‘It’s good, it’s good, don’t worry. Just, come up here.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’ Jonathan moves on to his knees, wincing as they hit the tile. ‘Haven’t done this in a while.’

‘Fucked in a bathroom?’ Steve laughs, not as surprised as he would have been before, just excited, undoing his belt, running a thumb over Jonathan’s mouth.

‘Actually, never that before,’ Jonathan says, lips against Steve’s fingers, pulling down the jeans. ‘Just mean… I haven’t touched you like this in a while.’ He lathes his tongue over Steve’s briefs, dampening the fabric. Makes Steve get really hard, really fucking fast.

‘Sad. Missed it.’ Steve gasps, Jonathan finally taking the briefs down, licking his lips. ‘You’re like weirdly, really good at blowjobs.'

'Weirdly,' Jonathan repeats, smiling, before gathering his spit, getting the head wet, red kiss. 

‘Yeah, it’s weird, man.’ Steve rests his hands on Jonathan’s shoulders. ‘Your first time- fuck. I thought you were like a dick sucking savant.’

Jonathan hums, like he’s laughing, but he hollows his cheeks with it, like velvet, takes Steve down further, tongue circling before he pulls off again. ‘That good, huh?’

‘Fuck, yes.’ Steve hits his head back against the mirror, moaning as Jonathan gives him little kitten licks around the tip, his hand pumping him at the base. Steve bucks up with a hiss.

Jonathan grins, not wide, just sharp teeth peeking out. He slows his hand, looks up through his eyelashes. ‘You want it? You good?’

The question, taunting, runs through his skin, makes him shiver. They’ve had this talk before, they know what Steve likes, what Jonathan doesn’t, but they’ve never said it again during, not since the first time.

Never Daddy, never.

But good boy? Yes, fucking please.

‘I’m good.’ Steve’s voice goes tense, crackling. Jonathan takes him between his lips again, bobs once, spit slick on his chin, then takes him out, jerks him with one hand, pausing with his fingers trailing over a raised vein, fire fading through the skin. 

Jonathan waits, his legs folded up neatly under his knees. ‘Steve, are you really going to be good?’

‘Yes.’ Steve lies, nearly bucking up into Jonathan’s mouth as he drops it open, the flat of his tongue on display. ‘Fuck, I’ll be good, I’ll be so good.’

‘Hands on the counter.’

Steve obliges, quickly. Jonathan releases him completely, using both hands to push his thighs into cabinet. Kisses the top of Steve’s right thigh, then the short hair at the base of his dick. ‘Be good.’ Jonathan opens his mouth wider, takes him down, sucking hard.

‘Fuck, fuck please,’ Steve begs, so focused on staying still, on being good, so desperate to hear it, but too in love with the shape of Jonathan’s tight, warm mouth.

Jonathan’s hands squeeze Steve’s legs, leaving red rings. He goes faster, bobbing, wet noises singing in the space, the thump of loud music from the party only just drowning it out.

Steve feels it hit him, his legs going weak, gripping onto the counter for his dear life. ‘Fuck. I’m going to cum, can I cum? Please, please…’

Jonathan pulls off, moves both his hands to work Steve over. ‘You want to cum? You’ve been good?’

Steve whimpers, biting onto his lip to hide the worst of it.

‘You’ve been a good boy,' Jonathan says, deliciously kind and mean. 'You can cum.’

He gets his mouth over the head, loose, not moving as Steve pumps thick white strips over his lips. Jonathan swallows some of it, spits the rest out into the sink, drinks from the tap as Steve comes back to life. Resting his forehead on Steve’s shoulder as he starts breathing normally again, startles when Steve finds the strength, somewhere, to spin him round and into a dip to kiss him, and Jonathan laughs, his hair upside down, nearly falling as Steve trips, because fuck, his legs are jelly. Boneless.

‘You’re suck a fucking dork.’ Jonathan kisses him back, not worried about possible dick-breath, because Steve literally never cares about that shit.

They’re walking back through the campus, summer sunset taking it’s time to pass the horizon, the trees cascaded in orange and pink. Vickie is drunk, could run off and vomit behind a trashcan at any given moment drunk, but she’s putting on a brave face, one arm on Steve’s shoulders, the other on Robin’s, dragging her along the path and back to the dorms.

Jonathan and Argyle walk ahead, the smell of a surreptitious joint wafting through the air, making Vickie wrinkle her nose alarmingly.

‘Where did you two disappear to then?’ Robin asks, heaving as Vickie loses all control over her feet.

Steve smirks, swings his head round so she can see it, raising his eyebrows. ‘Upstairs bathroom.’

‘Ew. You and that bathroom.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘You’ve practically made it a crime scene.’

Steve smacks the air with his lips. ‘A crime of passion.’

‘That’s not what that means, Steve.’

‘Potato, po-tah-to.’

‘Potatoes?’ Vickie squeaks, and for some unexplainable reason, this is the trigger, as she goes green, escaping their arms and running off behind a tree.

Steve shouts over to the guys to wait up, watches as Robin scampers off to scrape back Vickie’s hair.

Jonathan takes the joint from Argyle and offers it to Steve, who waves it away, scared off by coach’s recent threats of upcoming drug testing.

‘They make you pee in a cup?’ Argyle asks, affronted. ‘That’s barbaric, dude.’  

Steve shrugs, reaches around Jonathan, and pulls him into his side, resting his chin on Jonathan’s shoulder. ‘It’s okay, better than Tommy’s frat. They just drug test to scare em’ when they’re acting like assholes.’

‘They were alright tonight,’ Jonathan says, quietly.

‘They were? Good. I was going to throw some punches if they weren’t.’

Jonathan snorts, because that’s all it is now, Steve throwing punches; a harmless joke. ‘Sure you were, dude.’ He smiles, then shakes his head. ‘Actually, I spent ages talking to Tommy.’

‘Yeah, you dudes were acting like best buds.’ Argyle laughs, reaching for another joint from his breast pocket before Jonathan knocks his hand back, giving him a stern look (Fine!), instead he clicks his lighter as he talks, pouting. ‘What were you talking about?’

‘I can’t remember. He was just, like, kinda nice.’ He grimaces. ‘He said he liked my hair?’

‘Damn, Tommy’s stealing my moves.’ Steve whispers into Jonathan’s ear, earning him a sweet smile.

‘He kept on vaping at me too.’

‘I thought you smelled like Candy Apple.’

‘Shit, sorry.’ Jonathan mumbles, running his fingers up and down Steve’s arm. ‘Is it bad?’

‘Nah, still you.’

Which makes Jonathan brush away Steve’s hair from his neck, smiling so fond it hurts. ‘But seriously, what changed? With Tommy?’

Argyle snaps his lighter shut, his lips curling. ‘Might be what Samantha told me.’

‘What’d she say?’ Steve asks, intrigued now.

Argyle spreads his hands, entertaining the captive audience, behind him, Vickie finishes retching and stumbles back on the scene, but Argyle pays no heed, fluttering his fingers between Steve and Jonathan. His hair blows behind him, wind making him messiah-like with his secrets.

‘She pegs him.’

‘No way.’ Steve grins, enthused and electrified with this breakthrough, he turns to Jonathan, sees him stunned.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

‘What can’t you believe John-bons? Pegging opens up a new world of queerdom to the uninitiated.’ Argyle declares with a grandiose turn of his hands. ‘Sam’s a liberated woman, just like my Eden.’

‘I’ve heard enough about you being pegged, I don’t need to even think about Tommy and Sam getting up to it.’ 

‘Why are you blushing?’ Steve sighs at the sigh of it, Jonathan being a cute, prude disaster, acting like he didn't just give a life-changing blowjob an hour ago. 

‘I’m not blushing, Steve, I’m just disgusted.’

‘Sounds judgemental,’ says Robin, dragging a sobered-up Vickie back into conversation. ‘What’s Jonathan being a little bitch about?’

‘Samantha pegs Tommy.’ Steve announces proudly, keeps his arms wrapped around Jonathan tightly, even when he starts squirming.

‘There is nothing wrong with pegging,’ Jonathan mumbles furiously, ‘I just don’t want to hear about what Tommy does in bed.’

Robin smiles wickedly, lets go of Vickie, lunging towards him. ‘Samantha told me it was bright pink, and like, eight inches long, and it’s one of those alien dicks with the blooming eggs…’

Jonathan breaks free from Steve’s hold, stomping off down the path, Robin following him, sharing even more, probably made-up facts, about Tommy’s sex life.

‘Your partners, man.’ Argyle muses with a faraway smile, propping Vickie up on his side. ‘They are the biggest freaks I’ve ever met.’

Vickie yawns. ‘I like freaks.’

‘Yeah.’ Steve smiles, helping her walk back to the dorms, following Jonathan’s footsteps back to his room. ‘Me too.’