Chapter Text
Jonathan is not entirely sure his brain is working. Because if it was, it would tell him, without a doubt, to turn around and abort mission and get himself as far away from Nancy as possible. This is a bad idea, one of his worst, and he's going to ruin this whole thing before it even starts.
He’s gonna say something. He’s going to slip up somehow, someway. He'll mention something about her nice her shirt (yellow) looks, or the hideous prom decorations (olive green).
He stays silent the whole trek to the darkroom, too afraid something too revealing will come out if he opens his mouth. Nancy seems fine with the silence, hugging her book to her chest and looking down at the stairs as they ascend. He wonders if she's ever come up here before, or if she's just following his lead.
He spends a good thirty seconds debating if he should open the door for her (Would that be too forward? Or is that still casual? You hold the door for your friends, don’t you? Come on, Byers, you don’t even have any friends to test that theory), but as they approach it swings open and a tall boy hurries out, clutching still dripping pictures and rushing down the hall.
Nancy grabs the door and waves her hand for him to head in, like it’s no big deal to her at all.
Jonathan holds tightly to the canvas of his bag as he follows her invitation. He's pretty certain his heart is beating loud enough for people to hear on the floor below them.
The darkroom isn’t the right name for it, he thinks as they enter. It’s dark, of course, with painted walls (black) and no outside light. But it’s also filled with a piercing red color that keeps distracting him from what he’s supposed to be doing. He tries his best to ignore Nancy wandering the room as he pulls out the roll of film, turns the knob until the image looks just the way he wants it to. It springs into focus before him, sharpening under his gaze to reveal three smiling faces.
Nancy comes around to join him as he sets it in the developer. She leans on the wooden table, her hair brushing the edges of his jacket (tan).
Jonathan finds himself underwhelmed by the photo itself. Now that he’s seen the real thing, black and white doesn’t do anything justice. It can’t capture the multitudes, the weight of everything. It’s a pale representation of the world he’s just now realized exists.
“That looks great.” Nancy reaches as if to grab the photo and he reacts on instinct, grabbing her wrist and pulling it away before she can touch the liquid.
She turns to look at him quizzically, and Jonathan finds himself struck by how blue her eyes are even in all the red of the darkroom.
“Jonathan?” She wiggles her fingers and he realizes he’s still holding onto her, his chemical stained hands gripping her forearm.
He lets go and turns forcefully back towards the table, trying to ignore the sound of his own pulse thrumming in his ears.
“It doesn’t stay. If you take it out too fast.”
A silent beat passes between them.
“Oh.” Nancy wipes her hand on her jeans.
“Sorry. About- that.” He looks over and she’s taken her same place at his side, returning her focus to the developing image. “I didn’t mean to-“
Nancy only shrugs.
“It’s okay.” She taps her fingers against the table, her nails sky blue. “How long does it take?”
“About ten more minutes.” Jonathan says as he looks down at the faces blurred by the liquid, shimmering under the red light. "Until it's all done."
Nancy pulls back on her sleeve to reveal a slim leather watch (peach), tightly bound around her wrist. She takes a look at the time and bits down on her lip, before looking back up at him.
“I’ve got to be back by 3:45 to watch Holly, my mom has book club tonight. I should probably walk home soon.”
Her dark hair looks almost purple in the light, Jonathan thinks.
She blinks up at him, and he realizes she’s waiting for his permission.
“Y-Yeah. That’s fine.” He stands up and shoves his hands in his pockets, trying to ignore the impulse in his head that wants to shout ‘let me give you a ride, I have a car!’
Nancy adjusts her book bag (blue).
“Can you give me the pictures tomorrow?” She asks.
“Sure. Yeah. Definitely.” At this rate, he probably isn't even going to make it until tomorrow.
Nancy gives another quick smile and a nod, and bows out of the room.
Jonathan’s left alone, drenched in red, staring down at the last piece of a colorless world that he’ll never see again.
He almost gets away with it. The drive home goes smoothly, and making dinner for Mom and Will is the same as any other night. He doesn’t need color to go through the same routine he’s had for years.
There are even moments where he nearly forgets. He stands over the stove (white) and pours water into a pot (black) and thinks that nothing at all has changed.
And yet, with a single sentence, he slips up after dinner. He doesn't mention something obvious, like Nancy, or the photos, or how the first thing he noticed when he came home was how the paint (light brown) on the top half of their front door doesn't quite match the bottom half (dark brown).
No, it’s something irrelevant and foolish. He's helping Mom clean up after Will's hurried back to his room, and he makes an accidental comment about the design (orange) on the outside of the glass. He doesn't think anything of it until his mom stops moving, slowly sets her plate back on the table, and envelops him in a hug.
“Oh, Jonathan.” She whispers, and he feels frozen in place.
She sits him down on the couch, dirty dishes be damned, and speaks in a soft, careful voice that reminds him frightfully of when she attempted to give him The Talk after his sixteenth birthday.
“You know,” She begins, brushing imaginary dirt off her slacks. “I saw it when I was around your age.”
He’s really not sure what he’s supposed to say here, so he stays silent.
“It’s perfectly normal!” Oh god, this is another version of the sex talk. “I know it probably seems really weird right now, but-“
“Mom, I’m-“ Trying very hard not to think about it because none of this makes a goddamn bit of sense. “Fine.”
Joyce scoots closer on the couch, laying her hand on his arm.
“I know, sweetie. But I’m sure it just feels… Different.”
He forces a nod.
“And, well… who is it?" Joyce is a lot of wonderful things, but subtle is rarely one of them.
You don’t know them would be a waste of time, because everyone in this town knows everyone else. And as busy as his mom is, she still knows how he spends most of his time, and it isn’t hanging around girls. If anyone is more surprised about this development than he is, it’s probably her.
“Doesn’t matter.” He stands up in an attempt to flee the increasingly awkward situation, but she reaches out and grabs his hands.
“Jonathan, of course it does!”
“It’s a mistake.” He hates that he can see the redness in her cheeks. “I don’t think this was supposed to happen.”
She squeezes his hands in her own, her expression somehow covering "I love you" and "don't be stupid" at the same time.
“If,” Joyce clears her throat, pushing the sentiment out despite her maternal instincts. “If you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to.”
Good, because he really, really doesn’t want to talk about it. Now or, potentially, ever
“Just know that I’m here. Whenever you’re ready.”
Jonathan feels a warmth spreading inside of his chest as she kisses his forehead. Briefly, he wonders if there's a matching redness coloring his face.
“Thanks.” He mumbles, and she squeezes his palm again.
Her eyes are a warm, friendly brown as she smiles at him. In that instant, it's the best color he’s ever seen.
It’s… Real.
That’s the decision he’s come to as he lays in bed, twenty-four hours removed from a life-shattering discovery and feeling like he’s lived a hundred years since he was last here. His world has changed and he’s unsuccessfully kept it a secret. He’s had maybe his third ever real conversation with Nancy. And it went-
Well. It went.
Since this is, horrifically, actually happening, he might as well try and cope with it. He should talk to her. Right? That’s how you meet people. That's how you become friends.
Not that he is any sort of authority on the subject.
Maybe he should talk to Will about it. Will was always great at making friends. He came home from his very first day of elementary school with Mike and Lucas, while Jonathan’s made it through 11 grades and still struggles to find people to let him look at their notes when he misses a class.
Will is going to know what to do. He’ll know how to talk to Nancy without sounding like a total idiot. He’ll know how to actually get to know her, instead of just acknowledging her the way he does most others outside his family.
She probably won't see it. Not with him, anyway. But knowing her, maybe even being her friend... That could help.
It would at least make him feel like less of a total creep for having a girl he doesn't even know as his soulmate.
Those thoughts manage to actually reassure him. If there’s no reversing this (and he scoured Mom’s book of colors for a good twenty minutes looking for anything on that exact subject) then there’s no point in fighting it.
That night, Jonathan closes his eyes and dreams in color for the first time.