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Steve's been watching him all morning.
Jonathan had seen his red BMW in his rearview mirror after he pulled into his usual parking spot in the back corner of the upperclassmen's lot that morning and thought little of it until it pulled into the spot beside him.
Nancy had been telling him about the argument she got into with her mother that morning and he'd been briefly distracted by Steve's stare. That's what it was – a stare, through the passenger window of his car, right past Nancy and straight to him. It was unnerving; he had rarely, if ever, seen Steve that still, that focused. And when the older boy had managed to properly grab his attention, pull his gaze from his girlfriend, he had quirked up an eyebrow in something that looked like invitation.
It was unnerving.
"Jonathan?" Nancy had asked, noticing his distraction.
"Sorry," he'd said, blinking and looking back at her. "I'm just tired."
But she'd already caught on, already turned around and seen Steve, who was now wearing an easy smile. He waved. She waved back. A beat later, Jonathan raised his hand as well.
And then Steve was climbing out of his car, strolling towards the school, and Nancy was looking at him, concerned.
He'd had to assure her he was fine all the way to her locker, and then his. Things had been… weird between the three of them since Halloween, but he really didn't think much of it. Steve and Nancy had broken up, and she had gotten together with him at the same time. It was weird. If he'd been in Steve's position he'd feel weird too.
It would all blow over. He hopes.
Nancy insists on kissing him at his locker. Of all the things about dating her – dating anyone – it's the thing that still makes him the most uncomfortable. He doesn't like inviting attention, and she just can't help herself. It's nice. He likes it. He likes kissing her, a lot. He'd just rather do it in the film closet during lunch, door locked and sounds muffled, and his hand up her shirt as she pulls on his hair.
Not where Tommy and Carol can see, where people can talk. Fucking teenagers, all they do is talk.
Except for Steve. Steve doesn't talk. Steve watches. And today, when he raises his head and gives Nancy a grin, watching her walk off to calculus for a few seconds before turning to head to chemistry, Steve is watching them, standing at the end of the row of lockers.
The same look from that morning is on his face and it makes Jonathan uneasy. It's almost a relief when Steve's hand shoots out and catches him by the shoulder as he walks by.
"Hey, Byers," he says. Jonathan nods.
"Steve."
"We need to—I mean, can we, uh, talk?"
The warning bell rings. Jonathan frowns.
"We have class."
"No, not now. After school? Do you, uh, do you have to work?"
He has no idea how Steve knows he has a job. He's about to ask when he suddenly realizes – Nancy. Nancy must have told him. When, he doesn't know; maybe in they year they were dating, maybe more recently. The thought that she keeps Steve in the loop about him is even more unnerving than Steve's question.
"No," he answers honestly. The government had given the Byers a settlement, their attempt to smooth over their attempt to fake his little brother's death and abandon him in an alternate dimension. It's given the whole family room to breathe; his mom can work day shifts instead of any and every shift she can get her hands on, and he doesn't even need to work anymore. He still does, three times a week, to squirrel money away for college, for getting out of this shit town. But he doesn't have to. It's a weird feeling.
"I'll meet you by your car?" Steve looks even more nervous.
"My car is next to your car," Jonathan observes.
"How convenient for both of us."
Steve planned this. Jonathan wonders if he's been underestimating his rival this entire time.
Probably.
"Okay," he agrees, because there doesn't seem to be another option. If he says no, Steve will still be there. He may as well go along with it and hope for the best.
The warning bell rings.
"Great," Steve claps him on the shoulder. "Gotta go. Can't be late."
He spends the rest of the day wondering what the hell this is all about.
+++
He lies to Nancy. He doesn't like doing it, but Steve didn't say he wanted to talk to both of them. Keeps it vague, tells her he needs to do some things after school. She offers to do her homework in the library and go home with him when he's done.
He can't keep the shy grin off his face at that, can't help but agree. He's still getting used to the idea that she wants to be around him as much as he wants to be around her.
She insists on walking him to the dark room, even though that's not exactly what he told her had to do. He doesn't correct her. Standing at the door it's hard to resist the urge to pull her inside with him, into the film closet, out of her clothes. It seems like a lot more fun than whatever confrontation Steve has in mind. But he said he'd be there and maybe it's best they just get whatever this out of the way now.
Still, the hallways have cleared out and the school has fallen silent, so he takes the opportunity to tug Nancy close to his chest, to wrap his arms around her and kiss her like he means it; not the soft little pecks they have by his locker but something deeper, wetter, hotter. She is so small and so soft against him, her arms tight around his neck, torso pressed flush to his. She sighs a high note into his mouth and he shivers, feeling all the heat rush straight between his legs.
That's his signal to pull away. He's sure she feels how reluctantly he does so.
Her cheeks are flushed when he lets go, her mouth swollen. He smirks and she rolls her eyes.
"See you in like an hour?"
He nods, watches her walk away with his hand on the door handle. As soon as she turns the corner he spins around and heads for the front door.
Steve is leaning against the trunk of his BMW when he gets back to his car. Jonathan takes a moment to open the door to his backseat and drop his bookbag inside before mirroring him against the trunk of his Ford. The contrast between the dull, matte brown paint and rust on his car and the shiny maroon of Steve's makes something ugly twist inside him.
It's not that he wishes he were rich. He just is so tired of being reminded that he's poor.
Steve looks like he's trying to figure out what to say. Jonathan waits, patient.
"How are you doing, Byers?" Steve finally asks.
Jonathan blinks. "Um. Fine?"
"Your brother? Your mom? They okay too?"
"Yeah," Jonathan says slowly. "Um, we're doing okay. It's been… rough, but not as rough as last year. Dustin hasn't told you?"
He knows Steve has been spending time with Dustin. He likes it; he adores his little brother, thinks everyone should have one. And Dustin deserves a big brother, a sweet kid like him. It even makes sense, Steve being the one he'd latch onto. Steve might be into Tom Cruise and Toto and Dustin might be into Devo and Dungeons and Dragons, but scratch the surface and you find the same kind of goofy nerd underneath.
"Not really. That kid's got a lot of questions and they're not really about his friends. A lot of shit about girls."
Oh, that sounds awkward. Jonathan's ready for Will to ask him about girls, but he'd let Will ask him anything. The idea of any of those other kids asking about… well, Mike has Eleven, he's got to be—best not to follow that train of thought.
"He's a curious one alright," Jonathan says instead of voicing any of those thoughts. "I wish you luck. Welcome to the big brother club."
"Thanks." Steve laughs a little.
They fall silent again. Jonathan can feel time passing, can feel a mild panic rising as he thinks about Nancy going back to the dark room, finding he's not there, catching him in his lie. He shouldn't have lied. But he still doesn't know what the hell this is. If he did, he'd nudge the conversation along.
"You know, I never got to apologize."
That's not what he's expecting to hear. "What?"
"When I came to your house, last year, I wasn't… I wasn't looking for Nancy. I was coming to apologize. Because I said a bunch of really fucked up shit about your family, while your brother was missing. That's not me. I'm really sorry, Jonathan."
Steve never uses his first name. He looks at the older boy steadily until Steve finally meets his gaze. Jonathan is surprised to see something like fear in his eyes.
"Apology accepted," he says simply, thinks for a second. "I don't regret punching you."
"I don't regret punching you either." Steve raises one eyebrow.
"Nancy wasn't lying. Nothing happened. Nothing like what you thought, at least. But," he allows, "a lot happened, too. It wasn't fair to you, but we also weren't really thinking about you."
There's a brief silence and Jonathan can feel Steve building up to something, screwing up his nerve.
"What about this time?"
He's been waiting for this, but it still knocks the wind out of him for a second. He fights to keep his voice even.
"This time things happened."
"And did either of you think about me?"
The hurt is plain in Steve's voice, and there's a weight on Jonathan's chest.
"No. Or, I didn't. You'd have to ask Nancy if she did. I wouldn't be surprised, but we also didn't talk about it."
"Not even once?"
He sighs, feels himself deflate.
"Maybe we would have. We definitely should have. But after the… things happened, when we got back, there were drawings all over the house and Mom and Will and Mike were all gone and, well, you know the rest."
Steve does know the rest. He knows about both times, was there both times. Helped save his brother, his mother, both times.
"I never thanked you," Jonathan says. Steve's eyes had drifted off past him to the middle distance but now they snap back to his. "For coming back the first time, helping us trap the demogorgon. For protecting the kids this time, for setting the vines on fire. For helping save my family, twice. Thank you, Steve."
One side of Steve's mouth tips up.
"You're welcome, Byers."
The return of his last name seems to break some of the tension and Jonathan feels his back start to unkink.
"I don't want to be enemies." The words slip from brain to tongue too quickly for Jonathan to bite them back. He feels exposed.
"Enemies?" Steve seems genuinely surprised.
"Nancy's incredible, we both know that, but it seems ridiculous for us—"
"We're not enemies," Steve interrupts, shaking his head like Jonathan has said something supremely stupid. "Not for a long time now."
Jonathan thinks back to the year they've had together. Sure, there was no more graffiti, no more open mocking in the hallways, no rumors spread or fights in the back alley. But there also weren't hangouts at anyone's house on the weekend, no party invitations that didn't come from Nancy or lunches together in the cafeteria. They took turns with Nancy in some ways; Steve as her boyfriend, Jonathan as her friend. And he had noticed, whether Steve meant him to or not, just how often Steve-The-Boyfriend interrupted the end of whatever interaction Jonathan-The-Friend was having with her.
He's pretty sure Steve meant for him to notice. He hadn't been impressed at the time, and he wasn't impressed now. He makes a silent vow to himself not to do the same, no matter how nervous Steve might make him.
"We haven't been friends either," he points out.
"Do you want to be my friend, Byers?"
"Do you want to be mine, Harrington?"
They're back to staring each other down. Jonathan's surprised Steve is so steady and measured in conversation; he'd expected something much more erratic and off-the-cuff.
"I don't know," Steve finally says. "Maybe."
Jonathan's not sure if he's supposed to take that as a compliment.
"Even though I'm–"
"I don't enjoy it," Steve interrupts. "Seeing you two. She's happier, with you. And that hurts. It hurts a lot because I tried, I really did. To be there for her, to be what she needed. I love her."
"I love her too," Jonathan replies softly. He hasn't said that to her, not yet; he's terrified to let her know just how much of him she already has. Is terrified she doesn't feel the same way. He hopes she doesn't find out he told Steve before her.
"I know you do. That's part of why it hurts. But… but it hurts less. Than it did a few months ago. And I… I miss her. And I think under all of… of this," Steve makes a gesture at him, sweeping his hands up and down as if to say these dark clothes and this long hair and those weird bands you listen to, "I think I might like you, too."
He thinks about it for a long moment. Thinks of the times he and Steve have been thrown together in the same room without the expectations of adolescent social circles imposed upon them. He's easy to talk to, gung-ho about the most hair-brained of plans, kind of funny most of the time too. He can imagine in a world in which they can throw back beers and make fun of each other's taste in music and not end up in a fistfight.
That imaginary world doesn’t seem so bad. He never really wanted a rival anyway.
"Okay," he says finally. Steve grins.
"Good. I always knew you weren't stupid. Weird, maybe, but not stupid."
Jonathan frowns.
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
Steve grins again, cockier, more like the guy Jonathan knows.
"Sure is."
Jonathan rolls his eyes, is about to throw a snarky comment about Steve's hair-to-brain ratio right back at him when he sees a head of brown hair over Steve's shoulder and freezes. Nancy is standing at the end of the parking lot, watching him.
By her posture, she is not happy.
Steve catches the direction of his gaze, turns around, sees Nancy and stands up off his bumper. He raises his eyebrows at Jonathan.
"You didn't tell her about this, did you?"
"Nope," Jonathan breathes. Nancy is walking now, her pace increasing as she gets closer. She's almost at a run.
"Well, good luck." Steve digs his keys out of his pocket, walks to the driver's side door just as Nancy catches up to them.
"What the hell—" she starts but Steve cuts her off.
"I'm having a party Saturday night; my parents are out of town. You guys should come."
That seems to render Nancy speechless. Jonathan also pushes off the trunk of his car, stands up straight, nods at the older boy.
"Yeah," he says. "Sounds good."
Steve grins, ducks into his car. Nancy is still gaping at Jonathan when he pulls out of the spot and leaves the parking lot.
"You have my history book," she finally says, her voice sounding scarily flat. "I went to the dark room. You weren't there."
It's late December. The tip of his nose is freezing, the tips of his fingers are numb. He feels exhausted, like he's just completed a very difficult obstacle course. He supposes in some ways he has. He would like to sit down, but Nancy looks like she's about to cry.
"You lied to me," she says. He reaches out takes her hands and holds them between his own.
"Can we talk about this in the car, with the heat on?" he asks. She looks away, but nods.
+++
He waits until his car is blasting warm air and he's sniffling as his nose thaws out before he speaks.
"I didn't tell you I was going to the dark room."
By the fire that flashes in her eyes, that maybe wasn't the best place to start.
"A lie of omission is still a lie," she bites out. "I don't like being lied to."
"I didn't want to, but I didn't know what else to do. Steve wanted to talk to me"
"You could have just told me that. I would have supported you, Jonathan—"
"He didn't want to talk to us," he interrupts. "He wanted to talk to me."
She shakes her head, huffs angrily.
"About us."
"No," he reaches out, gently lays a hand on her shoulder. "There's more to me and Steve than you."
He thinks she looks a little hurt at that. He tugs on her shoulder until she slides over on the bench seat, a little closer to him.
"I am sorry I lied to you. I didn't want to lie to you, I just didn't know what else to do. I won't lie again, promise."
"Can I trust your promises?"
"Have I broken one yet?"
He hasn't. He knows he hasn't. He can see her take an accounting in her head, sees her expression soften when she comes to the same conclusion.
"It made me feel really shitty," she says softly. "Scared."
"I'm sorry. Honestly, I didn't mean to. I was gonna come get you when we were done."
"So what did you talk about if it wasn't me?"
"He… I think he wants to be friends."
It feels really weird to say that. By the look on her face, it's just as weird to hear.
"I thought you hated him," she says, and it has a bitter edge to him. "Like the vast majority of people."
"I said I didn't like most people. Not hated."
"I tried to tell you—"
"Look, Nancy. The Steve you were talking about in the woods last year, that's not who he is anymore. But he wasn't what you said he was either, then. And I know you liked him, and that you loved him in some way, but how he was with you… You have no idea what he was like when we were younger. What he and Tommy and Carol and the rest of their little bullshit clique used to say to me. And so when you tried to tell me how good he was, all I could hear was 'fag' and 'queer' and 'freak' and I got angry, okay? But… he has changed. You ended up being right, even if it took some time for him to get there."
Nancy is looking at him steadily, and he can't read her expression so he presses on further.
"I don't—I'm not—I'm trying to be better. Steve, he helped us right? He helped us fight a monster and he helped your little brother help save my little brother. That means… something. I don’t want to hold a grudge. I don't want to be his enemy, and he doesn't want to be mine. And we're not friends yet, but maybe we can be, and I think that would make you happy, too."
She looks surprised; to be fair, he knows he doesn't usually talk this much about his feelings.
"Me?"
"You miss him," he says simply, shrugging.
"Not that way."
He wouldn't have expected of himself, but he feels a grin break across his face. He thought when this finally happened he'd be a big ball of anxiety. He's glad to be wrong.
"I know. But I love you, Nancy, and I want you to be happy. And, honestly, it doesn't sound so bad. Having another friend."
He also thought when he finally told her he loves her it would be some sort of grand declaration, maybe in bed or in candlelight or during a romantic date or something. Turns out he's been wrong a lot lately. He finds he doesn't mind.
For a second she doesn't move. Then suddenly she's in his arms, her lips on his, on his cheeks, on his forehead. He holds on tight, feels her whisper the words back against his skin, against his lips. It makes something warm and wonderful bloom inside him.
"I think we should go home," she says when she finally pulls away. He grins, puts his car in gear, and drives away from the school.
+++
The drive back to his house is quiet, comfortable. He knows he has a silly grin on his face, has no way to wipe it off. Nancy has forgone her seatbelt, has stayed pressed to his side. She traces patterns on his thigh with her fingertips and he wants very badly to get her back into his bedroom, into his bed.
She speaks out of the blue, surprises him.
"Armistice," she says.
"Huh?" He has no idea what she means; only vaguely knows what the word means.
"A cessation of fighting between warring parties," she recites. "A break in conflict while they negotiate a lasting peace."
He doesn't know what to say to that. She pauses for effect.
"That's on our history test, you know."
He allows a chuckle but is relieved that the turn to his driveway is right here and he can make it, can drag her inside, can distract her from whatever deep thoughts she's having.
But when they walk in the front door, he sees immediately his plans are dashed. He can hear his brother, the boys, Max and Eleven in the kitchen, and his mom is sitting on the sofa. He could still disappear, sure, still pull her into his room, but there's no way they're gonna get away with what he wants to get away with. Nancy shares his rueful grin, drops her bag next to the sofa and goes into the kitchen to talk to Mike. He sits down across from his mom.
"You're home late," she observes. "How was your day?"
"Fine." He isn't lying. "What are you watching?"
"Oh, just Nancy's favorite show," she jokes and he hears his girlfriend gasp in the living room behind him.
"Ooooh, no whammy, no whammy, no whammy, STOP!" she shouts and claps when the contestant lands on $500. He shifts over, raises an arm, pulls her against his chest. She's still cheering along with Press Your Luck.
He lets himself relax, to enjoy the warmth of her against him and the smell of her hair and the way she and his mother are somehow so invested in this absurd game show. Lets his mind drift to odd places, like telling Nancy he loves her as he fucks her in the film closet, or stealing a kiss from her in a dark corner at Steve's weekend party. He's only broken out of his reverie when the front door slams open and Dustin comes running inside.
"Dustin!" his mom admonishes, frowns at the boy until he closes the door gently and does a weird sort of bow.
"Sorry, Mrs. Byers," he says, rushing out of the room even as his voice carries. "Sorry, sorry, Steve was so late, that asshole—"
"Dustin!" his mom calls after him. "What's the rule?"
"Sorry!" he calls from the kitchen, and Jonathan can hear the squabble in the kitchen as Dustin takes his seat around the table.
He returns his attention to Nancy, who rolls her eyes and presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw. Out of the corner of his eye he sees his mother look away and hide a smile.
A lasting peace, he thinks. It doesn't sound so bad. Not so bad at all.