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“Do you remember what I told you about Click’s class?” Steve asks, his voice low and soft. “About me being jealous and, like, obsessed?”
“Yeah.” Nancy nods, her eyes flitting between Steve’s eyes and his lips.
“It isn’t because I had a crush on you.” Steve leans back against the wall, letting out a small sigh. “It’s because… I wanted him to look at me.”
Nancy’s brow furrows in confusion. “Who?”
Steve takes a shaky breath in. “Michael Hughes. He was, like, in love with you. He never paid attention to anyone else but you. And it was just so infuriating. ‘Cause, you know, you were this little priss who talked in class, and you got better grades than me even though I tried harder than you, and you didn’t-“ Steve lets out a small, harsh laugh. “You didn’t even like him. That was the kicker. You were his whole world, and you didn’t even know he existed. It was so stupid, but it made me so mad. Literally, I’d go home every day, and I’d just… scream into my pillow, it pissed me off that much.”
“But…” Nancy’s voice trails off. She’s not sure if it’s the drugs or what, but everything is still kind of fuzzy right now. “Michael Hughes is a boy.”
Steve just looks at her, his eyes all misty, and shit, it looks like he’s about to start crying. But all he says in reply is a soft, “Nancy.”
And then, like a punch from a Russian soldier, it hits her.
“Oh.”
Steve gives a little nod, like he’d been expecting that reaction. “Yeah.”
“Is this the first time you’ve…” Nancy’s voice trails off as she searches in vain for the right words. Thankfully, Steve seems to get what she’s implying.
“Told anyone?” Steve sighs. “Yeah. Lucky you, huh?”
He’s looking down at the floor, not meeting Nancy’s eyes. “I know…” Steve leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes like he’s trying really hard to keep from crying. “I know you’re probably, like, super pissed-off right now, and I get it if you never want to speak to me ever again, or-“
“Steve.” Nancy cuts him off, reaching out to take his hand. “I’m not mad.”
And Steve looks up, and the expression on his face is so genuinely surprised that it breaks Nancy’s heart, just a little. “You’re not?”
“No.” Nancy shakes her head, running her thumb over Steve’s knuckles the same way her mom used to do with her to calm her down. “Why would I be mad?”
“I just… Christ, Wheeler, you just practically admitted to being in love with me-“
“I didn’t say that-“
“-and here I am basically confirming what everyone’s been saying about me for the last four years.”
(Nancy does vaguely remember now, an old conversation with Tommy and some friends from years ago, before the Demogorgon and the Mind Flayer and all that crazy shit. Steve’s name had come up, and there had been a few choice words thrown around by Tommy and the gang. The one Nancy remembers the most, of course, is the word faggot.)
“I’m not mad, Steve.” Nancy repeats, and she means it. She means it so much. “Really. I’m not.”
Steve blinks, a confused expression spreading across his face. When he speaks again, it’s slow and methodical, like he’s explaining something to a little kid. “Wheeler, I just told you that I’m gay and I’ll never have feelings for you.”
“And that’s okay, Steve.” Nancy says, a soft smile creeping onto her face. “It’s okay.”
And Steve smiles, really smiles, and for the first time in hours, things feel like they’re maybe going to be okay.