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Steve spends half his days cleaning pools, and the other half in his own pool, surrounded by his friends. It’s not a half-bad way to spend a summer. It would be even better if Steve could get a read on Jonathan Byers, and the feeling in his chest that bubbles up whenever he’s brought up in conversation.
Today, so far, he’s talked to Steve twice. Once when he opened the door for him, and another when he offered Steve a hand with the towels.
And, look— Steve’s not an idiot. He knows they’ve got history. Remembers with vivid clarity the way Jonathan’s face had changed when he’d called him queer. Had known the second he’d said it that he’d stepped over a line, one he probably should’ve known was there. One he should’ve respected.
So it makes sense that things are a little… off-kilter. Which makes it kind of special when Jonathan finally relaxes around the rest of them, like he forgets to be uncomfortable.
It’s nice, is all. Seeing him here now, easy smile playing on his lips by the poolside, legs dangling in the water. Nicer still to hear him laugh at something Robin says, watch him shove at her playfully before being tugged in himself, resurfacing with an indignant shout.
When Robin catches his gaze, beckoning Steve over, he puts his book down and cannonballs his way into the water fight. He used to be a great swimmer, team captain and all, which is good, now that his primary mission is to get everyone looking like angry, disparaged, dunked cats. Fighting for fun rather than for your life is something Steve could get used to.
“Oh, you fucker—“ Robin wraps her arms around one of his biceps just as he's about to shove another wave at Nancy, effectively putting an end to his reign of terror.
“Robs—“ he complains, only to be yanked underwater a second later. He yelps (squeaks), the noise thankfully lost in the water, before swimming hard to whirl. Squints, eyes burning, as he tries to dislodge the culprit, who turns out to be Jonathan. He kicks at him from above, picks up on a muffled oof under the water. Unfortunately, the guy's got a firm grip on his calf, only squeezing tighter when he tries to pull away. So instead, Steve holds his breath until Jonathan can't anymore (ha! Swimmer's lungs), and the guy finally has to kick off the swimming pool floor.
When they resurface, they're heaving and wet. Steve gasps out a laugh, slapping Jonathan on the back as they swim for the pool's ledge.
“Nice going,” he pants.
“Yeah, thanks,” Jonathan smiles, a tiny bit nervous. It usually is, around Steve.
“Hey, um.” Steve pulls a hand through his hair. “We could like, grab a beer, if you want. The girls won’t mind.”
Jonathan flickers his gaze over to where Robin’s now sitting on the edge of the pool, talking to Nancy, who’s put her sunglasses back on. His lips twitch up, and then he looks back at Steve.
“Sure.”
Steve heaves himself out of the pool. He doesn’t miss the way Jonathan watches him, hands twitching in the water. Flexes as he stands (sue him, he's got a nice body and he's gonna show it off when he can), offering Jonathan a hand. Ducking his head, Jonathan lets Steve hoist him out of the pool. His hand is warm, his grip firm. Steve let’s go after a moment too long.
“Rob, Nance, you want anything from the kitchen?” he asks when they're closer to them, flicking water at Robin to make her squeal.
“We’re good, you heathen,” she says, throwing her towel half-heartedly at him. He catches it and tosses it back, half of it landing in the water.
"That was mean," Nancy says, clearly suppressing a smile.
"I hate you," says Robin.
Steve smiles. "Love you too."
Snorting, Jonathan pats him on the back before leading the way back inside. Head suddenly spinning, Steve follows after him.
Once in the kitchen, Steve leans against the counter to watch Jonathan rummage through his fridge. He likes him like this, loose and relaxed. Like he’s made peace with the fact that he’s in Steve’s house, pulling beer out of Steve’s fridge. Just a couple of months ago it would’ve seemed like an impossible reality.
Something about Jonathan feels like a memory, here. Like he's something Steve's not meant to keep, only meant to hold in his mind's eye. Steve knows it’s stupid; he’s right there, a stone’s throw away. From here, Steve can see the sweat on Jonathan’s brow, skin glistening in the summer sun streaming in from the window, chest expanding on a heavy exhale. He fits here, in this endless summer afternoon— and still, somehow, he looks impermanent. Like he might slip between one second and the next. Like he could vanish if Steve takes his eyes off of him.
And so, he opts not to look away. He keeps looking at him when Jonathan tosses him a beer, leaning against the kitchen island opposite Steve. Keeps looking even when Jonathan's cheeks go pink, when he ducks his head and clears his throat, teeth digging into his bottom lip.
In the late afternoon sun, Jonathan isn’t so pale. He’s wearing bright orange swimming trunks, which Steve’s like, 99% certain Joyce bought him because when has Jonathan ever voluntarily worn colour?
When Jonathan folds his arms across his chest, Steve’s eyes dip to his stomach. To the trail of light hair beneath his navel, to the way his trunks hug his skinny thighs. He kind of wants to dig his fingers into him. Wants to know if he’d tense up or go pliant. Knows he’d probably turn to jelly if Jonathan did the same to him.
In the silence, Steve pops his beer and finally, finally, looks away. Jonathan startles before doing the same, eyes flying away from Steve like maybe he’d been staring too.
The cold beer soothes something in Steve. Settles the butterflies in his stomach enough to say, “We’re friends, right?”
He feels a bit like he’s twelve again, asking Tommy if they can keep hanging out once summer ends. Hoping for an enthusiastic yes. Preparing for rejection.
Jonathan blinks at him. “Yeah?” He clears his throat, taking another sip of beer. “I mean, yeah. I think so?”
“Cool.” Steve bites the inside of his cheek. Isn’t sure how to ask. Isn’t sure what it is he’s trying to ask.
“And, like… you and Nance—“
“We’re over,” Jonathan cuts in. Flickers his eyes over towards the hallway, mouth opening like he wants to say more, but catches himself.
Steve knows Nancy’s told Jonathan and Robin she’s a lesbian. Could never forget the way Robin nearly pissed herself when she found out, hand over her mouth with her ear pressed to the phone, Nancy’s soft voice tinny on the other end- back in February, when she'd been at college.
So Steve figures it’s alright to say, “They’re cute together.”
Jonathan’s eyes snap to Steve’s face.
“Together, I mean,” Steve continues. “They work better than me and Nance ever could’ve, you know? And, um. Robin’s just… she’s amazing. She deserves someone like Nancy.” Then he realises what he’s said and quickly adds, “Not to shit all over your relationship, you and Nance were— I mean, things were different between you two.”
Jonathan looks a little like someone’s banged his head with a pan. He’s frozen for a second, mouth parted around words that aren’t coming out like he’s not sure how much to give away. And then he blinks. Nods, like he’s come to some sort of conclusion.
“They are cute together, yeah. And you surprise me every day, man,” he mumbles into his beer, kicking out his leg to knock his foot into Steve’s.
“I try,” Steve jokes weakly, not sure whether to ignore the way he flushes at the praise, stomach flipping like it did when he’d asked Jessica to prom in middle school. Back when he'd just been a carefree kid with a crush. Which—
Oh.
Duh.
Duh.
A crush. Of course. Because when has Steve ever been normal about a friend? He either has - in Robin’s words - a turbulent, homoerotic bloodbath of a friendship with a boy (Tommy), tries to make things work with a girl who’s in love with someone else (Nancy) instead of accepting they’re better as friends, falls in love with a lesbian (Robin), or, apparently, develops a crush on a guy who his former girlfriend kind-of-technically cheated on him with.
Yeah. Steve’s so normal.
“You coming to Indy with us next week, by the way?” Steve asks, because he’s never known how to stop going for it when he wants something.
Jonathan’s eyebrows fly up. “Since when was Indy your thing?”
“Uh, since forever,” Steve leans back, tries to look relaxed. “I mean, I drive the girls every couple weeks. If it’s just me and Eddie, we hit a couple bars, you know?”
“You—“ Jonathan coughs, swallowing a mouthful of beer quickly. “You hit a couple bars? With Eddie Munson?”
Steve shrugs. “Sure. Place to go for the whole, um. Gay experience, right? Hawkins is… Hawkins.”
Jonathan barks a surprised, nervous laugh. “The whole— the whole gay experience. Right. Hey, have you seen Steve, by any chance? Brown hair, tall, kind of douchey? Answers to King and dingus?”
“C’mon, man,” he says, lazy smile playing on his lips. “I’ve matured.”
“No, hey, I believe you.” Jonathan holds a hand up in mock-surrender, and Steve does his best not to stare, not to imagine pressing his lips to Jonathan’s bony wrists. “It’s cool of you to go with Munson. Not a lot of people would.”
Steve chews his bottom lip, heartrate picking up. “I don’t know. You gotta stick together right?”
Jonathan gives him a questioning look, eyelashes casting long shadows down his cheeks. Steve lets his eyes flicker to Jonathan’s mouth. Let’s himself look.
“Not a lot of guys who like guys in Hawkins, you know?” Steve says quietly.
He holds his breath at Jonathan’s sharp inhale. He wonders if he’s about to blow up on him, call him repressed, or something, which, yeah, would be fair, but also, coming out is scary, and—
“How did you—?” Jonathan says haltingly, and Steve looks up, frowning.
And then it clicks.
“Oh,” he says. Blinks. “Oh, um, no, I meant— me? As in, I like guys. But. Cool. That you do… too?” he ventures.
Jesus Christ.
Steve’s cheeks are so warm he’s pretty sure he could fry an egg on his face.
Jonathan isn’t faring much better, his usually pale skin flushed red. He puts his beer down to run his hands down his cheeks, only to drop them a second later, exasperation written all over his face.
“Nice,” he settles on finally, deadpan. Steve barks a laugh, and then their eyes meet for a second, and it's enough. They both collapse into laughter, loud and boyish, surrendering to the absurdity of the situation.
Still laughing, Jonathan knocks his foot into Steve’s once more. Is smiling when Steve finds his gaze, cheeks dimpling. His wet hair has started drying, still lying flat against his head. Steve kind of wants to run a hand through it.
“Thanks for telling me,” Jonathan says, always so sweet, and Steve’s chest swells. “It’s, um- it's cool you figured it out.”
Steve snorts, pretending he's not overwhelmed with relief and something else that feels suspiciously like hope. “What, had me pegged already?”
Jonathan pauses, before opening his mouth. “I could make so many jokes—“
Steve groans. “Don’t—“
“Okay, okay, but— no, for the record,” Jonathan says. “I just thought… maybe. Just— when you called me— you know, um. Queer. You sounded… it sounded… I don’t know— practised? Like you’d heard it before. I figured maybe you were just repeating something someone had… said to you.”
“Oh,” Steve breathes softly, because, yeah. Steve’d never sounded more like his father than that day. Had hated himself for it. Had wanted to rip the memory out of his head when Robin had first confided in him, cheeks ruddy, eyes red from whatever chemical cocktail they’d been injected with. Had vowed to be better, to never stoop so low again.
Hadn’t understood at the time why it felt like he’d failed not only her, but himself.
“Yeah, I… my dad,” he offers lamely. “Not that that’s any excuse. But. Yeah.”
Jonathan nods. Watches him with an unreadable look on his face, before his lips twitch up.
“Can I try something?” Jonathan asks, voice quiet, nervous. He steps closer haltingly, hand hovering over Steve’s where it's splayed on the table.
Heart beating wildly, Steve nods. Wets his lip, eyes hooded. He flickers his gaze up just in time for Jonathan to lean in, lips grazing Steve’s.
Smiling, Steve slides a hand around Jonathan’s waist, tugging him closer. Presses up, tentatively, into the kiss. Tastes his spit for the first time and sighs, heat pooling in his gut. God, he hopes he gets to spend at least five minutes with Jonathan's tongue in his mouth later.
“That worked,” Jonathan breathes as he pulls back, voice surprised.
Steve huffs a laugh.
“That worked,” he agrees, nosing at Jonathan’s cheek. Presses his lips to the corner of his mouth, thrilling when Jonathan exhales shakily.
“Again?” he requests gently.
Hands tightening around him, Jonathan tilts his head obligingly, catching his mouth in a soft kiss.
Steve’s not sure when he closed his eyes. All he can focus on is how soft and warm Jonathan’s mouth is, the way he pulls back only to kiss him again, harder. When Jonathan pins him to the counter, all the blood in his body rushes south. He groans into the kiss, letting himself fall into Jonathan again, and again, and again.
Only when he has to stop his hips from twitching forward does he pull back, gasping softly.
Jonathan’s eyes flicker open slowly, his pupils blown wide. He licks over his lips, pink and spit-slick and Steve just has to kiss him again, quickly. Smiling into the kiss, Jonathan pets over his arm.
This time, Steve rests his forehead against Jonathan’s when he pulls back. The two of them just breathe for a second, until their hearts are no longer at risk of beating right out of their chests.
“So,” Jonathan says, voice rough, eyes twinkling. “Indy?”
And Steve laughs, heart soaring. He presses a kiss to Jonathan’s cheek. Hopes it’s okay for him to do so.
“Indy,” he agrees.