Chapter Text
Steve wasn't exactly a melancholic person. In fact, he thought it was a waste of time to spend hours moping, constantly remembering the moments he'd felt special. He used to think that things ended at certain times: friendships, tastes, hobbies, loves, and even obligations. Nothing had to last forever, nothing had to last and have rules to follow to feel complete.
He hated spending his nights thinking and thinking, remembering conversations and replaying fleeting laughs in his head, as if that memories would bring back the minimum of happiness he would have felt before everything dissipated before his eyes. But sadly, he had become everything he feared: a miserable, begging, pathetic man. A needy bastard. A man obsessed with his ex.
He would be lying to himself if he didn't say he wasn't constantly spying on him in class and in the hallways, and he would be lying to himself if he said it didn't hurt to see Jonathan so calm about all that shit that was going on between the two of them. Well, there was nothing left. Steve hated all that shit, yes, the drama. Normally, he'd just pretend nothing happened and go meet other people. Because he enjoyed his freedom.
Which, in a way, was another pathetic lie. Deep down, Steve was an idiot who craved love, affection, and containment. Hands caressing his face, lips kissing his lips. He missed the warmth, being pampered like a little child. But yes, he would normally show extreme calm in any situation. Even the moment Jonathan stood before him, those eyes shining, and said, "I'm not good at this. I don't even know what I want."
And Steve, instead of clinging to his feet and begging him not to leave him, simply held back all kinds of grimaces and accepted. He accepted the truth. Because even though he was a needy bastard, he wouldn't stoop to begging him, but he would stoop to leaving his countless drunken calls in the night. The memories came flooding back every time Steve lay back on the bed and thought.
He thought about Jonathan's face, about the first time they'd crossed paths and talked about stupid things they both liked, the first time Jonathan had tried to flirt with him in such a stupid way that Steve was embarrassed just listening to him try. The first time Jonathan laughed at one of his jokes, the first time he heard him say the words "I love you."
It had all happened so fast, really. Steve couldn't even remember the moment he'd felt completely at peace, without the need to worry every damn minute about someone who seemed to have drifted away so gradually that he hadn't even noticed. Steve had learned so many things about Jonathan: that he loved photography, that his favorite band was The Clash. And although Steve didn't listen to that band, he had a tape recorded by Jonathan himself just so he could learn about his tastes. Not forgetting when he had seen Evil Dead, to talk about the film with him and see that sparkle of excitement in his eyes.
Lovely days, really. It had all started in the summer and ended at the beginning of autumn. It had lasted so little, that Steve felt stupid for all the damn drama he was causing. And although it sounded ironic, they didn't even have that many photos together, just a couple; photos he himself had taken of Jonathan when he took the camera out of his hands, between laughs. Steve wasn't really skilled at photography, he didn't have that artistic, melancholic touch that made Jonathan's photographs look beautiful to an eye as crude as Steve's.
However, his photos were memories. They were something. Blurry, shaky images that barely captured Jonathan's face, but somehow subtly reflected the fun of the moment. One where Byers could be seen with his eyes closed; another where he was looking at him seriously... or well, trying to. Another, a bit more lively, Steve's favorite. Where his own hands held Jonathan's cheeks, squeezing them ever so slightly as if he was afraid of hurting him. He could see his slanted eyes, his red cheeks, the subtle dimples that formed on his face every time he smiled.
And a couple more. One that had caught him off guard, drawing with colorful pencils and crayons. Green grass surrounding them, a soft, fluffy blanket beneath their bodies. Another image, this time of him eating; from one of the few times they'd gone out to eat together. One on the beach, where they weren't explicitly in the picture, but where the crystal-clear sea and the sun setting over them, illuminating Jonathan's beautiful brown eyes.
All blurry images, barely visible. But they were something, a kind of reminder that something had existed in some form. He still had that particular photo, the one from the beach, where they'd shared the most beautiful kiss Steve could remember to date. Their first kiss hadn't really been too special, for Steve. Had been a bit shy, nervous, avoidant. Steve simply cupped his face and, without holding on much longer, pressed their lips together in a short, fleeting kiss.
After that kiss came more, many more. And Jonathan had seemed a little confused, trying to go along with it but in a somewhat tense way. Then laughter, then hugs. On their first date, everything was very improvised, awkward. Steve had tripped hundreds of times, had hesitated whether to take his hand or not. And he did, but with the excuse of protecting him from crossing the street.
And Steve remembered all those things with pain, going over his gestures, his gaze, how his cheek felt against his lips, how his hair felt somewhat porous between his fingers, and how his clothes smelled like a mixture of everything. It seemed like yesterday, when the summer breeze ruffled his hair. Steve hated that damn breeze. And most of all he hated it when his long, uncut locks interrupted the kiss, making Jonathan have to stop him to comb his hair and look at him with those damn loving eyes.
What had it all meant? What had the words meant? The loving glances, the holding of hands and the interlacing of fingers. It didn't seem to mean anything anymore, really. How Jonathan would stop walking to kiss him every time they crossed the street, on every corner, or when he was too distracted to notice that he was looking at him with those beautiful brown photographic lenses. Everything came to mind; the record store they had visited a couple of times, the same old routine, goodbye kisses, and the sound of the waves hitting the shore as they talked and kissed for long minutes, until Jonathan said, "Mom is waiting for me. I have to go home."
And Steve held back his tears, biting his lip until it bled, while staring at the ceiling and wondering, "What did I do wrong? What did I do to make all that happiness and love shatter into a thousand pieces?" And he would lock himself in his room for hours, listening to his sad music and drinking beer. And he would wonder, is Jonathan thinking about me? Does he miss me? Most likely not, that's not really the case
And the words of love seemed so believable, so real. Palpable. The roots of love, where were they? And he couldn't understand how all of that had vanished, how Jonathan didn't seem to know exactly what he wanted. As the days passed, the calls became less frequent, the conversations drier, less connection. He missed him, he really did. He missed that night where they'd opened up to each other, where they'd spent the whole night laughing and talking about meaningless nonsense, telling each other things that would stay with Steve forever.
How could he erase Jonathan's presence? How could he erase everything he learned about him on one random night? He couldn't, he couldn't forget that piece of him that he had given him in some way and without realizing it. Oh, God. Steve was too deep. He'd fallen too far into someone who seemed to dazzle him like the sun. And then vanished when he'd found himself completely in love with him. And before he knew it, he found himself holding the phone, dialing his number like a madman with bloodshot eyes.
He didn't even need to look his number up in the phone book, because unfortunately for him, he'd memorized the entire fucking thing. Every damn number. Tattooed in his mind with fire. He wasn't sure what to say to him. It's been about two months or more since they'd seen or spoken to each other, explicitly. It's been an eternity. And Steve couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't hold on for another second.
As tears continued to flow and he gasped for air, he swallowed hard. He dialed the number with fear, with shame. Shame for crawling like that, for showing himself so vulnerable, for bothering him, for intruding on his life when he knew full well Jonathan no longer needed him in his life. But he needed to hear his voice, comforting him. He needed it. So he dialed and called, instantly regretting having done such a stupid thing. Jonathan probably wouldn't answer; it was literally 3:47 in the morning. But what was the point of trying?
"Please, please, please," Steve whispered, holding his empty beer can while sniffling his nose, which was stuffed with snot from crying all night. Deep down, he didn't want him to answer. He wished he wouldn't. The seconds seemed like hours, as the sound of the phone dialing the number echoed in his ears like drums about to explode. He wished he wouldn't pay attention, so he could continue fantasizing about their peaceful reunion. He wished he wouldn't pay attention, so he could forget about the thoughtless act he'd just taken.
He closed his eyes, pouting ridiculously as tears once again ran down his cheeks. Trying to calm down, to go over the words he'd planned to say. Which wasn't even planned. He'd spent days thinking about what he might say if he saw him again, but it was useless now. Really. "Uh, hello?" And there it was. Silence. Steve's eyes widened, breathing rapidly as he stared out the open window of his room. At first, he couldn't say anything, only replaying that brief greeting from Jonathan, in his head.
There was silence. Steve couldn't get anything out yet. His voice sounded a little tired, hoarse, as if he'd just woken up from sleeping for hours. But Steve knew Jonathan never slept, and somehow he'd picked up the bad habit. "Hello? Uh? I–" And Steve reacted. He jumped off the floor and swallowed hard, staring at a fixed spot on the wall, as if it were Jonathan he was looking at. "Please don't hang up," he managed to say, regretting sounding so demanding. "Please..." There was silence again. Jonathan didn't respond, not even his breathing could be heard through the line. Steve squeezed his eyes shut, another salty tear quickly spilling down his face as he tried not to collapse in the middle of the call.
"Steve? Uh. It's really late." Jonathan said, calm as always. "Are you okay, Steve?" Steve sighed, smiling sideways as he brought a hand to his chest, clutching his shirt between his fingers as he cried softly, wanting to drop the phone and hug himself. "Yeah, I know. And yeah, I'm okay. Sorry." Silence seemed to come between them. Jonathan had never been a very skillful person with his feelings, and listening to a drunken, sentimental Steve seemed to have completely thrown him. "Hey... I miss you, you know. It's been a while. How are you?" That was all he could say, sitting stiffly on the bed as his hand continued to press on that knot in his chest that seemed to refuse to go away.
"I'm fine. Seriously, you don't have to worry," Jonathan said. He seemed evasive, though at least he didn't cut his off the moment he recognized his voice, shaky from crying. "Steve... why did you call? What's going on?" Jonathan's voice seemed to waver a little, with that brotherly tone that made Steve tremble like a little child, wanting to run into his arms to be hugged. Steve just let out a pitiful noise, along with a hiccup. He felt pathetic.
"I... I still have your number, you know." He didn't just have it written down in his notebook, he memorized it. But he'd never say it. "Jonathan, I miss you so much. I need to see you, hear you." The structured words he'd outlined to speak to him after so much time seemed to fade away, revealing Steve's impulsiveness. The impulsiveness of a sad man. "I don't know what else to say. It's useless that I called you, I know. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry, things ended up too awkward between us and... I still think, I think too much obout you."
He felt scared because he was being too raw with his own feelings. So vulnerable, so transparent. He longed to love him again, to feel loved again. But deep down, he knew those drunken phone calls wouldn't bring Jonathan back. "I miss your kisses, Jonathan. I miss your voice, everything. It's impossible for me to forget everything, it's impossible not to want to try and chase you until you hate me." Jonathan just sighed. And Steve was afraid of upsetting him, of being a nuisance, a piece of trash on his shoe.
"Steve. I miss all that too, but... I can't. I can't and you know it." Steve ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it, tears spilling down his face until his skin was red and sensitive. "I miss those kisses. I miss everything, but it's wrong. Because..." — "Why? Why? You said you loved me the last time we saw each other. That the moment you knew what you wanted, you'd come back. Why can't we be together if we love each other?"
And that's what he really didn't understand. The words, the promises. What was to come, the uncertain future. He didn't want Jonathan to doubt how he felt about him, but he didn't want to lose him either. He wanted Jonathan to be sure enough of what he wanted to one day just come back it and try. But he knew, deep down, that maybe it wasn't quite like that. That Jonathan could have seen it all as a passing experience, nothing very significant. "Steve. It's not that easy. I'm not like you. It's not easy for me, all this relationship stuff... all of that, it's... painful. I don't want to feel like this."
Steve wiped his tears, annoyed to hear the same words he had heard months ago. "Relationships are shit. They hurt. It's all confusing, I'm no good at this." Steve stayed quiet, thinking. Maybe if he hadn't been so demanding, so overwhelming... maybe Jonathan wouldn't have wanted to run away. Maybe they'd still be together. "I miss you," he blurted out, without thinking too much. And Jonathan sighed again. And Steve couldn't tell if it was an angry sigh or a sad one. Or both.
"Me too. Don't make me say anything stupid." And a chuckle. Steve let out another hiccup, an attempt at crying that he couldn't get out anymore because he'd cried all damn night. "Sometimes I think about those kisses on the beach." The painful memories kept replaying in Steve's mind like a movie. Again. Over and over again. But at least he was relieved to hear that Jonathan missed it all just like he did, that he regularly thought about the activities they had shared.
"Would you like to do it again?" he asked, with a wistful smile, while trying to sound flirtatious. A playful laugh came from the other end, along with a heavy, deep sigh. "Right now, maybe." Steve was quiet for a moment, thinking. Thinking over and over again, like every night. "But it's not right for me to say this, Steve." And Steve suppressed a small smile, blushing at the knowledge that Jonathan thought it as much as he did. "Why not? You seem too comfortable saying things like that."
Deathly silence again. Steve felt like that minimal happiness and satisfaction wasn't going to last long, really. But he wanted to feel suspended in that cloud of flirting and shy laughter, even if only for a little while longer, clinging to the glorious idea that Jonathan did, indeed, miss him as much as Steve missed him. "Because I doubt we'll ever be together again, Steve. And saying all these things would only confuse us more." A bucket of cold water hit him suddenly, as if a lightning bolt had pierced his chest like a bullet straight to the heart. He swallowed hard, feeling like the lump in his throat was going to choke him at any damn moment.
It was obvious. The minimal moment of vulnerability between them dissipated, and Jonathan once again began to rebuild that unbreakable wall that separated them. That wall that had always been there, but Steve refused to think it could exist. He couldn't say anything else, he just stayed silent. He couldn't even cry, nothing. Just silence, and a persistent lump in his throat, chest, and stomach. "I can't, Steve. I don't even know what I want. I'm in no condition to... you know. I don't want to keep torturing you like this."
And Steve wanted to tell him that he didn't care, that he'd wait for him as long as it took, that he'd be there for him whenever he made up his mind, that he'd be there whenever he wanted a hug or a kiss. But those words didn't come, they didn't even manage to escape from his throat. They stayed there, like a thorn. "I... I love you, Jon. I really do. Don't ever doubt that, yeah?" Another silence. "And I really miss you, angel. I miss you every day. Always." He was crying again, though the tears wouldn't escape his red, swollen eyes. "And... sorry for everything, sorry for... for insisting so much."
"I don't know what to say to you, Steve. I think I've said everything." Steve felt like a complete nuisance, calling him late at night to cry on the phone and indirectly beg him to get back together. Deep down, he still hoped to get back with him. He still dreamed of seeing him in the same old park, at the same time. But that could never be, because even though he loved him so much, he would have to live with the desire to build something together, constantly thinking about what could not be.
"Nothing, Jon. Just... can we talk a little more?" He just wanted to hear his voice, even if it was just a little longer. Anything, anything, just to talk a little longer. To have him there, even if it was just from the distance of the phone. "Fine, Harrington." And he lay back on the bed, hugging the pillow tightly as he tried to regulate himself. Jonathan began to talk, telling him about his day: what he'd eaten that morning for breakfast, the photographs he'd taken during his absence, his activities with Will. And Steve smiled sideways, resting his head on the pillow and imagining it was Jonathan beneath him. Just like those days, in which both of them would lie on the green grass of the park and talk for hours, hours that seemed like minutes.
They talked for a long time, in low voices, under the darkness of the night and the light autumn breeze. Steve felt calmer, more at peace, just talking to him, just feeling his presence somehow. It was like before. They talked and talked, Until it was 6:20 in the morning. Jonathan's voice was beginning to sound more tired, and Steve made a huge effort not to fall asleep as he listened to Jonathan's soft, sweet voice. "I love you, Steve. I have to go to sleep, you know." Steve felt that stinging in his eyes again, like his throat was burning again, threatening to cry. He'd been crying a lot lately. Thinking about him, listening to music they'd heard together, passing by those specific spots in the city they'd been together.
"It's okay. I love you, okay? I love you so much. I'm sorry." He didn't even know why the hell he was asking for forgiveness, really. But all he could ask for was forgiveness, for being so needy for love and for being a stone in his path. A stone that disturbed the serenity of his loneliness. "I love you, I love you." All he could repeat was, hugging the pillow as he buried his face in the sheets, hoping all that suffering was just a bad dream and nothing more. He wanted to wake up happy, with someone to love next to him. "Sleep, Steve. Sleep, okay? Please. Good night."
And Steve would have liked to ask him if they could see each other again sometime, if he'd like to talk to him again. But it was too late. He'd hung up on him, and Steve just stayed silent, sniffling his nose as the phone fell to the side of the mattress. He was alone again. And helpless, without beer, without his parents, without anyone who could hold him in their arms and whisper that everything would be okay. There was no one to stroke his hair and face, or wipe his tears. He was alone, and maybe he'd have to learn to deal with that.
Because he was left with a feeling of enormous emptiness, like an abandoned house longing for a large, happy family to live in. He longed for that, to feel complete, fulfilled. And Jonathan meanwhile wanted to be understood, respected in absolute silence. Steve wanted love and attention, and Jonathan wanted to learn what was going on in his own head, alone like always. They were two lonely, unstable people who had met at a bad time, under circumstances that made them both vulnerable. And although Steve wished those precious days would bloom again, deep down he knew he couldn't change how the other felt.
And he had to learn to live with that. He had to learn to deal with what little remained of Jonathan: a couple of blurry photos and a phone number he'd probably dial again on lonely, drunken nights.