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Jonathan had not planned on dying in a snow bank, yet here he is. He gets his camera out as Steve revs the engine in a final attempt to free the car after all reasonable methods failed. The Psychedelic Furs play ‘Love My Way’ on the mixtape they were listening to when a hard stop to avoid a crash sent them off the road. Steve’s tantrum ends with him turning the car off before hitting the steering wheel and cursing in frustration. Jonathan takes his picture. It earns him a murderous glare.
“I’m documenting our final moments,” he explains with a shrug. He raises the camera to take another picture of the way Steve’s lip curls into a sneer.
“Do you want me to break your camera again?” Steve practically growls.
Jonathan barely starts to consider the question before he dismisses it entirely. He’s still feeling pretty good from the joint he smoked as they left Hawkins to return to Chicago where they are attending UIC, and the threat seems absurd after all they have been through together. Irritated Steve also does things to high Jonathan – sober Jonathan, as well, but that guy sweeps all those thoughts under the pile of what-ifs he’s buried his trust issues under.
“We could call someone,” he suggests.
Steve regards him with a steady, unamused stare that is that little bit of bitchy Jonathan actually finds kind of attractive. He takes another picture.
“Are you kidding me?” Steve snaps. “We’re going to freeze to death and you are too high to know we don’t have a phone in the damn car!”
Jonathan snorts. “That actually sounds better than the other deaths we’ve faced. We just drift off to sleep and never wake up.”
The irritation is replaced by vaguely concerned disbelief as Steve gapes at Jonathan. He eventually heaves a sigh and hits his head back against the seat. He stays there, staring up at something that Jonathan doesn’t see when he looks. The attempt rests his head on Steve’s shoulder. It’s nice and he doesn’t get pushed away, so he stays. His eyes raise to look at Steve. A thought strikes him and he can’t think of a reason to deny it, so he reaches up to comb his fingers through Steve’s hair.
“What are you doing?”
“Comforting you.”
“Sure.” Steve sighs. He sounds more resigned than annoyed, which is permission enough for Jonathan to continue. His nails gently scratch against Steve’s scalp behind his ear. Steve’s eyes slide shut as he reluctantly relaxes.
“I can be your blanket if you get cold,” Jonathan offers.
“Hm.” Steve’s tongue wets his lips. Jonathan is momentarily transfixed by the movement over the bow of their shape and the texture created by the delicate crinkles of chapped skin.
“We can share body heat,” Jonathan continues when he gets no further response. “We’ll open our jackets and I’ll sit in your lap so we can snuggle.”
An eye cracks open to peer at Jonathan.
“Snuggle?”
“Yeah. Unless you’re afraid of catching my queer,” Jonathan jeers lightly, feeling clever until he realizes what exactly he said. He stills, the playfulness abruptly vanishing from his high to leave him frozen like a rabbit at the scent of a predator. He tells himself this is fine. He can play the comment off as a dig at Past Steve. Bringing that up should at least make Steve shy away from the topic enough to leave it.
“Hard to catch what I already have.”
Oh.
Oh!
“You’re –” Jonathan sits back. He blinks a few times as he looks back through their shared history for the journey of self discovery he missed. Finally, he asks, “How did you find out? Eddie?”
It makes the most sense. After Eddie got out of the hospital, they were always in each other’s space. Or rather, Eddie was always in Steve's space and Steve never backed away. Jonathan had dismissed it as the seemingly standard response of going through a harrowing experience with Steve, like how Will’s friends imprinted on him and Robin became his best friend. There is also something about Eddie that reminds Jonathan of his brother, though. He acts as if a part of him is a work of art he isn’t ready to share, hiding it behind sarcastic remarks and quick diversions whenever anyone else gets close to seeing it.
A stray memory of Steve mentioning the possibility of moving to Seattle after graduation connects with the fact Eddie moved there shortly after everything sorted itself out. The conversation moved on before Jonathan got to respond that he thought living in Seattle would be nice. He’s embarrassed on behalf of his past self for assuming he was invited, as well as unexpectedly jealous at the idea of Steve living with anyone else.
“Does it need to be anyone?” Steve throws back in a flippant way that neither confirms nor denies anything.
“I guess not. I’m just trying to figure out how notorious ladies’ man Steve Harrington figures out he’s gay.”
Jonathan basically had a head start. He was a broody outcast who preferred reading, photography, and music over sports, hunting, and parties. According to half the town, including Steve, that meant he was a queer. The fact he never had any interest in girls supposedly confirmed it, though he never really had any interest in anyone. Not even Nancy caught his attention until they had matching scars and shared trauma.
“He gets a good thump on the head,” Steve mutters. The words have a significance that Jonathan can’t quite decipher. “And I’m still a ladies’ man, I’m just also a man’s man.”
Jonathan doesn’t stop the chuckle that rolls out from his throat.
“That’s not what that means.” He gets Steve’s intention, the contrast with the term’s actual meaning just strikes him as unexpectedly witty. He has learned Steve is like that sometimes. “But, you know, same.”
“Anyone I know?”
“I get Nancy’s thing for Tom Cruise,” Jonathan responds with a shrug because he isn’t going to say he now gets Nancy’s thing for Steve. “I probably wouldn't say no to the guy at the coffee shop, either.”
“The one who remembers your order, but not my name?”
“Yeah.” He is objectively attractive and asks Jonathan about the books he notices him reading.
Steve scoffs. “You can do better.”
They lapse into silence as it starts to snow, the flakes accumulating on the windshield dimming the light even as the sun setting takes it away. Steve turns the hazard lights on. Hopefully a passing driver spots them. The temperature drops quickly at night, and there is no way to tell how far they would have to walk to find help. Their families are at least expecting to hear from them, meaning at least it won’t be days until anyone knows to look for them. They just need to stay warm until they’re found.
Jonathan curls into his jacket, cursing how quick his wiry frame is to lose heat. The Psychedelic Furs resume playing when Steve turns the car on, turning the heat up before cracking his window so they don’t survive the cold just to die of carbon monoxide poisoning. When the song changes to ‘This Charming Man’ by the Smiths, Jonathan mumbles along barely loud enough to be heard. Beside him, Steve stares vacantly out the window with his head propped against his knuckles. Jonathan takes another picture.
“Do you need a hug?” he asks, setting the camera on the dashboard in case his offer is accepted. The gaze that falls on him is tired in a way Jonathan is regrettably familiar with.
“I don’t need a hug,” Steve responds with a heavy sigh that suggests otherwise. He turns away again.
A mole on Steve’s neck draws Jonathan’s attention. He reaches over to gently run a finger over it. Another one below the apple of his cheek catches Jonathan’s eye next, and his finger follows. His touch is light as he traces a line to the one dotting the curve of Steve’s jaw then along the bone to the one closer to his chin, tracing a constellation that ends back near Steve’s pulse. He pulls his hand back when he catches hazel eyes watching him.
“What do you need?” he murmurs.
Whatever it is, Jonathan wants to give it. The realization pushes through the blanket of what-ifs, having taken root in the trust issues Steve has been breaking down since he showed up at Jonathan’s door to apologize. It has been a slow process. Surviving possibly world ending events together became simply being there when no one else was. Eventually, Steve became one of the few people Jonathan sought out.
Steve lets out a slow, controlled exhale. It is now just warm enough that his breath cannot be seen.
“I'm going to go make sure the exhaust pipe is clear,” he says before turning off the car and getting out.
Jonathan is left in the silence with his thoughts. They drift and swirl around Steve. Their friendship has shown Jonathan that he is much more than the asshole jock he was in high school. He is loyal and unexpectedly thoughtful. He likes post-punk and new wave music in addition to pop and mainstream rock. He pays attention when Jonathan talks. He has the high score on multiple pinball machines. He recognizes his missteps and works on correcting them. He always leaves Jonathan the last slice of pizza.
He is someone Jonathan could love, if he doesn’t already.
“Fuck, it’s getting cold out there,” Steve grumbles as he gets back in the car. Snowflakes follow him, dusting his jacket and clinging to his hair. He breathes into his cupped hands to warm them up.
The idiot forgot to put his gloves on.
“Here,” Jonathan sighs.
He climbs into Steve’s lap before the part of his brain that considers consequences can make it through his dissipating high. When Steve doesn’t protest, he unzips their jackets. He takes Steve’s cold hands in his warm ones and settles against him to press their clasped hands between their bodies. His head rests on Steve’s shoulder.
“See?” Jonathan says. “Blanket.”
There is no response beyond a huff of breath that might be amusement as much as it might be annoyance. Jonathan trusts Steve to tell him to back off if it is the latter. He lets his eyes shut. Steve is warm and solid beneath him, the earthy spice of his aftershave tied to comforting memories of friendship, and his high is leveling off into a cozy sedation. He lets himself doze like a cat in a sunbeam until the sound of the engine starting wakes him up. Warm air rushes from the vent. The mixtape continues playing. The hand Steve extracted to turn the key he left in the ignition slips into Jonathan’s open jacket and under his shirt to rub along his spine, soothing stiff joints that never fully recovered from the fight at the hospital during the summer of ‘85.
“Do you think we would work?” Jonathan asks over the closing instrumentals of the song. “As a couple.”
He says it because the thought is there, voiced with the excuse that he is still high enough that it doesn’t need to mean anything. In reality, Jonathan has come down from his high into a content and reflective afterglow that lets him ask the question without fighting against his inner dialogue. Steve’s hand is also warm against his back, and his natural scent is now noticeable under his aftershave. Jonathan absently wonders where that tailored fragrance gives way to Steve's natural musk, leading to thoughts of how he would find out that might be dangerous given the way their bodies are pressed together and the enhanced sensitivity to touch his high has left him with.
Steve’s hand on his back stills, but doesn’t leave. The heat of it brands Jonathan’s skin. There is a beat of silence before the driving guitar of ‘Ever Fallen in Love’ by Buzzcocks starts.
“You’re high,” he dismisses, though Jonathan suspects he knows that isn’t really true anymore. He pushes himself up to look Steve in the eye.
“That isn’t an answer.”
Steve holds his gaze, hazel eyes narrowed into a defensive glare that thaws when Jonathan doesn’t back down. He looks away, staring at the snow clinging to the windows as he contemplates the question or avoids it entirely. A hand on his jaw turns his attention back to Jonathan. This time when their eyes meet there is an unguarded hope that causes a flurry of anticipation to stir in Jonathan’s chest. His tongue peeks out to bring his bottom lip between his teeth. Steve’s throat works as he swallows.
“Jonathan,” Steve groans, the hint of a plea in his voice, “don’t bullshit me.”
“I’m not.” Jonathan makes a decision and leans in, fitting his lips against Steve’s in a kiss that lingers through the bridge between verse and chorus. He sits back and the double stroke of the drum matches the pounding of his heart.
What-ifs now dingy with regret fall over Jonathan’s trust issues with each its own unique form of rejection as he waits for Steve’s response. He stays still, once again a rabbit frozen at the threat of detection. His inner dialogue becomes loud enough to reprimand him for being so bold. Being attracted to men doesn’t mean Steve is attracted to Jonathan. Even if he is, he wants to get married and have kids and donate blood. Jonathan can’t expect him to give that up anymore than he could expect Nancy to give up her big plans.
Steve offers a wordless counter to Jonathan’s doubts by pulling him back in with a hand on the nape of his neck. He takes Jonathan’s upper lip, eagerly learning the contours of its shape with a press and part that melts away any remaining insecurity. Jonathan kisses back as the song changes to ‘The Promise’ by When in Rome. It is too basic for Jonathan’s tastes, the typical moody yet danceable attempt at making new wave more radio-friendly by stripping away its punk origins, but Steve likes it, so Jonathan put it on the mixtape anyway. He parts his lips at the gentle touch of Steve’s tongue and meets it with his own.
The sound of a soft moan resonating from the back of Steve’s throat ignites the tinder of sensitive nerves. Jonathan presses closer, burrowing into the warmth radiating from Steve. His lips leave Steve’s to kiss along the constellation of moles he had mapped earlier.
A honk from outside causes Jonathan to launch himself into the passenger seat. He looks at Steve, seeing the same fight or flight staring back at him. His panic quickly shifts to relief when he realizes someone has found them. Soft laughter breaks the tension. Freezing to death might be better than being torn apart by monsters or shot up by the military, but Jonathan would appreciate the opportunity to see where things went with Steve before he died. He takes his camera off the dashboard and takes a picture. It earns him a good-natured eye roll before Steve starts to get out of the car to talk with the driver who found them.
“Hold on,” Jonathan calls. He opens the glove box where he knows Steve keeps his gloves among the napkins and a surprising amount of lighters for someone who no longer smokes. Steve accepts them with an achingly fond smile. Jonathan takes another picture.
With the extra help, they are able to push the car back onto the road. The Stone Roses play ‘I Wanna Be Adored’ on the mixtape as Jonathan waits for Steve to say something. He wonders if Steve is similarly waiting for him. Maybe nothing needs to be said and they are just together now. Or maybe Steve is rethinking everything now that death is less imminent. The possibility keeps Jonathan waiting as ‘The Killing Moon’ by Echo & the Bunnymoon is followed by ‘Rock the Casbah’ by The Clash. The tape ends.
“I’ve figured out when our first date was,” Steve states after a few more moments of silence. He hits rewind on the stereo.
“What?”
“Our first date,” Steve repeats. “It was when we saw Nirvana at Cabaret Metro.”
Jonathan scoffs. “We have not been dating since last April.”
“We haven’t been exclusive since last April,” Steve clarifies with the same ‘hear me out’ intonation he uses to explain why Animal House is a historically significant film and the musical brilliance of Bruce Springsteen. “But describe a date, then try to tell me why the Nirvana concert doesn’t count.”
“Because we didn’t say it was a date.”
It is really Jonathan’s only reason. Steve won tickets from the local radio station and asked Jonathan to go with him. They got dinner at a nice restaurant before the show and grabbed a drink after. He admits that it was very date-like, but the fact they never said it was a date means it didn’t count as a date.
Steve shrugs. “I’m saying it was a date in recompense.”
“Retrospect,” Jonathan absently corrects. It is a habit he picked up out of familiarity, similar to leaving the light on when Steve was out late or making them coffee in the morning.
“That.” Steve gives Jonathan an appreciative smile before looking back at the road. “But seriously, you asked if we work as a couple, and I think we already do. Saying the Nirvana concert was our first date would just, I don't know, puts everything in alignment. I mean, what dating milestones do we actually have left? We already live together and met each other's families. I’m asking you to be exclusive right now, so there is that one out of the way.”
His brow pinches, a frown pulling at the corner of his mouth as he processes the thought that just came to him.
“Unless, you don’t want–”
“I do,” Jonathan is quick to interject.
He doesn't want to leave anything open to interpretation, since he knows how that worked out with Nancy. Steve asked her to be exclusive and she avoided giving him a direct answer, resulting in them miscommunicating their way into ‘I love you’s that meant two different things. And she did love Steve, Jonathan knew she did, it was just the playful love of young couples that was meant to be looked back on with wistful nostalgia rather than resented after a marriage license and kids. Steve, meanwhile, was already planning their future family road trip.
A future family road trip that wouldn’t happen with Jonathan. Not in the same way.
“You know it's different being exclusive with a man, though, right?” Jonathan watches Steve, waiting for understanding to hit so he can brace for impact. Steve simply shrugs.
“Yeah, I know. And I’m not sure if I’m ready to be out, but…” His tongue swipes over his lips as he collects his thoughts. “I don’t want to give you up.” He sighs. “That sounds selfish. I just– I’ve been thinking a lot about what happens after graduation and that was what I kept coming back to. Even when it was just as friends, I wanted to, I don’t know, meet up for drinks and go on guy trips together and just keep you in my life however I could. So I’m good with giving up public displays of affection and being the traditional family man if it means I get to keep you.”
Warmth blossoms across Jonathan’s cheeks at Steve’s admission.
“I’m not into public displays of affection, anyway.”
He hides his blush by ducking forward to get the box of cassettes at his feet. It is mostly mixtapes he has made for Steve over the years. Jonathan realizes each is a confession simply by existing. Some are more obvious than others, of course. The one that just played is particularly damning in hindsight. It stops rewinding with a click.
“So if we’ve been dating since April,” he starts as casually as the thumping of his heart allows, “what happens when we get back to the apartment?”
He hits play and puts the box of cassettes back at his feet. New Order’s ‘Bizarre Love Triangle’ starts playing. Steve looks at him out of the corner of his eye with a sly grin.
“We finish warming each other up.”