Work Text:
Jonathan Byers has a thin face and long fingers that he wraps around a cigarette and smokes, smokes, smokes as if the world around him stops. Jonathan Byers hates being distracted from smoking, and more than that he hates Steve freaking Harrington. So Steve harasses him while he's smoking. It's already a ritual of sorts that they've been sticking to for about three months now, being trapped in this town with limited people, and, you can't say they're trying to do anything about it. Rather, they're coming to terms with it. So Steve habitually leans on the bonnet of his car, parked outside the Wheeler's house, where they often hang out as a group when the radio station bores them.
"Steve, you don't even smoke, why the hell are you here?" Byers exhales a puff of smoke irritably and knocks the ash off his cigarette. Steve hums.
"Oh, maybe I like our companionship, Johnny, never thought of that?" Steve pokes him in the side with his elbow, to which Jonathan hisses unhappily. Steve seems to have learnt well how to piss him off in seconds. Either they're all going crazy and pissing off nothing in this damn town. They're not mutually exclusive things.
"Why aren't you hanging out with Dustin, you're supposed to be taking care of him, not patronising me," Jonathan knows where to hit. Oh my god, that snooty guy with a cigarette in his fingers sees exactly how tense Steve has been these past few months and it's not just because of the quarantine, otherworldly bullshit and the possible end of the world. That's important too, of course, but Steve is also worried about other things. About the other people around him. Maybe Jonathan sees that Steve cares about his friends after all, and he hasn't known how to approach Henderson about his condition for some time now.
Steve kicks the pavement in front of Nancy's house with the toe of his trainers and thinks about the time when things were good. There was a time when they couldn't think there were such things as otherworldly forces that could control other people's minds and kill innocent people. It seems like normal life never happened, but he remembers that driveway and that house insanely clearly, until the moment everything went to hell.
"He won't tell me anything and I...I don't really know how to help him," Steve strokes his neck, looking away embarrassed. He didn't mean to look so embarrassed, but at the same time it made sense - he and Jonathan usually fight and hate each other, they're not supposed to talk about what's bothering them and generally... It's just not their style. They're not used to anything else.
"Oh," Jonathan doesn't seem to expect such disarming honesty on his part. Steve doesn't really know exactly what Byers can expect from him, so he raises his eyes to try to read his face. Those wrinkles and those eyes - they always tell him more and it's not even about Jonathan. Steve isn't sure how he knows this, but someone once said that you can tell a person's thoughts by their eyes. It's partly true, at least Steve has learnt to follow the emotions and especially the eyes of the person he's talking to.
"Yeah, that's why I'm bugging you, at least you're not pushing me away," Steve laughs as Jonathan pokes him in the shoulder demonstratively. Completely without malice, Steve sees Byers' eyes light up pleasantly. Good-naturedly. Mockingly.
"Well, I just did, so..." Jonathan smiles, tilting his head forward. Steve unconsciously repeats the gesture and now they're a little closer together.
"No, you know what I mean, you know he..." Steve stops talking, searching for the right word, "he pushes me away every time I say it, he doesn't laugh when I make jokes about him anymore, though I'm sure I don't overdo it," Steve smiles sadly, looking up at the starry sky above his head, Jonathan doesn't interrupt him. "Hell, we became friends when we were both obnoxious ulcers who hated each other and the world, and that's why it feels different now, he... he gets really hurt, he gets really mad at me, he pushes me away, and I don't know how to fix it, how I can help him," Harrington exhales noisily, shivering even though it's not cold outside. He frowns and early wrinkles cover his forehead - he's been frowning and stressed too much in recent years, so he's almost resigned to it.
Dustin was bothering him. Steve tried to be nice, but Henderson got annoyed, telling him not to be coddled, because God Steve, I'm not a bloody child to look after, and when Steve was tougher, Dustin got angry, because Steve, stop pretending you understand anything, you've always been the brainy one of the two of us. And those last words almost don't hurt. Because it's true. Steve was always the heart, not the brain, he tried to protect, even if he often didn't realise what was going on. He tried to show he was there for you, he tried his best to show he cared, and often people took it in their own way. They thought he was limiting them. Maybe subconsciously that was true, but Steve tried, really tried, to help sincerely, not because he wanted to be thanked. Although, to be honest, he wouldn't mind hearing words of thanks for once. But he doesn't have to. He doesn't insist.
Steve must have been silent for too long when he hears Jonathan clear his throat, getting his attention. He turns his gaze and looks at Byers as if he'd completely forgotten he existed. Dustin would have laughed if he'd seen how confused Steve looked for those few moments. Dustin would probably laugh, Steve corrects himself. Dustin hadn't smiled at him in so long.
"Steve, it's okay, he just... he just needs time," the awkwardness with which Jonathan pats Steve on the shoulder makes Harrington want to laugh. But he doesn't, because there's really nothing funny about it. Steve shakes his head uncertainly, still feeling Jonathan's palm on his shoulder. It's early July, but Jonathan's skin feels unnaturally cold.
"Yeah, I guess it's just... you know, I'm just really worried and I don't know who or how I could help him," he sighs deeply, feeling the air slice through his lungs. As his mind fills with life-giving oxygen.
"It's okay, sometimes I don't know how to approach Will, and he's my little brother, you know," Jonathan's fingers are no longer gripping his shoulder, but Steve can still feel those touches. Harrington doesn't really believe what Jonathan is saying and it must be very easy to read his face because Byers rolls his eyes, grinning.
"I'm serious, Steve, sometimes I feel like I'm facing a man I don't understand and can't protect, he seems so..." Jonathan hesitates, searching for the right word.
"Fragile. He seems fragile, but you don't know how to make him not think you're pitying him, but trying to support him," Steve saw the amazement slip across Jonathan's face, and then his slightly more confident smile.
"Yeah, you're right," the words came out quickly, and if they were anyone else, not Steve Harrington - the former King of Hawkins High School and Jonathan Byers - the Freak and Outcast of the same hated school - they wouldn't have meant it. But it means so much more to them, as if for a time they forget how different they are, what families they grew up in, and remember only that they both grew up over the same stars and saw the same moon. Steve's heart clenches painfully, he's extremely sentimental, he looks stupid, but it doesn't matter. Because Jonathan Byers agreed with him, and he in turn was able to say something that didn't annoy or upset Jonathan. It's... it feels good. Because they've been feuding for too long and yet circumstances push them together and fate tells them to work together. And even though they're not very good at it, they stick together because - surprisingly, it's only now becoming apparent - they can be alike.
They stand like this in silence and look at each other. They study each other's faces, glance at their hair and eyes and lips, and hardly think about anything in particular. Steve is thinking about how weird this is, Jonathan is probably thinking about getting another cigarette.
"I didn't think we could do more than fight," Byers exhales as the second cigarette touches his lips and his hands search for a lighter. Steve acts on automatic, opening the car door and rummaging through the glove compartment, where, in addition to Robin's lipstick, gum, and a few hairpins, his lighter is lying around. When he holds it out to Jonathan, he takes it without a second thought. A familiar click is heard, and Steve watches the tip of the cigarette catch the flame.
"I didn't know you still smoked," Jonathan hands him the lighter and their fingers collide. Steve likes those frosty fingers on his skin. He doesn't know why.
"Not really, Robin hates the smell, and anyway, I quit a long time ago," Steve says truthfully, but Jonathan stares at him longer than usual. Did he say something wrong?
"And you keep it in your glove compartment to offer it to someone?2 Byers' voice sounds pleasant, his hair dishevelled and his eyes slightly dilated from the nicotine in his blood.
"I guess I don't know, I hadn't really thought about it that way," Steve really hadn't. He just carried it around with him because... well, it's just cool to have a lighter with him in case he needs it. Or someone.
"It's cool," and Jonathan really thinks so. He looks at him and smiles. Steve feels his heart tickle and it wouldn't be right if Byres' eyes weren't so beautiful and his posture so open. He'd back off if Jonathan looked displeased, he wouldn't let himself do anything wrong if Jonathan was angry with him and their shaky truce disappeared.
"Nancy and I broke up," Jonathan says as they look into each other's eyes. His face reflects pain, imperceptible and yet terribly familiar to Steve. He goes numb and doesn't understand why he told him in the first place. It sounds absurd. He doesn't understand why Nancy and Jonathan get along so well even though they're not dating. Suddenly Robin comes to his mind and everything falls into place a bit - he and her are inseparable, but they haven't even met for a day. True, the reason why that's impossible will be taken to the grave by Steve, but that's not that important. What was important was that it was as if Jonathan and Nancy hadn't changed, they were still close, hugging, looking at each other lovingly and their eyes glistening when they were together. Steve saw it - everyone saw it. And now Jonathan tells him they've broken up.
"What the fuck, it can't be," Steve's voice is hoarse and he prays his voice doesn't sound like pathetic hope. He'd bloody set himself on fire on the spot with his lighter if it sounded like a bloody plea. Jonathan gives a friendly chuckle.
"Can be, Steve, what makes you think it's impossible?" Even though he looks sad, he's doing better than Steve anyway. Damn it. Damn it. Steve presses his palms to his face and mentally counts to ten. Byers's question seems particularly idiotic to him, considering that now they've found something in common again.
"Because you were perfect together, all the looks, the hugs, the words, you were, well, literally perfect - you seemed like the epitome of true love, my God," Steve's voice trails off, but now he almost doesn't care how stupid he sounds. He expects to see mockery in Jonathan's eyes, but he just squints.
"You're exaggerating," he chuckles wickedly, as if Steve were blabbing to him about an obviously exaggerated rumour, not their relationship with Nancy. Steve rubs his eyes and, just in case, his ears too, in case he's dreaming or mishearing.
"I'm rather understating it, Byers," he hisses, finally meeting his gaze, "you're literally halves of the same whole, you've found strength, support and understanding in each other, you've travelled a crazy distance together and now you're telling me - fucking idiot Steve Harrington - that you've broken up," Steve wants to grab Byers by the shoulders and shake him. He's almost ready to start begging him to go to Nancy and demand that they both stop fooling around.
"You're not an idiot," Jonathan looks as if he's missed every word he's said. Everything but the last sentence. Steve pressed his lips together and rubbed his hangnail furiously. This sounds like a prank.
"No, I'm really an idiot, and not that I want to be reminded of that, but it's true - I was an idiot and sometimes I act like one," he draws in air, but it's like he's had nails shoved down his throat and forced to swallow, "but even an idiot like me realises that you couldn't have broken up." Steve wheezes. Maybe he's shouting, it's hard for him to tell, when he's angry he starts raising his voice, wanting to be heard, but Jonathan, it doesn't really impress him. He keeps smoking and smoking and the smoke from his mouth rises to the sky and the stars in it.
"Why you're so sure we were perfect, you can't know for sure," Byers voice is soft, almost gentle and soothing. Like you have to be gentle with Steve to keep him from freaking out more. Harrington is annoyed by this, like he's some kind of psycho... oh, he seems to understand Dustin a little better now. Shit. God, Steve, this isn't about Dustin right now - god forbid, Nancy and Jonathan's relationship is ruined, and he doesn't even know the reason why...
"Why did you two break up?" he says instead of answering, resting his hands at his sides as if Jonathan is one of his child-friends-he's-not-sure-who-they-are-for-him. Jonathan croaks, but it's more of a tired smirk than an evil grin, saying that Steve's got it out for him. So Harrington waits. He has plenty of time. On the edge of his mind he thinks about Nancy and Robin waiting for them, but then he realises that they could always lean out the window and call them inside. And they don't, so he can continue this awkward conversation and figure out all this craziness.
"I don't have to date Nancy to love her, you know?" Jonathan waves his hand indefinitely, averting his gaze. Bites his lip. Steve absentmindedly thinks that if Jonathan looked at him, he could understand everything he's thinking. It's a stupidly smug thought, but he's awfully sure of it. Jonathan was silent, chewing on his lip, his cigarette was burning out, but he wasn't smoking anymore, just staring. Far away. Further away than Nancy's neighbours' yard. Steve suddenly thought how handsome he looked and the thought didn't seem absurd to him. If anything, this whole conversation is absurd, and the fact that Jonathan Byers seems attractive is, frankly, the last thing he cares about.
"I love her, I really do, that's why we're not together,‘ Jonathan exhales, "we're more than lovers, we're family, we're friends, but we can't be together, we're... we're different, that's all," Jonathan says it in one breath and finally takes one last puff and tosses the cigarette in the bin, "there's no reason, Steve, at least not a concrete one that I can give you," he adds. His gaze is soft. Steve squints, trying to understand, to read, to study, to immerse himself in those eyes and that soul. He tries, and I guess at some point he catches that thread.
Steve reaches his palm toward Jonathan's shoulder, but misses, touching his palm to his neck. Jonathan doesn't twitch, just stares, watching, trying to figure out Steve's next move.
"I want all the people I love to be happy," Steve is surprised by his own confession. It sounds like a simple phrase, but there's a lot more to it than he realises. He tries to make the people around him happy, he cares for them, he tries to remember their favourite song, he listens to their endless chatter, he arrives at 1am to congratulate them on the start of their relationship, he hugs them tightly and holds them to his heart, shouting his support. That he loves and that will never change. He tries to reach hearts, and when he fails, he feels guilty - he failed, he let the people he loves down - he doesn't deserve sympathy or love in return. In a way, he's pathetic. But it doesn't matter if the people around him are happy, if he's been able to help someone, if his stupid behaviour has made someone smile.
Jonathan's eyes glisten in the July night. Hidden in them are thoughts, words, hopes, dreams and fears. Like everyone else's. Like Steve's. He thinks for the umpteenth time how strange it is that even though they are so different - they are so terribly alike. He and Jonathan, he and Robin, they're all alike in some way - every single one of them. He smiles involuntarily at the thought.
"You don't have to worry so much about everyone," Jonathan smiles playfully, but Steve can see the blush flooding his pale cheeks. Harrington doesn't know why it looks so beautiful.
"I'm sorry, Johnny, I can't help it," Steve's hand is still around Byers' neck and he doesn't do anything to interrupt it. He just stands there looking at Steve, waiting for something.
"Don't call me Johnny, Steve, it sounds stupid," he hums condescendingly, tilting his head to the side and now his overgrown hair is touching Steve's palm.
"I'm sorry, Johnny, the temptation is too great," Steve senses something is happening. He tries to figure out what it is. There are boundaries between him and Byers that they don't cross, there are words they tacitly agree not to say, there are years of enmity between them, there are only a few centimetres between them now.
Jonathan steps forward gently and his palm is narrow and rough, a soft smile on his lips and all the sadness of the world in his eyes. He strokes Steve's cheek and runs his fingertips over it, and the next moment he touches Steve's mouth with his lips. It feels like something too kind, the kind that makes Steve's eyes sting. He doesn't know where to put himself, doesn't know how to behave so Byres doesn't leave. Not now. He pulls him closer, afraid to touch him too hard, to hurt him, to scare him.
He kisses Jonathan slowly, covering his eyes and those lips move, and the feel of the worn t-shirt under his fingers becomes unbearable. He moves closer, feeling Jonathan's palms burrow into his hair, their noses colliding, their breaths mingling, his own heart breaking. Jonathan tastes like cigarettes, like hope, and like the stars above his head. He simultaneously destroys his entire universe and rebuilds it from scratch. When Jonathan's palm touches his cheek and the fingers of his other hand burrow into the hair at the back of his neck, not allowing him to pull away, Steve thinks about how they are in some ways alike again. He can feel Byres shiver and so he hugs him gently, it's not a snare - it's an invitation. Take it all or never trespass again. He gives the choice and Jonathan moans into his mouth, as if answering each of the questions swarming in Steve's head.
They press against his car and the warmth of the metal reminds Steve of the warmth that is now ready to kill him from the inside out. Byers is there, so close and his body doesn't feel so cold now, it feels good to the touch, it's close, there's no distance between them now. They're terrifyingly close and Steve thinks about how it doesn't scare him in the slightest. It's like he was made to stand in the driveway of the Willers' house and kiss his ex's ex.
When they stop, with their foreheads pressed against each other and their arms around each other's shoulders (Jonathan) and waist (Steve), they don't look surprised. Byers chuckles quietly, good-naturedly stroking Steve's cheeks as if counting his birthmarks. That's probably what he was doing, and Steve tilts his neck in invitation for Jonathan to continue running his fingers over his skin.
"How many do you have," Jonathan whispered, and Steve couldn't keep himself from kissing his nose.
"There are even more on your back, believe me," he says, whispering too. It makes him feel like the moment will last longer this way - their usual loud voices will break it, and Jonathan seems to be thinking the same thing.
"I'd better check it out," the words make Steve blush. Just because Jonathan looks so handsome and dishevelled, because his lips are red, because they've kissed long enough.
"I don't mind," he says, running his nose over Byers' face, leaving quick kisses everywhere he can reach. He notices Jonathan look away, and his cheeks turn crimson as well. Well, Steve is definitely thrilled and a second away from starting to kiss Jonathan's neck right there.
They stand there and just stare at each other. It seems to Steve that it takes forever before they speak.
"Just so you understand, I'm completely serious," Jonathan says with his usual pressure when he's nervous. Steve exhales loudly. It's a good thing he said it first.
"Trust me, if we were in the house alone I wouldn't be so careful, I'd probably be biting your neck by now or-" Byers covers his mouth with the palm of his hand. His cheeks flame and Steve moans quietly right into his hand, hating the whole world for the fact that they really can't do anything worse than bloody kissing. Jonathan is just insufferable. Steve runs his tongue across his palm, causing Byers to jerk it away in a semblance of consternation. A semblance, because he's clearly embarrassed, not scared. Byers wipes his hand on his t-shirt, but it's not that Steve minds. It feels good. Jonathan seems to realise this and irritably glares at him, trying to hold back a smile.
"Just shut up, Steve," he pleads, breathing deeply.
"Make me," Harrington scowls, placing his palm on his thighs.
"You're insufferable," Jonathan squints, but doesn't even try to break free. He doesn't mind, which confuses and overjoys Harrington.
"We have to go or Robin and Nancy will worry," he says reluctantly. Jonathan's skin is too nice to want to let go of it. And yet Steve realises he has to do it, or he'll never stop.
"Okay," Jonathan whispers, and before he lets go of Steve, he smears his lips over his cheek. He's too handsome, Steve thinks. He's too handsome, Harrington corrects himself.
"Hey," Jonathan calls out to him as they climb the stairs to the porch.
"What?" Steve arches his eyebrows, frowning slightly. Suddenly Jonathan was actually joking and it was all a prank. Maybe it was a rather cruel joke. He swallows, waiting for those very agonising words you know, really I was just messing with you, nothing personal.
"I think I love you," Jonathan says, and his eyes light up. Glittering with love. That's how he used to look at Nancy. Now that look belongs to Steve. Maybe Harrington is overly sentimental, maybe it's not far from the truth, maybe - but he doesn't care, because those words are important to him. To know he's loved. Jonathan looks at him expectantly and Steve looks at him confused.
"Yes, I think I love you too," it's simple. It's terribly simple. It's right up to pleasantly right. Jonathan smiles and Steve can't contain his smile.
Or maybe he just doesn't want to.