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After everyone had made it out of the upside down, been updated on who was alive and who had newly acquired superpowers, and migrated to Steve's spotless showroom of a house for recon, Nancy feels the hours of sleep deprivation fraying at her sanity. As Dustin and Hopper began microwaving TV dinners and distributing soda cans, Nancy insisted on a hot, greedily long shower to scald the day's grime from her skin and escape to herself for a moment. The last time she'd used the shower in Steve's house was the night Barb was taken, and instead of recoiling at that fact as she looks in the mirror, she just feels numb. She'd been through so much death and violence since then, and so many loved ones had been miraculously returned to her, too. She'd experienced it all with the party and Jonathan and Steve, and yet she'd experienced it all alone. Four years, and it was all a wash.
She bumps into Steve on the way out of the bathroom, and he offers her a stack of sweats to change into. She accepts them without a word, then bumps into Jonathan on her way into the bedroom to change. He's already wearing some of Steve's clothes, the waistband of his sweatpants tied tight but still slumping low on his hips, exposing damp skin there from his own retreat downstairs. Nancy ignores the unimposing wave of heat inspired by that observation as she undresses, then pulls up her own elastic shorts.
"Mike's got a map laid out downstairs to talk strategy," Jonathan notes, matter-of-fact and seemingly unaffected by her nudity. There were about a million things to be frustrated with him about right now, and about a billion plans to be thought out, so Nancy just nods, zips up the provided hoodie, and proceeds down the stairs wordlessly.
The party is back, the kids with their adrenaline highs chattering quickly about next steps and sunrise. Steve, freshly showered and swaddled in terrycloth, appears at Nancy's left side again, invading her space inappropriately as he suggests a route, and Nancy feels Jonathan's envious gaze as he mirrors the proximity on her right. It was frustrating, how they managed to compete about her even with their batteries this low. It was frustrating how Nancy's worn body still responded to the warmth.
She swallows hard as her blood rushes and her pulse races and she resists the urge to burrow into them, either of them, both of them. The day has been so long, and she just wants touch, some quick serotonin to soothe her. Instead, her boys are bickering with each other about vehicle horsepower, reaching around her to point determinedly at the map.
"Can someone else figure this shit out so we can sleep?" she murmurs, more blunt and scathing than she meant it, but the bodies on either side of her relent quietly. Nancy's aches for that silence. Joyce makes an executive decision and dismisses the crew to refuel, and Nancy marches straight up the stairs and back into Steve's room without checking who is following her.
Jonathan appears first with a Gatorade and a protein bar, insisting she eat something, and Nancy shoves him away, almost forcefully, before sinking down on the bed. She doesn't like the way his face drops with concern, but she can't deal with that right now. "Just let me sleep, Byers." The last name, so formal and cold, echoes how Steve addresses him, and Nancy winces slightly at the misstep.
She didn't know why she was acting this way. She wanted him close to her, just not so smothering. The last year and a half had been smothering, especially after he'd been in California for a year before that. As much as she'd missed him, she'd also thrived with the distance. He'd been so eager to be back in her orbit after he'd returned to Hawkins, but she couldn't help but think he'd only wanted that to crowd Steve out.
Nancy pats the mattress next to her, the only gesture she can offer, and Jonathan obediently slips beneath the sheets into the space behind her. He doesn't try to hold her. She appreciates that.
Right as Nancy's on the precipice of sleep, Steve enters the room with a mug of something steaming and the infamous box of Boppers. "Come on, dude," he sighs with irritation upon seeing Jonathan in his bed.
"What?" Jonathan asks, sitting up to field the frustration as Nancy attempts to block it out and pretend she's asleep.
"This is my room," Steve complains quietly, setting down his treats on the nightstand and standing over Jonathan like he plans to die on this hill.
"In case you haven't noticed, Harrington, we're in an apocalypse and the whole party is crashing at your house," Jonathan answers, not his cleverest response, but he never was very clever with Steve.
"I just thought I'd get at least one creature comfort on possibly my last night on earth," Steve replies melodramatically before biting into a Bopper.
"Well Nancy's already asleep, I don't know what you want me to do," Jonathan whispers, and Nancy thinks she's successfully convinced them she's unconscious.
"Scooch," Steve commands, and Nancy can almost hear Jonathan's eyes rolling as he shifts closer to her. "This is a queen size, we can fit three."
"You've done it before?" Jonathan shoots back, maybe a little too interested. "I remember Tommy and Carol." Nancy stifles a laugh.
"Shut up, Byers," Steve replies, but there's no venom in it. "Here." Nancy glances up through her eyelashes as Steve hanfe Jonathan the warm mug and he accepts it without protest, humming slightly at the taste. The mattress dips again as Steve lowers himself beside Jonathan, and Jonathan takes another long sip before passing the mug back to Steve.
"Thanks," Jonathan says quietly as Steve finishes the beverage off. Nancy had shared coffee mugs with Jonathan before, and she'd always thought of it as something intimate, reserved just for them. Something in her blood simmers watching Jonathan give that privilege away so easily, and to someone he supposedly hated.
"Gotta get your blood sugar up, you always look half dead," Steve teases, and Jonathan huffs in protest before ducking low under the covers. "You're so easy to rile up, man. Even back in high school. For a guy who doesn't care what people think about him, you sure care a lot about what I think."
"I don't care what you think, dude, you're just like, the epitome of everything I hate about Hawkins," he blusters in response.
"Well damn, I'm flattered," Steve answers before finishing off his Bopper and turning off the lamp. The only light left was the moon filtering in through the shades, yet their conversation continued, and Nancy was caught between irritation and curiosity. "I don't think I'm half of what you think I am. The Steve you knew in high school was all a bullshit performance."
Bullshit. Nancy wonders if Steve remembers that, if he really believes that. "I mean, I remember seeing those photos and thinking it. I was pretending to be someone else, my dad maybe. I'm not that guy anymore."
"But you're still trying to win over Nancy," Jonathan notes, and it takes everything in her not to audibly scoff.
"Nance is a friend," Steve objects. "I accepted that a long time ago." Nancy unexpectedly feels her stomach drop at that admission, no matter how much of a bluff it might be. "And frankly, even if I were trying to steal your girl, it would just be karma for when you stole her from me."
"I didn't steal anyone," Jonathan protests, though Nancy can't deny the residual guilt from that graceless Halloween party and the almost instantaneous coupling with Johnathan that followed. She'd justified it all in the moment-- she hadn't truly loved Steve, he hadn't understood the weight of her bottled grief, his goals were too stagnant and misaligned with hers-- but she'd known even then that it was justification. The truth was, they'd barely gotten started, then the ground had shaken so drastically, and Nancy had fallen for Jonathan so wholly, that they'd never gotten the chance to let things grow more authentically. She wonders, sometimes, if she should've waited, but she hadn't even had the patience to break up with him properly. True, Jonathan hadn't stolen anyone, but they'd never really been innocent.
"Right, she chose you, so you see how stupid that accusation sounds?" Steve argues, but his tone is thick, like the wound was still raw, like he'd dragged his hope through hell and back and still couldn't drop it. Jonathan lets the silence linger, mercifully lets Steve steady himself. "People think I'm an idiot, but I always knew she'd pick you."
"She picked you first," Jonathan whispers, returning the vulnerability with his own. "Nance, when she wants something, she gets it. She knew my family for years, Steve."
"No one's hot when they're 13, Byers," Steve laments, somehow both biting and sympathetic.
"No, I mean she knows what I come from," Jonathan continues, the words so fragile in the lonely night air. "She knows what I'm destined to become. She doesn’t need me."
Steve hums quietly, like he wants to fight him or defend her but can't quite find the conviction. Nancy, meanwhile, wants to scream. She'd been ashamed, in the past, of her seemingly innate coldness, her sometimes selfish ambition and the way it kept a firm boundary between herself and the people she loved. She'd seen how her strong, devoted mother had fared without that boundary, though, and ultimately, she felt vindicated in keeping that layer of protection. Jonathan knew that, or at least she'd thought he'd known that. She wasn't uncompromising with the people she loved-- in fact, she'd been more vulnerable with him than anyone else in part because he'd never been afraid to call her out on bullshit. She'd tried to return the favor for him. If she'd known he was having these feelings, she could've been more open.
But not only was Jonathan totally wrong about her motivations for impenetrability, he was holding all this fear inside and not giving her the chance to understand it. Instead, she had to overhear it in a midnight confessional with her ex boyfriend. Despite her exhaustion, Nancy was on edge, waiting to see if Steve would say something or if she'd have to call him an idiot herself.
"Dude, you've gotta get out of here," Steve replies finally, shifting on the mattress to face Jonathan more directly, and she felt him startle slightly under Steve's full attention. "I don't mean now, this room, I mean you've gotta get out of Hawkins, away from your history and your family and all of this bullshit."
"I'm not-- I can't leave them," Jonathan defends habitually, almost instinctually. "Ever since that night, I just... If anything happened to Will and I wasn't around--"
"I don't know if you realized this, but your brother's a literal wizard now," Steve replies, making Jonathan snort with quiet laughter. "Listen, I get that you've taken care of them most of your life, and you were dealt a shitty hand with Lonnie and everything, and I, Steve Harrington, actually could not possibly imagine what that's been like, but you don't deserve for that history to define you. Nance would never let that define you, and neither would I." Steve punctuates that promise by clasping Jonathan's shoulder firmly and not letting go.
Nancy loves him. She loves them both. She's overwhelmed with it, and she needs to go to sleep before she does something crazy about it.
"Seriously, I'd be out of here in a heartbeat if I had even a smidge of your talent," Steve continues earnestly. "And, you know, if there wasn't a military quarantine."
"I left my camera in Lenora, I haven't even picked one up since we got here," Jonathan admits, and Nancy slips her hand into his without thinking.
"You never mentioned that," Nancy whispers. She feels the mattress go still before opening her eyes to find them both in shock, caught.
"I didn't realize you were awake," Jonathan says carefully, and Steve's hand drops from his shoulder guiltily.
"Barely," she answers, tucking her head into Jonathan's chest affectionately. "I didn't realize you didn't have a camera all this time."
"We've had a lot going on," Jonathan offers, irritatingly graceful, and Nancy traces his fingertips with hers beneath the sheets. "Besides, I'd feel weird not using the one you bought me."
"He bought you that," Nancy corrects, shifting her gaze from Jonathan to Steve, who can barely raise his sweet brown eyes to meet hers. It had been a sincere gesture on Steve's part, and a reason for Nancy to take him back, too. She hadn't meant to keep the gift a secret for so long, but it had never been her secret, really. Steve's most admirable characteristic, perhaps, was the way he always tried to hide his best deeds, the way he tried not to acknowledge his most noble sacrifices, how he put his life on the line protecting them and played it cool afterwards. He could never claim true humility with hair like that, but he did remind her of Jonathan in that way.
"What?" Jonathan breathes carefully, turning to face Steve, too.
"It was my fault your first one broke," Steve explains gently, meeting Jonathan's inquiring gaze more easily than Nancy's. Her heart swells to witness the way they complement each other, the ways their antagonism can keep each other open when her independence can't. "I wasn't sure if you'd take it if you knew it came from me."
"You wouldn't have," Nancy says knowingly, tampering Jonathan's irritation with the press of her lips against his neck. She feels Steve's eyes on her now, unable to look away, and her pulse thrums with the attention.
"Nance," Jonathan warns, stiffening slightly, and she pulls back enough to watch how Steve's pupils dilate in the moonlight. Nancy settles closer to Jonathan, swiveling hips and shoulders like a cat and too sleep-withdrawn to help it.
"Aren't you going to thank him?" she prompts, yawning slightly. Jonathan hesitates for a moment, then looks at Steve like he's never seen him before. Steve blushes, the pink glow barely visible in the dark, and Nancy wishes she had Jonathan's camera, too.
"That was an expensive camera," Jonathan states, matter-of-fact.
"I know, dude," Steve replies, a little emotional out of nowhere, eyelashes wet against his hot cheeks. "I'm sorry." Nancy has made him cry before, has seen the well of nonchalance burst, and she hated it, but now something about it charms her.
She raises a hand to swipe a thumb beneath his eyes, but Jonathan beats her to it, and she's transfixed by the motion. Steve's so open, vulnerable, and Jonathan's palm is pressed to the side of his face, just holding him.
It's the first touch of skin against skin, maybe since they'd last fought, and Steve's eyes close again, like he can't bear the tenderness. Nancy watches them both navigate the contact for a moment before Steve collapses into Jonathan's other side breathlessly. "Woah, Steve," Jonathan whispers, almost coos, as Steve trembles slightly.
It's nice to have Jonathan in the middle for a change, Jonathan holding the reins. Nancy remembers how nice it felt when she used to trust him implicitly with the reins.
"If I'd known how sorry you were about that, I probably wouldn't have called you a meathead earlier," he offers quietly, raising an arm around Steve's head as the taller boy laughs at him.
"Selfish, chauvinistic, meathead," Steve corrects, his breath brushing across Jonathan's neck, and Nancy furrows her brows in sleepy confusion.
"Right," Jonathan teases, his fingertips dancing across Steve's hairline. "I'm sorry, too, dude."
Steve takes a long, low breath as the admission settles him. The three of them are in a warm pile now, their limbs limp, their hair still damp, their knees knocking together, and it feels as natural as two.
Nancy cranes her neck up to kiss Jonathan's cocoa powdered lips languidly, then moves her hand from his chin to Steve's chest, feeling his heartbeat rattling beneath his ribcage. Jonathan doesn’t object to the affection this time, but Steve does, a small whine, involuntary. What about me?
Nancy breaks away from Jonathan with a nonsensical giggle and with a small lunge, captures Steve’s mouth in a similarly chocolate-stained kiss, relishing the familiarity– this room, this bed, this boy, and the other one, finally let inside. The first time. Steve, already overstimulated, is prying her lips apart with his tongue hastily, and she’s yielding comfortably. Jonathan’s palm slips from her hand to her waist, pulling her closer to him, to both of them, understanding of her exhaustion. Nancy’s so appreciative that she has to switch again, barely catching her breath before diving in, finding the column of his throat, that place that makes him squirm, so easily.
Nancy can’t identify who moves first, but out of the corner of her eye she sees the moment Steve’s bruised lips seize Jonathan’s. She’d known it was possible, inevitable, embarking on this, but it makes her pause. She watches, wondering if that’s what they looked like kissing her, too, or if it was different. She would’ve expected it to be tentative, unsure, novel, but neither of them had ever kissed her timidly, so she shouldn’t have been shocked by their fervor. She shouldn’t be shocked by her utter lack of envy. She really does love them both.
The way everything unfolds from there is natural. It’s sure, decisive, warm, like her first time with Steve. It’s fumbling, alien, yearning like her first time with Jonathan. It’s something new, sometimes rough with resentment, sometimes relenting to a shared sensation, a common understanding. Any desire she’d ever had for either of them is compounded– it’s an added pleasure to watch their wholeness revealed in the other. Jonathan never handled her like he handles Steve, and Steve never looked at her so curiously, so appraisingly as he looks at Jonathan. She orchestrates the whole thing and at the same time feels totally at their mercy, and they’re not so merciful after all this time coveting each other’s relationship to her, the way she’d at times coveted their open hostility towards each other. Nancy’s always been more cerebral than emotional, but she’s also always been driven by instinct, and while the encounter defies both rationality and feeling, it’s also entirely instinctual. She has no idea if it will feel so natural to the three of them in the morning, but she resolves not to concern herself with that until the morning.
She wakes a half hour before sunrise to Steve snoring, the noise muffled by Jonathan’s bruised neck. She wonders if they’d talked more after she’d fallen asleep, quietly, so they wouldn’t wake her. She hadn’t needed to be awake for that. They both knew her so well already, they had to catch up with each other.
“Morning,” Jonathan whispers, blinking sleep from his eyes in the still-darkness. His eyes are softer, brighter, less heavy. Less preoccupied.
“Morning,” Nancy returns with a fond smile, less hesitant to be affectionate somehow, perhaps knowing now she wasn’t affection’s only source.
“Morning, freaks,” grumbles Steve less gracefully, woken mid-snore, not to be excluded again, and Jonathan laughs at the chosen term of endearment.
Nancy wonders if they’re meant to talk about it. They never do. They show up to the breakfast table in Steve’s clothes, exchange glances as the party explains the day’s agenda, fall into step as they leave the security of Steve’s house one last time. Nancy didn’t get much sleep, but she feels oddly well-rested.