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J:1
Steve’s leg hated him.
Every step sent a sharp, ugly pull through his hamstring, the kind that reminded him exactly how stupid it had been to sprint across half of Hawkins like he was still seventeen and invincible. He moved slower now, stiff and lopsided, jaw clenched against the ache as he limped down the street.
He was tired in that deep, hollow way — the kind that sleep didn’t touch. The kind that came from too many nights on watch, too many mornings pretending he was fine so the kids wouldn’t worry.
So when something solid collided with his chest, Steve barely had time to grunt before he was steadying himself on instinct.
“Whoa—hey—”
Will Byers stared up at him, wide-eyed and pale, like he’d been running for longer than he should have. His hands twisted together at his hoodie strings, knuckles white.
Steve frowned immediately. “Hey. Easy. You okay?”
Will nodded too fast. “Yeah. I mean—yes. I’m fine.”
That wasn’t an answer that ever meant anything good.
Steve glanced around automatically, half-expecting the air to ripple or the ground to crack open. “Everything… normal-apocalypse levels? No clocks, no visions, no—”
“No,” Will said quickly. Then he hesitated, chewing on his lip. “It’s not that.”
Steve relaxed a fraction, though something in Will’s expression kept his shoulders tense. “Okay,” he said gently. “So what is it?”
Will swallowed. “It’s Jonathan.”
That pulled Steve up short in a different way.
“What about him?” Steve asked.
Will’s gaze flicked away. “He won’t talk to me.”
Steve blinked. “About…?”
Will shook his head. “I don’t know. He just—he’s been like this all day. He keeps saying he’s fine, and I know he’s not, but he won’t—” Will’s voice wobbled, just barely. “He won’t let me help.”
Steve exhaled slowly. He’d seen that look before. The one people wore when they were determined to protect someone by shutting them out.
“Where is he?” Steve asked.
Will hesitated again. “He asked me to go home,” he said quietly. “But… could you do me a favor?”
Steve didn’t even think about it. “Yeah.”
Will’s shoulders sagged with relief. “He went to the quarry. He does that when he doesn’t want anyone to see him.”
Steve nodded. That tracked.
“He won’t talk to me,” Will said again, softer this time. “He says he doesn’t want to burden me. But… maybe he’d talk to you. You’re—” Will shrugged helplessly. “You’re his age.”
Something about that twisted in Steve’s chest.
“Yeah,” Steve said, already turning. “I’ll go.”
The quarry was quiet in that way that felt too loud.
Steve picked his way down the familiar path, each step a reminder of his leg and how much he wanted to sit down and never stand back up again. The wind whipped across the open space, tugging at his jacket, carrying the faint scent of water and stone.
Jonathan was easy to spot.
He sat at the edge of the cliff, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them like he was holding himself together by force. His shoulders were hunched, his head bowed, curls blown into his face.
For a moment, Steve just stood there.
Jonathan Byers had always seemed unshakeable to him. Quiet, steady, the kind of guy who carried responsibility like it was built into his bones. Seeing him folded in on himself like this made something uncomfortable settle under Steve’s ribs.
Steve cleared his throat. “Hey.”
Jonathan startled, twisting around. “Jesus—Steve.” He scrubbed a hand over his face quickly. “Didn’t hear you.”
“Yeah,” Steve said. “I’m sneaky like that.”
Jonathan huffed a weak laugh and turned back toward the water. “What are you doing here?”
“Ran into Will,” Steve said, easing down a few feet away with a hiss as his leg protested. “He was worried.”
Jonathan stiffened. “I told him I was fine.”
Steve tilted his head. “You don’t look fine.”
Jonathan shrugged. “I’m just thinking.”
“Dangerous hobby,” Steve said lightly.
Jonathan snorted despite himself. “You didn’t have to come.”
Steve studied him for a second, then shrugged back. “I wanted to.”
That earned him a glance — brief, searching, gone just as fast.
They sat in silence, the wind filling the space between them. Steve could feel Jonathan coiling up, bracing for something.
Finally, Jonathan said, “I proposed to Nancy.”
The words hit Steve like a dropped weight.
“Oh,” he said.
He didn’t know why his chest tightened. He didn’t know why his first instinct was grief instead of surprise. All he knew was that something in him sank hard, like he’d missed a step he hadn’t known was there.
“That’s—” Steve forced a smile. “Congrats, man.”
Jonathan let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. About that.”
Steve’s smile faded.
“She said no,” Jonathan said.
Steve’s breath left him in a quiet rush. “Oh.”
Jonathan stared out over the quarry, eyes bright and unfocused. “She was kind about it. She really was. She said she loved me. She said I didn’t do anything wrong.”
He swallowed. “She said we weren’t right for each other. That my family would always come first. That she needs a life where she doesn’t feel like she’s competing with everything I have to hold together.”
Steve said nothing. He didn’t trust himself to.
“I get it,” Jonathan went on, voice cracking now. “I do. She deserves that. She deserves someone who can choose her every time.”
His hands curled into fists. “I just thought… maybe this time, I could be enough.”
The silence broke.
Jonathan’s shoulders started to shake.
Steve moved before he thought about it. He shifted closer, ignoring the flare of pain in his leg, and wrapped his arms around Jonathan’s back.
“I’m so sorry,” Steve murmured, pressing his forehead against Jonathan’s temple. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Jonathan made a broken sound and collapsed into him, fingers gripping the front of Steve’s jacket like it was the only thing keeping him upright. The sobs came hard and fast, wrenching their way out of him, raw and unguarded.
Steve held him.
He didn’t shush him because it was awkward. He shushed him because Jonathan sounded like he’d been holding this in for years.
“You’re okay,” Steve whispered. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
Jonathan cried until the sound dulled, until his breathing evened out in shaky pulls. When he finally went still, he pulled back just enough to look at Steve.
His eyes were red. His face was blotchy. He looked wrecked.
Steve didn’t look away.
Jonathan stared at him for a second too long — then leaned in and kissed him.
It was clumsy and sudden and desperate, all teeth and uncertainty.
Jonathan pulled back immediately, horror flooding his expression. “I—oh my god, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I—”
“Hey,” Steve said quickly, hands coming up to Jonathan’s arms, grounding him. “It’s okay.”
Jonathan shook his head frantically. “I’m a mess, and I don’t even know what I’m feeling, and you’re not—this isn’t—”
“It’s okay,” Steve repeated, softer now. “We’re okay.”
Jonathan stared at him, breathing hard. “You’re not just… a rebound,” he said, like it mattered desperately that Steve understand. “I know that. I just—I don’t know how to explain—”
“You don’t have to,” Steve said.
Jonathan blinked.
“You don’t gotta put a word on it,” Steve went on. “Or figure it out right now. Or explain it to me.”
He brushed his thumb gently under Jonathan’s eye, wiping away a tear. “I see you.”
Jonathan’s breath hitched.
Steve pulled him back in, holding him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Shhh,” Steve murmured. “I’ve got you.”
And for the first time all day, Jonathan let himself believe it.
J:2
Three weeks later, Steve Harrington was an expert at climbing through windows.
It had started as a joke — a stupid grin, a whispered don’t wake my mom even though Joyce Byers was very much awake at all hours — but it had become routine. Every night, once Hawkins went quiet and the cabin settled into its creaks and groans, Steve would haul himself up with a careful grunt, swing his bad leg through the window, and ease himself onto Jonathan’s bedroom floor.
Jonathan always pretended to be asleep.
Steve always pretended to believe him.
They didn’t talk about what they were yet. They didn’t need to. They shared a bed, shared warmth, shared the kind of silence that didn’t demand explanations. Steve knew Will knew — Jonathan had told him, voice soft but certain. Steve had told Robin too, her reaction a mix of wide-eyed delight and immediate seriousness.
Okay, she’d said. So you’re in love. Cool. I won’t tell anyone. Also, I would die for him.
Steve hadn’t corrected her.
Right now, though, none of that mattered.
They were crowded into the cabin’s living room, maps and notes spread across the table, the air thick with exhaustion and fear. Steve leaned against the wall near the stairs, arms crossed, jaw tight. His hamstring still pulled if he stood too long, but the ache barely registered compared to the tension crawling up his spine.
Will sat on the couch, knees bouncing, eyes too sharp. Joyce hovered near him like a shield made of flesh and bone. Jonathan stood off to the side, hands in his pockets, shoulders squared like he was bracing for impact.
Steve didn’t like that look.
“I can do it,” Will said, voice steady but insistent. “I know what Vecna feels like. I can defend myself. I can get out if I need to.”
Steve’s gaze flicked to Jonathan automatically.
Jonathan’s face had gone carefully blank.
Joyce shook her head immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“Mom—”
“No,” Joyce said, sharp now. “I will not risk you. Not again. Not ever.”
Steve swallowed.
Joyce turned, eyes landing on Jonathan like the answer had always been obvious. “Jonathan can go.”
Steve’s eye twitched.
He felt it happen — that moment when something inside him snapped clean in half.
Jonathan didn’t argue. Of course he didn’t. He just nodded once, quick and resigned. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I can do it.”
Steve watched the way his shoulders dropped, just a fraction. Watched the way he made himself smaller without even realizing it.
Disposable, something ugly whispered in Steve’s head.
Robin moved fast.
“No,” she said flatly, stepping forward. “We’ll figure something else out.”
Joyce frowned. “Robin, this isn’t—”
“This is exactly it,” Robin cut in. “No one is going. Not Will. Not Jonathan. Not anyone.”
Joyce’s mouth tightened. “This is how we keep everyone safe.”
Robin didn’t flinch. “We. Will. Find. Another. Way.”
She glanced around the room, making deliberate eye contact with everyone except Joyce. “I am not risking anyone in this room. Jonathan included.”
Joyce’s eyes flashed. Steve knew she already disliked Robin — too sharp, too opinionated, too unwilling to fall in line. Whatever goodwill might have existed evaporated instantly.
Jonathan shifted, uncomfortable. Nancy stood near the door, arms wrapped around herself. When her eyes met Jonathan’s, there was no anger there. Just something raw and unresolved. An open wound neither of them knew how to touch.
Eventually, the meeting dissolved. People drifted away under the pretense of thinking, planning, breathing.
Steve didn’t wait.
He crossed the room in three long strides and caught Jonathan by the wrist. “Upstairs,” he said quietly.
Jonathan opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it.
Steve shut the bedroom door behind them and leaned back against it, heart pounding. Jonathan stood in the middle of the room, arms folded tight across his chest like he was holding himself together through sheer will.
Steve pushed off the door. “Talk.”
Jonathan huffed a weak laugh. “I said I could go.”
“I know,” Steve said. “That’s the problem.”
Jonathan looked away.
Steve didn’t soften it. He didn’t tell him Joyce hadn’t meant it, didn’t offer excuses or platitudes. He waited.
And then Jonathan broke.
“She always does that,” Jonathan said, words spilling out like they’d been waiting behind his teeth. “She always assumes I’ll handle it. That I’ll go. That I’ll fix it.”
His voice cracked. “She sees me as the co-parent. The backup. The one who steps in so she doesn’t have to think about it.”
Steve stayed silent, hands clenched at his sides.
“I’m angry,” Jonathan admitted, pacing now. “I’m angry at her. I’m angry at Vecna. I’m angry at the Demogorgon for taking Will in the first place. For changing everything.”
He scrubbed a hand through his hair, breathing hard. “And I’m scared, Steve.”
Steve’s chest tightened.
“The only person who has ever put me first is Will,” Jonathan said. “The only one. And now he’s grown enough that he doesn’t need me to protect him anymore. And I don’t know who I am if I can’t do that.”
His voice dropped to a whisper. “I can’t even protect him.”
Steve crossed the room in two steps and grabbed Jonathan’s hands.
“Hey,” he said, fierce and certain. “Look at me.”
Jonathan did.
“You are not going because your mom thinks you’re invincible,” Steve said. “You’re not a stopgap. You’re not disposable. And I don’t care who thinks what.”
Jonathan’s breath hitched.
“I choose you,” Steve said, without hesitation. “Right now. Every time.”
Jonathan stared at him like he couldn’t quite believe it.
“I would burn the world down for you,” Steve went on, voice steady despite the fire roaring in his chest. “And I’m not letting anyone — anyone — treat you like you’re less than.”
Jonathan’s shoulders crumpled. He leaned forward, forehead pressing into Steve’s chest, fingers clutching his shirt.
Steve wrapped his arms around him and held on.
“We’ll figure something out,” Steve murmured into his hair. “Together.”
Jonathan nodded against him, silent but shaking.
Steve stayed like that, anchoring him, choosing him — not because Jonathan needed saving, but because Steve wanted him safe.
And for once, Jonathan let himself stay.
S:1
Robin screamed.
It was sharp and sudden, the kind of sound that didn’t belong to fear so much as pain — real, immediate, impossible to ignore. Jonathan’s head snapped toward it just in time to see her go down hard, hands scrabbling uselessly at the ground as she collapsed.
“Robin!” Steve shouted.
Everything blurred after that.
Jonathan remembered hands — his, Steve’s, Nancy’s — remembered Robin’s face twisted white-hot with agony as she tried to laugh it off and failed. He remembered Steve dropping to his knees beside her without hesitation, voice steady even as his hands shook, telling her not to move, telling her he’d got her.
The medics confirmed it quickly. Torn Achilles. Bad, but not fatal. Painful, long recovery, but she’d live.
Steve stayed with her until she was loaded up and driven away, one hand never leaving hers.
Jonathan watched the entire time.
Back at the Byers-Hopper cabin, everyone regrouped in that brittle, exhausted way that followed near-disaster. The air felt heavy, like it might crack under the wrong word.
Dustin cracked it anyway.
“This is on you,” he said suddenly, voice sharp and shaking. He stood rigid by the table, fists clenched. “You switched posts. You didn’t stop the plan when you should’ve.”
The room went very still.
Jonathan’s gaze flew to Steve.
Steve didn’t argue. He didn’t defend himself. He didn’t even look angry.
He just absorbed it.
“I should’ve known better,” Steve said quietly.
Jonathan felt something twist in his chest.
Dustin’s eyes were wet. “She got hurt because of you.”
Jonathan knew — he knew — Dustin didn’t really believe that. This wasn’t logic. This was grief spilling over, the kind that had nowhere safe to go. Eddie was still a raw wound. The apocalypse never stopped looming. And Steve Harrington was the safest person in the room to throw knives at, because Steve had proven over and over that he wouldn’t leave.
That didn’t make it hurt less.
Steve nodded once, like he deserved it. “Yeah.”
Jonathan opened his mouth.
Steve beat him to it.
“I’m gonna—” Steve gestured vaguely. “Volunteer for a bit. Help out. Be back later.”
He left before anyone could stop him.
Jonathan stayed frozen in his chair.
Robin’s empty seat felt like an accusation.
Will glanced at Jonathan, eyes wide with worry. Robin — gone now, but Jonathan could picture her — would’ve been staring daggers into him, silently yelling GO AFTER HIM.
Jonathan grimaced.
He couldn’t. Not yet. Not without raising questions they weren’t ready to answer.
So he waited.
It felt like an hour before the cabin finally emptied. Joyce went to check on Will. Nancy lingered just long enough to exchange a stiff, gentle look with Jonathan before leaving too.
As soon as the door shut, Jonathan grabbed his jacket.
Steve’s car was parked near the quarry, angled wrong, like he hadn’t bothered to straighten it.
Jonathan spotted him immediately — sitting on the hood, shoulders slumped, staring out at the water like it might have answers. The sight made Jonathan’s throat tighten.
Steve didn’t look up when Jonathan approached.
“Took you long enough,” Steve said lightly.
Jonathan stopped a few feet away. “I couldn’t leave.”
“I know,” Steve said. His voice was steady. Too steady.
Jonathan stepped closer. “Dustin didn’t mean it.”
Steve huffed a laugh. “Doesn’t make him wrong.”
Jonathan climbed up onto the hood beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Steve tensed, then relaxed.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
“I don’t know who I am,” Steve said suddenly.
Jonathan turned fully toward him.
“I mean it,” Steve went on, staring straight ahead. “I don’t know who I am without taking care of people. The kids. Robin. Everyone.”
His mouth twitched. “Hell, half the time I think that’s the only thing I’m good at.”
Jonathan stayed quiet, heart aching.
“What happens when they grow up?” Steve said. “When they don’t need me anymore?”
He laughed softly, hollow and brittle. “What happens when I’m just… some guy?”
Jonathan didn’t think. He moved.
He wrapped Steve up in a tight, full-bodied hug, pulling him close and burying his hands in Steve’s hair. Steve stiffened for half a second — then melted, leaning into him with a shaky breath.
“You don’t take care of people because you’re empty,” Jonathan said firmly, voice low against Steve’s ear. “You do it because you’re kind.”
Steve swallowed hard.
“You don’t fill a void by helping,” Jonathan went on. “You give because you have something to give.”
Steve’s fingers twisted in Jonathan’s jacket. “Doesn’t feel like enough.”
Jonathan pulled back just far enough to look at him. “You don’t have to earn being loved.”
Steve’s eyes flicked to his. “You sure about that?”
Jonathan didn’t hesitate. “I’m sure.”
Steve stared at him, searching.
Jonathan saw it then — the same fear he carried. The same belief that love was conditional, transactional, something you had to deserve.
Jonathan cupped Steve’s face gently. “Let me take care of things tonight,” he said. “Just tonight.”
Steve shook his head weakly. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” Jonathan said. “No guilt. No scorekeeping.”
Steve’s shoulders sagged. “Okay.”
They stayed there until the sky began to darken, Jonathan holding Steve like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And for the first time, Steve let himself rest — because Jonathan wasn’t asking him to be anything other than human.
S:2
Jonathan noticed the distance before he had a name for it.
It was small things at first. Steve leaving a little earlier in the mornings, always with a joke already loaded, already halfway turned away. Steve’s hands lingering less at Jonathan’s waist, his thumb no longer tracing idle circles when they lay together at night. The way Steve listened — still attentive, still kind — but no longer leaning in, like he was bracing for impact that never came.
Jonathan had learned to read absence long before he learned to name it.
So he didn’t push. Not right away.
He let Steve have space, because he knew what it was like to need it. He knew what it was like to feel yourself getting too close to something good and panic at the idea that it could be taken away.
But the distance kept growing.
One night, Steve didn’t climb through the window.
Jonathan lay awake long after the cabin went quiet, staring at the ceiling, counting the familiar creaks of the house. Will breathed softly in the next room. Joyce moved around downstairs. The world continued, steady and unbothered, while something fragile stretched thin inside Jonathan’s chest.
The next night, Steve came — but he stayed perched on the edge of the bed, not touching, hands clasped between his knees like he was afraid of doing something wrong.
That was when Jonathan knew.
“Steve,” he said quietly.
Steve startled, like he’d been caught somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. “Hey. Sorry, did I wake you?”
Jonathan sat up. “No. Come here.”
Steve hesitated.
That hurt more than Jonathan wanted to admit.
Still, Steve moved closer, stopping just within arm’s reach. Jonathan studied him in the dim light — the tension in his shoulders, the careful way he held himself, like he was trying not to take up too much space.
“You’re pulling away,” Jonathan said gently.
Steve let out a breath that sounded more like a laugh. “Am I?”
“Yes.”
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Steve stared down at his hands.
“I didn’t want to,” Steve said finally. “I just… thought maybe it’d be easier.”
Jonathan’s chest tightened. “Easier for who?”
Steve swallowed. “You.”
Jonathan blinked. “For me?”
Steve nodded, jaw working. “You deserve someone stable. Someone who’s got their shit together. Someone who isn’t… me.”
Jonathan felt that like a blow.
“Steve—”
“I know,” Steve cut in quickly, words tumbling over each other now. “I know you say you don’t care about that stuff. But you’re gonna wake up one day and realize you want more. And I’ll still be here, still doing the same thing, still only useful when someone needs help.”
Jonathan reached for him. Steve flinched — then froze, like he hated himself for it.
That broke something open.
“Is that what you think you are?” Jonathan asked softly. “Useful?”
Steve laughed, sharp and brittle. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Jonathan waited.
Steve’s shoulders slumped. “I’ve never been anyone’s priority,” he said. “Not my parents. Not any of the girls I dated. Not even me.”
His voice dropped. “I don’t know how to be something someone keeps. I only know how to be something they use until they don’t need it anymore.”
Jonathan felt a familiar ache bloom in his chest — not because Steve was wrong, but because he understood too well.
Slowly, deliberately, Jonathan shifted closer and took Steve’s hands in his own. Steve didn’t pull away this time.
“I know what that feels like,” Jonathan said. “Being overlooked. Being the backup. Being the one who steps in so other people don’t have to fall apart.”
Steve’s eyes flicked up to his.
“I know what it’s like to be useful instead of wanted,” Jonathan continued. “To be relied on but never chosen.”
Steve’s breath hitched.
Jonathan squeezed his hands. “But that’s not what this is.”
Steve shook his head faintly. “You don’t know that.”
Jonathan leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “I do.”
Steve went still.
“I’m not reassuring you with promises,” Jonathan said quietly. “I’m not saying I know how everything ends. I don’t.”
He pulled back just enough to look Steve in the eye. “I’m choosing you. Right now. Out loud. On purpose.”
Steve stared at him like he was afraid to breathe.
“You don’t have to be needed for me to want you,” Jonathan said. “You don’t have to be strong. You don’t have to take care of everyone.”
He smiled faintly. “You don’t have to earn being kept.”
Steve’s eyes filled, fast and bright. “Jonathan—”
Jonathan wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close, holding him firmly — not like someone afraid to lose him, but like someone who had already decided.
Steve sagged into him, forehead pressed against Jonathan’s shoulder, breath shaking.
No one had ever held Steve like this. Not with certainty. Not with choice.
Jonathan knew, suddenly, how Will must have felt all those years ago — choosing Jonathan again and again, fierce and unwavering, even when Jonathan hadn’t believed he deserved it.
Now Jonathan was strong enough to do the same.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured.
And Steve believed him — not because Jonathan promised forever, but because he stayed.
+1
(Steve)
The quiet felt earned.
Steve lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling of Jonathan’s bedroom, listening to the house breathe around them. No alarms. No shouting. No distant, creeping sense that something was about to tear reality open again. Just the soft hum of the night and the steady warmth of the person beside him.
Jonathan’s leg was draped over his thigh, heavy and real. His hair tickled Steve’s jaw every time he shifted.
Steve let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
After everything — Robin’s injury, the fighting, the fear that never really left — this felt unreal. Like something fragile he might jinx if he moved wrong.
No one needed him right now.
The thought should have made him restless. Guilty. It used to.
Instead, it felt… peaceful.
Steve turned his head slightly, watching Jonathan sleep. Or pretend to sleep. Steve could tell the difference now — the way Jonathan’s breathing stayed just a little too even, the way his fingers flexed against Steve’s shirt like he was grounding himself.
Steve swallowed.
He still got scared sometimes. Scared Jonathan would wake up one day and realize Steve was all rough edges and bad plans. Scared the kids would grow up and leave and he’d be left behind, waving from the sidelines of a life that moved on without him.
Scared he’d end up being just some guy after all.
Jonathan shifted, eyes opening slowly. “You’re thinking too loud,” he murmured.
Steve huffed. “Didn’t know that was a thing.”
“It is when you do it,” Jonathan said, voice warm with sleep.
Steve hesitated, then admitted quietly, “I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
Jonathan’s mouth curved faintly. “Yeah. Me neither.”
Steve turned onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. “You ever feel like… no matter what you do, you’re still second-best?”
Jonathan didn’t pretend otherwise. “All the time.”
Steve’s chest tightened — not with panic this time, but with recognition. “Okay. Cool. Same.”
Jonathan reached up, thumb brushing Steve’s cheek. “Guess that makes us a matched set.”
Steve laughed softly. “Lucky us.”
They fell quiet again, not awkward, just settled. Steve let Jonathan tug him closer, their legs tangling, Jonathan’s arm slinging lazily over his waist like it belonged there.
Steve let himself be held.
Not as a reward. Not because he’d earned it.
Just because Jonathan wanted him there.
And for once, Steve didn’t feel like he had to be anything else.
(Jonathan)
Jonathan loved this version of Steve.
Not the babysitter with the bat, not the guy always braced for the next disaster — but this one. Loose-limbed, soft-eyed, sprawled across Jonathan’s bed like he’d finally stopped waiting for someone to ask something of him.
Jonathan shifted onto his side, curling into Steve’s chest. Steve’s arm came around him automatically, hand warm and steady at his back.
Jonathan exhaled.
For years, his life had been about being useful. Being necessary. Being the one who stepped up when everyone else was too busy surviving.
Now, lying here, he didn’t feel needed.
He felt chosen.
“You know,” Jonathan said suddenly, voice thoughtful, “I still don’t know what the future looks like.”
Steve snorted. “Pretty sure the future doesn’t know either.”
Jonathan smiled. “Fair.”
He traced lazy shapes into Steve’s shirt, grounding himself in the simplicity of it. “I’m scared sometimes,” he admitted. “That one day I’ll wake up and everyone will be fine without me.”
Steve tilted his head down, forehead resting against Jonathan’s. “If that day comes,” he said quietly, “I’ll still want you.”
Jonathan’s throat tightened.
Before he could get too earnest, though, something petty and familiar bubbled up instead.
“Also,” Jonathan added, shifting slightly, “Mike Wheeler is the worst.”
Steve blinked. “Oh, here we go.”
“I’m serious,” Jonathan said, already warming up. “He dates my brother and suddenly he thinks he can sit at our table like he’s part of the family? He ate the last Eggo, Steve.”
Steve laughed. “That’s unforgivable.”
“And don’t get me started on his hair,” Jonathan continued. “It’s like he tries to look smug.”
Steve grinned. “You’re just mad Will likes him.”
“I am mad Will likes him,” Jonathan said defensively. “I’m allowed to have beef with a fifteen-year-old.”
Steve snorted. “You’re absolutely not.”
Jonathan shoved him lightly. Steve retaliated immediately, rolling them over so Jonathan squeaked, laughing despite himself.
“Get off me,” Jonathan said, breathless.
“Make me,” Steve shot back, pinning him just long enough to steal a quick kiss before Jonathan twisted free.
They ended up tangled in the blankets, limbs everywhere, laughing like kids who didn’t have the weight of the world pressing down on them.
Eventually, the laughter faded into soft breaths and shared warmth.
Jonathan curled back into Steve’s arms, cheek pressed against his chest. Steve kissed the top of his head without thinking.
For the first time in his life, Jonathan didn’t feel like he was competing with anyone for space.
And for the first time, Steve wasn’t taking care of anyone.
They were just there.
Together.
And it was enough.