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Jonathan Byers cannot fall asleep tonight. He’s lying on his back, stiff and straight, his left hand resting on his stomach, anxiously tapping away. He’s on edge. To be fair, he’s probably on edge more often than not. He wishes he was high right now. He’s not on edge when he’s high.
Jonathan groans and turns on his side, trying to get comfortable. When that doesn’t work immediately, he pushes himself up off the couch cushions and heads upstairs with no real goal in mind. Maybe he’ll get a glass of water.
He tries to be quiet on his feet. He thinks Ted has heard him more than once if his glares and remarks about the creaky staircase on mornings after Jonathan slept in Nancy’s room are anything to go by. Not that Jonathan gives a flying fuck what Ted Wheeler thinks, but, well, there are eight other people sleeping in this house.
He closes the basement door behind him as softly as possible before stepping into the kitchen.
In the kitchen, Mike is filling a small glass with tap water. Jonathan supposes nighttime drinks are popular tonight. Jonathan hesitates. He likes Mike just fine but has never been too sure what to say when it’s just the two of them, especially this past year as he’s witnessed Mike become something farther and farther from that little boy who Will was so happy asked him to be friends back in kindergarten. Jonathan tries not to overthink it.
“Hey,” he says, readying to move toward the cupboard and grab a glass of his own.
But then Mike startles, like fully startles, gasping and dropping his glass in the sink and whipping around to face Jonathan. “Oh, Jonathan. Hey,” Mike says, sighing.
Okay, well, clearly Jonathan caught this kid doing something. He doesn’t think of Mike as the jumpy-type. He notices that Mike has his left arm awkwardly crossed behind his back. “Why are you hiding your arm?”
“I’m not,” Mike scoffs, but he doesn’t move his arm.
Jonathan sighs. “Look, I don’t know if you’re hiding a cigarette or some other stupid thing but I’m not gonna tell on you or anything.”
“Uh…” Mike’s eyebrows curl and he looks to the side. “Okay…”
Neither of them move. Really? Is he not gonna fold? Whatever. Jonathan goes to get a glass from the cupboard like he originally planned. Mike jumps away.
“Dude, come on,” Jonathan exhales. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing, I’m just getting water,” Mike mumbles.
Jonathan raises a brow. Mike seems to squirm under his gaze, eyes nervously darting side to side, until he sighs, giving in. He unfurls his arm from behind his back, which Jonathan sees is scattered with thin red lines.
Oh.
“I really am just getting water,” Mike insists, voice cracking. Then he whispers, “God, I don’t know why I wore a fucking T-shirt down here.” He looks back at Jonathan and his eyes widen, like he had forgotten he was here while talking to himself.
Jonathan swallows. “Um. When did you do that?”
Mike holds his left arm against his chest. “Uh. A couple days ago.”
“Is it the only-”
“Yes,” Mike cuts him off. “I’ve only done it the one time.” Mike frowns, rolling on the soles of his feet. “And for the record it’s really not that serious. I don’t- it’s not from-” Mike stammers and takes a quick breath. “I didn’t cut myself. They’re just scratches. They’ll heal in a week or two.”
“Can I see?” Jonathan asks, wanting to verify.
Mike scoffs and sputters, “Hell no!” and Jonathan hears how weird asking that could sound.
Jonathan does his best to give Mike a gentle look. “I just wanna see that they’re healing okay.” Mike still looks uncertain. Jonathan scratches the back of his head. “I- I did that once too.”
Mike’s lips part and his shoulders drop. He silently extends his arm toward Jonathan who holds it lightly while he inspects. They do look like surface level scratches. Jonathan’s not sure when the last time he touched Mike was. He lets go.
“Did you clean it after?” Jonathan asks.
“Uh, yeah,” Mike answers, tugging on his sleeve. “I used hand sanitizer to disinfect it or whatever.
“It’s better to use soap and water. Alcohol will kill germs but it can also damage tissue and cells.”
“Oh.” Mike frowns. Jonathan can recognize the gears turning in Mike’s head. He can recognize his thoughts. Warm soapy water doesn’t burn the same way hand sanitizer does.
“Whaddya do it with?”
“Uh, it’s kinda stupid,” Mike mumbles. He looks very uncomfortable. “Just this stupid metal thing I found in my room. I think it’s a missing part of some furniture or something. Like I said, it’s not-”
Serious. Mike doesn’t finish the sentence.
“Could I have it?”
Mike's eyebrows rise. His lips press thinner. “Okay, yeah,” he says, quietly walking past Jonathan. He hears the rise and fall of his steps up and down the stairs and before he knows it Mike is handing him the Stupid Metal Thing. It looks like it could be a hinge of sorts.
He meets Mike’s eyes. “Thanks.” He hopes it’s meaningful.
Mike nods. His arms are crossed against his chest. He bites his lip. “You… you said you’ve done that too?”
“Yeah,” Jonathan answers.
“Just once?” Mike asks.
Jonathan hums. “Yeah. It was a while ago—a good bit before any of the Upside Down stuff happened.” He pulls at the collar of his shirt. He remembers being fourteen and hating his dad and himself. “I was gonna do it another time. A second time. I was on my bed and had the stupid hunting knife my dad had given me out and everything. But then Will came barging into my room.” Jonathan chuckles. “Scared the shit out of me, but he was so excited about showing me this drawing he had done that he didn’t even notice. And then I realized I wouldn’t be able to handle it if he ever did notice. I couldn’t do that to him.” He clears his throat. “Uh, probably not the ‘right’ reason to stop or whatever, but… well… it made me stop.”
Silence hangs between them.
“Oh, I guess there’s also this,” Jonathan laughs, showing the thin white scar on his hand. Mike knows the story. He laughs too. “I guess it’s a bit different though,” Jonathan says.
“It’s still stupid.”
Jonathan raises a brow at Mike.
“I mean, why did you guys cut the palms of your hands?” Mike asks. “You were about to fight a Demogorgan—couldn’t you have chosen a slightly less useful body part?”
“I-” Jonathan pauses. Why did they cut their hands? “I actually don’t know.”
“I mean, do Demogorgans only smell hand blood or something?” Mike is teasing him. It’s nice. Jonathan smiles.
“Okay, okay. Chalk it up to us being dramatic then,” Jonathan says with a tiny hand flourish. “And it’s not like you have such great battle instincts either.”
“What do you mean?”
“Remember when we thought a Demo was about to break in and a candlestick was your weapon of choice?”
Mike does something halfway between a scoff and a laugh. “Weapon of choice my ass! What else was I meant to grab? A tissue box? A coaster?”
Jonathan chuckles. Then it’s silent. Jonathan isn’t sure if he should say anything else. He’s not sure what would be overstepping. Mike ends up being the next to speak.
“Do you- could you not tell anyone about this?” he asks, gesturing to his arm.
“Yeah,” Jonathan answers. “Yeah, of course.”
Mike frowns. “So you won’t tell Nancy?”
“I won’t.” Jonathan pauses. “I won’t, as long as you agree that you’ll tell someone if you’re ever thinking of doing this again. That could be me or anyone else. Just that you’ll tell someone.”
Mike nods. His gaze is a bit far off. “Okay, yeah.”
“Deal?”
“Deal.”
They never talk about it again. It’s something that Jonathan keeps in the back of his mind—he watches for warning signs. He never sees any. But he notices the first time Mike wears a short-sleeved shirt after. It’s a sunny spring day and a weekend afternoon. Jonathan is helping Karen vacuum when he looks out the window to see Mike and Will in the backyard. He’s not too sure what they’re doing. It looks a bit like they’re play-fighting—they seem to be talking very loud, and Jonathan wonders if it relates to D&D at all.
It’s golden hour and Jonathan thinks this would make a very lovely photograph. The sunlight highlights Mike’s freckles and warms his features. He’s laughing and his smile crinkles the corners of his eyes, and Jonathan can see him. He can see that little boy from kindergarten that Will was so happy asked him to be his friend.