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Not once would Jonathan assume himself to be stuck in a room on a table surrounded by an ocean of grey, monotone goop. He was tired. Tired of running from what seemed to chase him, and how he prayed that if he could, he'd sacrifice himself if it meant Nancy would be free. Not only that, but he was scared of it all. He'd never admit it. Because he had to be the strong one. For his mother, for his brother.
The pang in his heart ate at him.
He had to live. Had to keep on going no matter how much he wanted to stop. No matter how much he wanted numb the pain and finally stop it. Though, he couldn't let himself take the easy route out and just dissappear off the face of the earth, even though it would solve everything. All the arguments he had with anyone. With Joyce and Argyle and Lonnie and Will.
And with Nancy. The love of his life. The one he'd dedicate the rest of his life to, but the one he knew he'd only hinder if he did. It hurt. It killed him. The feeling was bittersweet. Painful, but it was for the best. To him, Nancy would always be his first choice. He'd always put her first. Because if it ever came down to him or her and he had the trigger. He'd always pull it on himself.
Was that normal?
Even to himself he was put in second.
It was always Nancy.
It would always be Nancy.
Her expression was gentle, her eyes were round with love. Endless, platonic love. In another world, he could picture them going through the cliché teenage romance he'd seen in every high school film ever. Even if it resulted in nothing, atleast they would've had normality.
Jonathan reached his hand out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face, his mouth forming into an awkward smile. His smile. Something she'd grown used to seeing over the years.
"Nancy," he began, voice cracking, "I'm sorry."
Her brows furrowed, hands reaching up to hang around his shoulders, "Jonathan, you have nothing to be sorry for."
"I do. Nance. I ... I dragged you into my mess. And then ... " He looked guiltily down at his lap, "I wanted something that I shouldn't. I wanted to ..." His voice trailed away, "I wanted to tie us down. Tie you down. And that was wrong of me."
"Jonathan. I said this already," she laughed quietly, "You have nothing to be sorry for."
"But-"
Nancy pressed her forehead to his, cupping his left cheek with her hand, "You're talking like we're going to die. We're not going to," she looked around, "we'll get out of here. We just need to find our way out."
Nancy Wheeler. Always thinking how to get out of the hardest, most negative of situations even when the doom stares them right in the face, always pushing through because that's just everything she believed in. Headstrong, always. Even when she's told she can't, because she knows she always can.
That's what Jonathan envies. The way she carries herself, compared to him. Jonathan Byers, the weird, freak-like Byers boy. The boy who walked around with a camera in hand and shied away at people's existence. The boy who cared more to observe than to interfere. And to be seen by her? Loved by her? It made him hurt.
In truth, maybe they had taught eachother something. Her to be careful and logical, and him to be more confident and open. And he'd value that forever.
She must've noticed him looking distant, because she was now calling his name.
"Jonathan?"
He snapped back to reality, his hand reaching for hers. "Yeah?" He rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand.
"Can you help me try break the door again?"
"We tried that Nancy, it won't work. Besides," he cocked his head to the liquid now beginning to submerge the neck of the table, "we'd get stuck in whatever this is."
She thought for a moment, "But we have to try again. I mean, in the movies, they always try their first attempt again and it works."
"Nance. We aren't in a movie, this is real."
"Yeah, well we're fighting monsters and watching our loved ones die or go missing! So god be damned I believe in movie magic!" She snapped, pulling her hand away, "I'm trying. So why can't you? Why can't you fight for us Jonathan?"
Us. Us. There is no 'us', not anymore, He thought to himself.
It was a cruel, wicked thought.
"I am Nancy! I'm just ... " he stopped, "thinking."
"About what? What else could you possibly be thinking about apart from getting out of here?" She pressed, her voice faltering with guilt, "Sorry. I'm sorry."
He grabbed her hand, his fingers slipping into his like jigsaw pieces.
"About if only one of us can get out."
"Don't think like that--"
He hesitantly pressed a finger to her lips.
"If only one of us can get out Nancy, I want it to be you."
"Jonathan you're scaring me."
"You won't look back. You won't try save me. Do you promise?"
"No ... what ... Jonathan. No?" She replied, frowning with concern, "we're going to get out of here together."
He locked eyes, "We don't know that. But I know that I need you to know that if it's between you and me, you run and don't look back. You have to look for Holly."
"Jonathan," she squeezed his hand, "stop."
"Nancy. I'm being serious."
"And so am I."
"If you love me, you'll do it."
"No!" She cried out, "You do not get to play that card on me!"
"Please just--"
"You don't get to say that to me. You do not get to sacrifice yourself for me, you do not get to hurt me like that!" She spluttered, "You have given your heart to me. And I'm not letting you go, never. Never. You can't look me in the eyes and say that. That you're going to die and then expect me not to hurt? For once, please just stop thinking like that! Because Will needs you. Joyce needs you, everyone needs you!" Her voice broke as tears rolled, "I need you."
His eyes beaded with tears, rolling down his face like a waterfall and he couldn't seem to stop them. "I will always love you, Nancy Wheeler."
Her breath shallowed, "I love you too, Jonathan Byers."
They pressed together, hearts pounding against eachothers chest as they nuzzled close, shudders of adoration and pain running through them.
Jonathan looked up, vision blurry with tears.
The confessions were the roof's final straw.
And with a sickening crack, the ceiling gave in, rubble tumbling and liquid pouring down onto them.