Chapter Text
Jonathan Byers had always believed the dark was his ally.
In the school’s photography darkroom, no one could see how his shoulders tensed, how his pulse sped up, how his thoughts tangled whenever someone stood too close.
Under the steady red light, he could breathe.
He could focus. He could exist without feeling watched.
Until Steve Harrington started showing up far too often.
“Aren’t only serious, mysterious photographers allowed in here?” Steve asked one afternoon, leaning against the doorframe like he belonged.
Jonathan nearly dropped the clip in his hand.
“S-Steve—” He cleared his throat. “You shouldn’t be in here. The light—”
“Ruins the magic?” Steve grinned. “Relax. I won’t touch anything. I just… came looking for you.”
That—that—was what made Jonathan blush.
Steve noticed.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t instant.
But it was obvious: the color creeping up Jonathan’s neck, the way his eyes dropped like the floor had suddenly become fascinating.
Steve blinked.
Oh.
From that moment on, there was no stopping it.
⸻
It started small.
“That shot is amazing, Byers,” Steve said, handing him a print. “You’ve got a real eye.”
Jonathan froze.
“Th-thanks…”
Steve tilted his head, watching carefully. The red bloomed again.
Interesting.
Then it got worse.
“You know you bite your lip when you’re focused?”
Steve commented one afternoon, casual as if talking about the weather.
Jonathan dropped his camera.
“W-what?”
“Nothing, nothing.” Steve raised his hands. “Just… it’s kind of cute.”
Jonathan’s brain shut down.
Completely.
Steve had to grab his shoulders when he swayed.
“Hey. Breathe. I’m kidding.” His voice softened. “Well… mostly.”
Jonathan nodded, eyes firmly on the floor. If he looked up, he was pretty sure he’d combust.
Steve smiled—gentle, surprised by how fond he felt.
⸻
Steve had never been careful with words.
But with Jonathan… he learned.
He learned to soften his tone.
To keep his distance.
To choose his moments.
“That shirt looks good on you,” he said one morning, not even stopping. “Green suits you.”
Jonathan spent the entire class unable to write.
“I like how you see the world,” Steve murmured another time as they reviewed photos together.
Jonathan stared at him like he’d just been handed an impossible secret.
“Steve, I—”
“Shh,” Steve said, not touching him. “Just telling the truth.”
The blush returned. It always did.
And Steve started doing it on purpose.
Not to tease.
To cherish.
Because Jonathan never laughed at him.
Never pushed him away.
Never mocked him.
He just blushed… and stayed.
⸻
The night everything shifted, they were alone in the darkroom.
The radio played softly.
The air smelled of chemicals and something else—anticipation.
“Hey,” Steve said, leaning closer. “Can I tell you something?”
Jonathan nodded, tense.
“When you blush like that,” Steve lowered his voice, “it’s like the room gets brighter.”
Jonathan made a small, broken sound.
“Steve, please…”
“Does it bother you?” Steve asked immediately, serious.
Jonathan shook his head fast.
“N-no. I just… don’t know what to do with that.”
Steve smiled slowly.
“Then don’t do anything.”
They stayed there. Close. Untouched.
Jonathan breathing through it.
Steve waiting.
The red light filled the darkroom.
And for the first time, Jonathan didn’t hide.