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After a night of celebration and dancing at the Oz Dust Ballroom, Jonathan and Steve stumbled to the ground laughing as they skipped, mildly under the influence, back to their dorm room, with a bubbling newfound friendship.
As Jonathan unlocked their door, ready to strip down to his boxers, throw on an old shirt, and immediately crash, Steve flicked on all the lights and turned the radio on slightly. The night was, evidently, not over yet.
“Now I've heard rumors of that place,” Steve began, flicking on his vanity, absent washing his face. “But Oz Dust truly was the most scandalous club I've ever seen. Don’t you think?”
“Well, I wouldn't know, it's the only club I’ve ever been to,” Jonathan answered simply, taking a seat on his twin mattress.
“Really?” Steve asked, almost astonished. “I didn’t pin you for the type, you sly dog. I can't believe it, you've really been there before?”
“God no. I meant that was the first party I've ever been to, " Jonathan explained, as if it was no big deal. To Steve, however, this was a huge deal. He turned away from the vanity, moving to sit next to Jonathan on the bed.
“What? No way. That was your first party? Ever?” Steve gawked.
“Well, do funerals count?” Jonathan mussed stonefaced, before both boys burst into a fit of laughter.
“You are a funny man. Really.” Steve let out a more genuine smile than Jonathan had seen on the Upland’s face in their months of living together.
“Well, I don’t think I could sleep if I tried.” Before Jonathan could respond one way or another, Steve grabbed one of his hands, looking him dead in the eyes. Jonathan couldn't sleep either, not now.
“I know! Let's tell each other something we’ve never told anyone else before,” Steve continued. While what he might say next was unknown, the fact that Jonathan would not get a word in until Steve let all the thoughts from his head out was evident. Further proving this, Steve charged forth, "I'll go first. Nancy and I are getting married”. He said the sentence with such joy, beaming, practically giggling.
But Jonathan's heart dropped. He wasn't sure if it was about the beautiful princess, or the man sitting in front of him, or perhaps that he never fell in love and that he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt the new couple would move on without him, outgrowing him. When Jonathan had just opened his heart to friendship for the first time, ever.
“She said yes?” He asked, trying to appear nonchalant.
“Oh no, I haven't even asked yet. She doesn't know yet.” He grinned, and Jonathan's heart rose just a little bit. “But we will, I can see the wedding now. And our six little nuggets. Three boys, three girls.” Maybe it was the audacious confidence to presume a joyful marriage with a girl he barely knew, or maybe it was simply the use of the term nuggets, but Jonathan found himself laughing along with the man next to him.
Cutting off their laughter, Steve returned his gaze to Jonathan, straightening his back, “Your turn.”
“What?”
“You tell me a secret,” Steve supplied.
“Like what?”
“Like…” Steve said, drawing out the word, almost musically, as he reached across Jonathan's legs to the pillow, grabbing the item Jonathan kept under it. A small red light bulb which had long ago been uncrewed from a string of Christmas lights. “Tell me why you sleep with this funny little bulb under your pillow.”
Standing up with the light in hand, Steve shook it around. “What is it, I want to know?” He inquired playfully.
Anger and fear overtook the Byers boy, and he snatched the item from his friend's hand callously. “Give it back,” he barked with a coldness that was familiar, yet foreign to Steve. Steve, with genuine fear in his eyes, took a step back, while Jonathan cooled his anguish now that the item was safely returned to his person.
“It was my brother’s, that's all.” He tried to dismiss the topic entirely.
Picking up on the shifted energy in the room, Steve responded, “Well, that's not fair. My secret was a really good one.” He dramatically walked across the room, flopping onto his own bed, trying to play up his distress.
After a few moments of silence trickled by, and Jonathan had entirely regained his composure, and put the red bulb right back where it belonged, he cast his gaze across the space to where his roommate pouted. Quietly, and slowly, he walked over to the other bed, where Steve spied up at him over his own quite frilly pillow, before quickly averting his gaze and continuing to frown in pretend distraught.
“My mother hates me.”
Steve unfurled himself from his bed, abandoning the pillow, looking up at his roommate in confusion. “What?”
“Thats not the secret,” Jonathan continued.
“Oh.” Steve was more confused than before.
“The secret,” Jonathan started as he cautiously took a seat on the corner of Steve's queen-sized bed, “is that she has a good reason to.”
“It's my fault,” The Byers boy said, as if that explained everything.
However, Steve was not exactly known for being quick on the uptake, even when things were spelled out for him. And here, in this moment, Jonathan was clearly holding back, not spelling anything out.
“What is?”
“That my brother is… the way that he is.” Jonathan went on to say, having Steve's full attention. He thought of Will, that strange boy, who he had seen rocking back and forth on his elder brother's bed, despondent, almost entirely mute, and missing an eye. How could that possibly be the fault of a brother only a few years older, who seemed to have nothing but love for the odd boy? Steve had no clue. So he blinked a few times, and gave a look he hoped to convey ‘continue’ without interrupting.
“When he was little, I was the one who was supposed to be home to take care of him. My father, Lonnie, was this violent drunk, so he and my mother split when I was about 12. We were always poor, but even moreso without a second income, so I took over all the responsibilities I could, including watching Will. I became the man of the house. I started working as much as I possibly could as soon as I was old enough, so that we could, you know, afford electricity AND groceries. But my mother would have much preferred I be there to look after my brother.
One night, my manager had asked me to take an extra shift because a coworker called out, and I knew Will was supposed to be at a friend's house until late, and my mother was working until around midnight, so I took the shift. When I got home, I went straight to bed. I didn't even check to see if my little brother was okay…
He wasn’t, we released the next morning, he wasn't there. Some creature, some wild beast, we think from his description, had chased my little brother into the woods and attacked him. He was missing for eight hours before we even realized he was gone. It took days to find him. Abandoned in the woods on the outskirts of town, bleeding with severe wounds. He spent days alone in the woods, lost an eye, still can hardly speak, and he has these episodes that overtake him where he's paralyzed with fear. None of which would have happened, if it wasn't for… me”.
“If I had just been there, with him, like I was supposed to, he would be okay. So, it's my fault”. Jonathan confessed, as though he was in Sunday mass, truly remorseful and ready to take his lashings. He looked more raw than Steve had ever imagined a person could be. He was stunned into silence for a long moment, while Jonathan wiped away a single tear from his eye.
“No.” He finally said.
“What?” Jonatha looked up, dazed and confused.
“That was that beast's fault, not yours,” Steve responded, so assured he was correct, Jonathan almost believed him. “That may be your secret Jonathan Byers, but that doesn't make it true.”
Jonathan smiled and looked down, while he was hesitant to believe him, Steve's words echoed in his head. He smiled to himself, and finally looked up, just as a raw of morning sunlight emerged from the window, casting a heavenly glow.
Steve gasped at the sunlight with delight, “Look, it's tomorrow.” Standing up with excitement for the new day ahead, Steve made his way over to the window to move the blinds and let in the crisp morning air.
“And Jonny,” Steve started before being overcome with pride at his own discovery. “Can I call you Jonny?” he asked with delight.
Jonathan looked up at him from the bed, “Well, I don't know, it's a little preppy-”
“I know,” Steve twirled in the sunlight, looking much like how an angel must appear. “I know, I'm going to call you that!” The grin on his face was too beautiful for Jonathan to even think of diminishing its spark.
“Well, Jonny, now that we are friends, I've decided to make you my new project”. Steve announced, as he gestured to his grandiose wardrobe, or perhaps his shelves of trophies and photographs celebrating his many accolades, on either side of it.
“Oh, you really don't have to do that,” Jonathan said, hoping to deter the undeterrable.
“I know,” Steve declared, holding up a color wheel close to Jonathan's face, for god knows what reason, “That's what makes me so nice.” He beamed, somehow genuinely.
“You see, whenever I see someone less fortunate than me, I am overcome with the single goal to fix them up, because I know exactly what they need. Even you, and you Jonathan Byers, are perhaps the strangest, most interesting man I've ever met.”
“I’ve gotten strange, never most interesting,” Jonathan replied.
“Oh, but you are! And soon all the girls at Shiz will be saying it too!” Steve announced, “I will, I guarantee, make you popular.” Before hastily adding “just not quite as popular as me”.
“Oh, of course, I wouldn't expect to be,” Jonathan smiled, beyond good reason.
Grabbing Jonathan's wrist and analyzing something (his veins, maybe?), and dangling both a gold and silver watch next to his skin, Steve seemed to get to work. “Well, I would say you are a winter. So I think your colors should be silver, and stark, cool-toned colors.”
Standing up and marching over to his large collection of luxury clothes, Steve began to flip through carefully, considering each. “Now, I know you like the dark and brooding look but I really think a pop of color could really make you shine!”
After much deliberation, Steve returned, flopping next to Jonathan on the bed with two options in hand: a dark purple polo shirt and a forest green knit sweater.
“I’ll take the sweater,” Jonathan decided.
“Good, I could see green being your color,” Steve smiled. “Now pop that black dress shirt off, and let me see if I'm right. ‘Cause I do believe I am.”
Jonathan just held the sweater in his hand, looking at Steve deliberately. Finally getting the hint, Steve snickered, “Oh, sorry, I can turn around.” Allowing Jonathan to try on the new outfit. When he was finally given the okay to turn around, Steve eagerly did so, looking at the boy in front of him wearing his sweater. He froze. Or maybe time froze.
“I look stupid, don’t I?” Jonathan asked. But he would receive no answer.
Instead, suddenly jumping out of his place, Steve ran over to his vanity.
He re-emerged after a few moments, holding various serums, bottles, and sprays. He set his haul on the bed between himself and his roommate, showing it off.
“I think,” Steve began untwisting a tube of pale goo, “That you don't sleep enough, and that is why we have these sunken eyes. Now don't get me wrong, it's a look, but it doesn't have to be yours.” He grabbed a brush and applied the goo under Jonathan's eyes.
“This is concealer,” Steve explained, as he continued to apply it. “We are going to remove your blemishes, your tired eyes, and just brighten up your face, my friend.”
“And, we are going to fix your hair,” Steve stated, and Jonathan knew he had no choice but to oblige, as the other boy lathered his hand with product. “Now scooch in close, Jonny boy”. He did.
And Steve began to comb his fingers through Jonathan’s hair; he leaned into the tough, just a sliver. Suddenly, when all the product was applied, Steve removed his hands, and Jonathan felt himself missing them.
Then a real comb was used to style the hair, and Steve moved in closer, focusing on each stray strand. After a long while, when Steve declared it perfect, he moved away.
He got up from the bed, taking a few steps back to admire his work. “Wow,” he hummed to himself. Taking his wrist and pulling Jonathan up from the bed, he brought the other boy over to the larger mirror.
“Just look at yourself, Mr. Byers. You’re beautiful.”
And Jonathan did look at himself, his hair combed back, in a similar style to Steve, with a sweater that admittedly did look rather good. His face had a youthful brightness that he did not recognise in himself. He could do this.
“I’m sorry, I have to go,” Jonathan stated, before walking out of the room, to go anywhere but here.
“You're welcome,” Steve called down the hallway to his roommate, before making his way back to the bed to put his products away. Then, to himself, he muttered, “You really do look handsome.”