Chapter Text
This didn’t have to be weird. As long as neither of them said a word, deciding to drown in the crumple of a static drone at the end of a vinyl record instead, it wouldn't be weird. As long as their words whispered away in plumes of smoke and hacking coughs in a dreary afternoon, it would never occur to them.
But hanging out with Jonathan Byers of all people was weird. Listening to David Bowie’s Starman in dead, all-consuming silence was messing with his head. Coming all the way from Indiana to him was weird. Laying side by side, shoulders pressed up against one another, would not be an activity to ever graze the edge of Steve’s to-do list just a minute ago. And even if it’d be easier to just not, Steve just can’t help but bring up–
“This is weird, right?” Steve abruptly rises from Jonathan’s frumpy bed, lifting the turntable’s needle, cutting the crunching static off.
Jonathan shifts to rest on his elbows. Narrowing his eyes as if the even the dim glow of his room was too much light. Maybe it was because he was high as shit, “Wha..? What’s weird?” He mumbles, rubbing at his bloodshot eyes.
“This.” Steve gestured between them, almost exasperated, waving back and forth, “Us. Me and you. Hanging out, or whatever the fuck you call this.”
Jonathan spaces out, eyes squinting as he stared into the wall of posters dedicated to several artists such as The Cure; His room very much embodies him, bursting at the seams with his photo film and a brooding personality.
Despite Steve’s own house being spacious and screaming privilege at every perfectly interiored angle, he enjoyed spending most of his time at the Byers’ house, or practically anywhere that wasn’t the empty statement of wealth he calls “home”. The clutter strewn about gives the place a soul. The warm lighting, the worn out matted blankets, the uneven table tipping from side to side in the living room, the stacks of newspaper dating back to God knows how long, and the hints of actual hobbies makes it feel like someone actually lives there, a real family.
Jonathan seems deep in thought, “I dunno, it doesn’t have to be.” he rasps out with little to no sentiment. It was shocking how hard he was to read at times. And annoying.
Steve groans, “Yeah, dude that’s what I was thinking. But you have to admit that it’s a little, uh…” Steve stammers, searching for the right words, the right way to phrase this. But what even was this? How could he even begin to describe what he and Jonathan were?
“What, unreal that your options have narrowed down to Robin and Jonathan ‘The Freak’ Byers?” the other boy scoffs, chuckling at his own self-depricating joke. Dickhead.
“No– What!? Jon you know damn well that’s not what I was gonna say–”
“I know, chill out, Harrington. God you should’ve seen the look on your face,” Jonathan laughed softly, dragging out the last syllable.
“You doing the last name thing doesn’t work as well as Byers does.” He smirks as Jonathan rolls his eyes languidly, no venom behind it.
Nicknames seemed to slip out easily for the two of them. It was nice, hearing his voice say them, it was low and a little gravelly, Steve liked it. He couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride settle in his chest as a dazed smile melted over Jonathan’s expression. It was pure and unapologetic, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. He didn’t smile a lot, and when he did it was usually gone within a blink of an eye. Maybe seeing it made Steve feel a little special, sue him. God, when’d he start noticing this much? And why was all he noticed nowadays Jonathan?
“You looked like you were gonna piss yourself.” That definitely broke his train of thought. Snapped the railroad in half at that point. Steve wheeze-laughs at that, ribs aching as the air is knocked out of him. He settles back into the mattress. It was quite easy to get comfortable around Jonathan. Things felt easy with Jonathan. Why question something that feels so right?
“No, what I was gonna say Byers— before you rudely interrupted me—” Steve shifts to face Jonathan, who’s lying flat on his back analyzing the water stains lining his ceiling, “it’s weird that we were, like, mortal enemies fist-fighting over Nance a while back. And now she’s picked neither of us and we’re just willingly up in each other's space. Like I came all the way to California to visit you, and there was a time where I honest-to-God hated you.”
Jonathan hums thoughtfully, his smile drifting off his face somewhere in the process. He speaks up before Steve can even miss it, “If by fist-fighting you mean me beating your ass then I guess so, it’s a little weird.” He hums in thought, “Maybe I only stick around because you give me free weed.”
There’s a beat. Steve blanches, “Wait, is that actually—?”
“No. I’m kidding, obviously.” Jonathan faces him, taking his gaze off the ceiling for once to flash him a slightly concerned look, “Steve, did you actually think… I would honestly just ask Argyle for some if that was the case.”
“Oh, so that’s how it is. Argyle’s better than me.” Steve says dramatically, feigning hurt as he playfully shoves Jonathan. And just like that they dissolve back into their normal dynamic. Weird dynamic, yes, but it was peaceful. No thoughts, no seriousness, just two guys escaping from the hardships of the world. An escape from the complicated hell they’ve both been through.
A whole dimension below them, Russians underneath a mall threatening to reopen and unleash the horrors, otherworldly creatures that have tried to kill them and their loved ones multiple times, and here they lie, atop a pile of bodies that helped survive until this moment. But at last the battle is over, right? The gate to the underworld sealed forever after a hard-fought, over-exerting, traumatizing battle at Starcourt Mall. They deserve to smoke their issues away at this point, right?
The door bursts open, Will standing at the door frame looking annoyed, a rare trait to cross the boy’s face. “Jonathan, seriously? We're supposed to pick up Mike from the airport.” Will looks a little hurt, gripping a rolled up poster in hand, staring at his brother hotboxing with his ex-girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend. God this relationship is complicated.
Fuck. Jonathan’s face softens at the sight of his younger brother. God what has he reduced himself to? Shameless enough to forget something this important to Will?
He springs up in haste, throwing the window open, desperately trying to wave the smoke out as if that’d cover his tracks, “Shit, sorry we’ll go get him right now.” he grabs his sunglasses to hide his bloodshot eyes, “Steve, get the fuck up!” he hissed under his breath, Steve grunts in response, hoisting himself up.
“I’ll drive, I didn’t smoke nearly as much as you did.” That was true, Jonathan was on the brink of touching the goddamn sun as he tried and failed to put sunglasses on Steve’s face as well, smacking him in the face with the ends and almost poking his eye out, “Ow, ow dude! Just give them to me–”
“None of you are driving, Argyle’s driving!” Will calls from down the hall, exasperated, you could practically hear the eyeroll in his voice.
“Yeah, what are the odds that big guy Argyle’s not high out of orbit at this point?” Steve mutters under his breath as he rises, shoving his sunglasses on.
“I heard that. And for your information, the difference is that Argyle is never not high and can still operate his pizza van properly.” Will retorts, that shuts Steve up.
“Will, what’s high? Argyle is high? He usually seemed pretty grounded.” Jane is now at the doorway, coughing as she waves smoke out of her face. Everyone, almost comically, stops in their tracks. Shit.
“Oh— Jane no it’s just… uh…” Will startles.
“It- it’s a saying! It’s like when you're really happy and upbeat. And everyone’s a little high right now because we’re excited to pick up Mike from the uh, airport!” Jonathan scrambles to protect Eleven’s innocence. She doesn’t need to find out about recreational drugs, not right now.
“I’m not stupid Jonathan. Are you not telling me something?” Hurt spreads across her face, settling into a hard-set glare. She hates being treated differently. Like she didn’t belong, like she had to work twice as hard to fit in. Jonathan knew exactly how that felt.
Jonathan’s face falls, “El, no of course not. It’s just a weird saying that’s all. I promise I’ll tell you when it’s appropriate. But hey, Mike’s flight is landing pretty soon, huh?” He tries to change the subject. God he feels like a fuck-up, the fact that he’s infecting his younger siblings with his habits too is what really destroys him. They deserve a competent older brother, and he couldn’t even be that for them.
Luckily, Jane beams when her boyfriend is mentioned, not asking any further questions, “Yes. Are we going right now?”
“Yeah, yeah let’s get going.” He replies quickly ushering everyone out his room to hide the smoke before the fire alarms went off.
“Will, could you do my hair, please?” Jane calls to her brother, her hair has grown a substantial amount in California. She enjoyed a variety of hairstyles and accessories and absolutely refused to cut even her ends even if they were split. It was almost a sense of normalcy for her to grasp onto.
“Of course.” Will grabs an elastic as Jonathan grabs Steve’s arm. They stumble towards the front door, yanking him forward, the momentum almost tipping them over as they clumsily bump shoulders, pushing out the doorway. Neither of their heads feel any clearer with the fresh air. He calls out to Will and Eleven to follow along, Argyle’s van readily parked at their front door.
A loud, elongated blare of a car horn rings in their ears, startling them in their dazed headspace, “Get in, brochachos we don’t have forever to wait for you guys to pull your stoned heads out of your asses, we gotta grab this Mike kid!” Argyle slurs out.
“As if he’s not even more stoned.” Steve grumbles, popping open the car door. Jane and Will run out the door, picking up the pace.
They collectively load themselves into the back, Jonathan in the passenger's seat per usual.
“Alright, let’s get this party started!” Argyle steps on the gas, throwing everyone against their headrests as they speed towards the airport. Steve groans, clutching his head as a weed-induced headache overtakes him.
This was going to be a long ride.