Work Text:
Steve looks out the window, the rain outside beating down on the dark dim-lit streets, cars racing by outside the pool house, people walking by, stumbling down the street. The dim colourful lights inside made it easier to see into the yellow streets. He spotted a couple, walking down the street, arm in arm, the man holding an umbrella over the two of them, laughing about whatever highlight of the night of fun pleased them most. He stares at the couple until they pass the big grimy window, fading into the condensation on the pane.
“Steve? Steve!” He hears Jonathan’s voice ring out, snapping him back into the pool house, turning his head to meet Jonathan’s confused stare. “Your ball, man.”
Steve turns to the table, seeing the balls scattered about on the table, he couldn’t even remember the colour he was. He was distracted tonight, and getting drunk off the overpriced beers didn’t help. He digs in his mind as he stares at the balls… solids. He chooses his ball and aims, his shot was weak, but he didn’t care much right now.
He couldn’t help but wonder why Jonathan would invite him out of all people. Maybe to get him out, get ‘bro’ time in public. But he couldn’t help but wonder. All the tension, all the anger, the swords and daggers held at each other’s throats. It had been dissipating, forming a bond over the few months. Maybe it was because of his breakup with Nancy, he needed guy friends, he saw Steve and knew he’d be good as a friend. Best friends. He didn’t know how to say no, at first, when he started being nice. He couldn’t bring himself to say no to the man. I mean, he was a nice guy after all, and they had good conversations about films, books, and some sports, girls…
He watched as Jonathan went in to make his shot, seeing his messed up hair, furrowed eyebrows concentrated on the strategy he was going to pull. Jonathan pursed his lips, focused. He didn’t even see Steve staring at him intently, without even realising what he was doing. Steve takes a sip of his beer, his eyes trailing down to the other man’s waist, seeing his shiny belt buckle. It brought him back to the other night that had been distracting his mind, all this time. A night filled with beer, filled with talking, watching his lips move, smile, come closer…
He set his beer back down on the ledge with the billiard chalk, his smirk noticeable as he watched the purple ball Jonathan was aiming for go in the basket.
“Nice shot.” Steve compliments, Jonathan giving him an awkward smile.
“I didn’t think I’d be winning at pool against Steve Harrington.” He says, giving a chuckle as he holds the pool stick by his side.
“Oh just you wait. This is how you get them, watch.”
--
Steve and Jonathan stand outside in the rain, coming down lighter than before but still not relenting from splashing into the puddles, hitting off the tin roof and making a pinging sound to fill the silent air. They were drunk, a giddy drunk you see in poor fools before they wake up with a hangover that pounds on their head.
Jonathan steps out, into the rain, feeling it on his skin and slowly seeping through his cardigan, Steve standing in the overhang of the pool house, confused.
“What are you doing?” He questions, confused but curious smile on his face. He sees from the low lights the dimly painted smile on Jonathan’s face, laughing at him.
“Come on Harrington, has anyone ever told you you need to live a little more?” Jonathan laughs out, the rain soaking his hair into a mop on his head, dark brown from the dampness. His eyes crinkled from his smile.
“Oh, me, live a little more? You know nothing about living-” He was cut off by Jonathan grabbing his brown leather coat, yanking him into the parking lot with him, the rain instantly touching his hot skin on his face and hitting his hat. Steve covers his head with his free arm, the other being still held onto by Jonathan, going unnoticed between the two. It was so natural, so bound to reality that it didn’t feel strange. It was the same as a girl holding his arm.
“Aw man, my jacket! This is genuine leather-”
“Don’t you feel it? Feel the cold hitting your face? The calmness of it? It’s like the sky is showering us literally… with melancholy, but also serendipity, hope. Showing us we can have this peacefulness, in this moment, we can have this.” Jonathan cuts him off, a certain sincerity to his voice. Steve was unsure if he genuinely didn’t hear him over the rain or wanted him to understand him. “Can’t you feel it?”
He looks at Jonathan. His breath catching in the calm slow wind, the cloud of humidity from his breath stopped. He knew he meant something different than the rain. They both searched for something greater behind each other’s eyes, a sense of connection, a sense of each other. They longed for something more, something greater than what they had started without even knowing it. The rain streamed down their faces, droplets forming on their foreheads, both of them soaked. Steve licked his lips, turning his head away finally. He looked up, at the streetlight, the yellow casting down onto them, feeling a sudden sense of being watched, by who he couldn’t tell. He could feel the light boring down, and he felt an urge to pull away, that this was something they could only do out of the eye of the light. Out of sight.
“Let’s go home, man.”
--
They waited for a cab on the side of the street, busy and bustling with people going every which way, Jonathan could feel the chill hitting his bones from his soaked cardigan, boring down into his bones and creating a cold so deep he didn’t know what warmth was. Steve’s coat was soaked, but he didn’t feel the cold through the leather. But he could feel it on his head, cold and wet. He waved down a yellow taxi, stopping at his flagging. The two get into the backseat, sitting on opposite sides of each other. The rain was sobering, and so was the cold, but once they got into the warm cab, the warmness hit their faces again. Steve tells the cab driver his address, Jonathan didn’t even say where he was going. He could walk from Steve’s. The streetlights pass them, businesses with their lights dimmed out for the night, only streetlights lighting the dark inky streets in the dead of night. Steve instinctively rolled the window down, the breeze smacking him in the face like a slap. The rain stopped, the damp air still ever present as it hit him. He smiled, closing his eyes into the wind.
Jonathan looked at him, studying the other man, his Adam's apple and stubbled jaw, the freckles marking his face and neck, brown eyes closed in a serendipitous content. He liked seeing Steve like this. He felt the cold air from Steve’s window, hitting his face and bringing him back to reality. He liked the coldness, the warmth of the taxi was too much for him, suffocating. The air was nice. He rolled down his window, drowning out all the sound around him. It was just him and his thoughts now. He knew what he wanted from that night, why he didn’t tell the cab driver his address, that he wanted to come out and get back to Steve’s once they drank enough, and was that wrong? Was he wrong? Maybe it would happen again, if he followed the formula. They were better that way, Jonathan thought.
Steve thought this was wrong, so wrong.
But, aren’t we all wrong?