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Getting back inside the house wasn't a grand event. By then Billy and the kids are gone, assumably driven back by Hopper or Nancy; and checking in on Will and Joyce finds them in the same place Jonathan left them.
His mother and little brother were asleep in her room. Now that the excitement and trauma was over for the night, they finally looked peaceful. Jonathan was just glad that Will could finally rest.
Jonathan told Joyce that he was getting Steve medical treatment before he left earlier. She had said to tell her when he got back, but now that she was asleep Jonathan just left a note with her instead.
Wading through crayon-encrusted papers over the walls and counters, Jonathan gets back to Steve. His boyfriend had been waiting patiently for Jonathan to check that they were in the clear, leaning up against a doorway and looking half-asleep.
He sighs, tugging on Steve's messed up jacket, and leading him into their bathroom.
Steve was still wearing the sunglasses he put on in the car, but Jonathan warned him about the bathroom light anyway. Flicking it on, he finds the bathroom in suitable shape.
It was one of the only rooms in the house that hadn't been affected by the Mind-Flayer-Mania and was therefore still usable. Steve has showered here before, but even if he hadn't, that likely wouldn't have stopped him from acting familiar with the place and start stripping (consequences be damned, but of course there were none, because it was just the two of them).
Jonathan locks the door behind them and turned to the shower, pealing back the faded green curtain, and turning on the water. He waves his hands through the spray a couple times before he finds a balance between too-cold and too-hot. Unfortunately, Steve was the type to take scorching hot showers, but with his injuries and Jonathan's hesitance to get back into a boiling hot environment, they would just have to settle for warm.
When he turns back to Steve, he had been looking in the mirror and prodding at his bandages, particularly the one on his newly-set nose. "Don't mess with them."
Frowning, Steve sighs, "They feel weird."
"Do they hurt?" Jonathan tugs off his own shirt and undoes his belt, "We probably have painkillers somewhere."
"Nah, everything's kinda numb right now." Steve is obvious in the way he trails his eyes across Jonathan's body. He scoffs.
"Don't get any ideas, I think we'd both collapse if we did anything right now."
Steve chuckles, "Well, sorry for thinking my boyfriend is hot."
He rolls his eyes, "Steve, stop."
"I mean it!" Steve, shirtless and wrapping his arms around Jonathan's neck. Jonathan puts his hands on Steve's hips on instinct—the easiest decision he has made all day. "My head feels fuzzy, anyway."
"Yeah, yeah."
Steve rubs his cheek against Jonathan's hair. "I do mean it Jonathan. I mean it every time."
Jonathan shudders. "I know."
Steve's constant insistence on Jonathan's… beauty was always something that threw him off. Even after hearing it all in various ways over the years, he doesn't know why it still seems so strange to hear it from him. Not that Jonathan has ever been particularly insecure about his appearance—in fact, he thinks he looks perfectly average—but Steve's mindless expression of his attraction has always made Jonathan clam up.
Steve hums, "I love you."
And, no, maybe this was the easiest thing he has done all day, "I love you, too."
Jonathan presses a thoughtless kiss to Steve's jaw, and pulls away. His boyfriend rightfully takes this as his cue, and sheds the rest of his clothes to jump into the shower. Jonathan, while also removing the last of his clothes, takes another minute to look at himself in the mirror.
Tired-looking, as usual, but not much else to remark on. His hair needs to be washed after being messed with and subsequently drenched in sweat (if he encountered another heater again, it would be too soon), and besides a small cut on his cheek, there wasn't a scratch in sight. Like nothing happened.
Jonathan sighs, and follows his boyfriend into the shower.
Steve is standing facing the shower head, and back facing Jonathan. It looked like he was relaxing under the spray, grateful to be washing away the day's stress and hurt. Jonathan watched him for another moment, tracing lines of Steve's back that he knows well. With familiarity that Jonathan only gained from years of knowing (and loving) Steve, he reaches out to rub the back of Steve's neck.
His boyfriend startles (You always run so cold, Jon!), but settles in easily. It doesn't take long for him to turn around and face Jonathan, trying to kiss him.
Jonathan leans away, "Your lip." It had stopped bleeding, but it still had to feel raw and painful.
"I was promised a kiss in the car."
Jonathan can't help the smile that forces it's way across his face, "I didn't promise anything, Steve."
"Liar." Steve says, but there isn't any heat behind it.
Jonathan leans in and kisses the side of Steve's mouth that isn't injured, "Happy?"
Steve looks a little high, but that might just be from the concussion, "Fantastic. Let me wash your hair."
"But you—"
"Ah! Shampoo, gimme."
"You have the vocabulary of a six-year old." Jonathan shoves the bottle in Steve's hand and goes to wet his hair.
As Steve lathers shampoo in his hands, he retorts, "Nancy said I was actually getting better. I'm meliorating."
"Is that used correctly?" Jonathan laughs.
Steve shoves his hands in Jonathan's hair, scrubbing, "I don't know, I'm concussed."
Jonathan scoffs, but lets Steve wash his hair in relative silence. This was one of the only times he was glad that he was slightly shorter than Steve, because it meant that he could look up and center on the focused expression Steve wore. Washing hair wasn't that serious, and it surely wasn't that gross for Steve to be steadily working through it section-by-section; but Steve treated him with such care and attention that Jonathan had to tamp down a smile for fear of looking a little deranged.
They are standing close together, Steve's fingers methodically working through his hair and Jonathan traces shapes on Steve's hips until Steve is satisfied with his job. While Jonathan rinses shampoo out of his hair, Steve tries to find Body Wash in his haze, but Jonathan slaps his hands away. He grabs the shampoo as well, and Steve groans when Jonathan rubs shampoo on his damp hair.
"Don't be such a baby."
"Jon, my hair—"
"The great Steve Harrington can deign to use commoner shampoo for one day."
His boyfriend pouts, "That's not what I meant."
Jonathan laughs a little at Steve's misery, "I know, I know."
He doesn't prolong Steve's torture, giving a few quick satisfactory run-throughs and letting Steve check before he rinses. When he turns back around, Jonathan draws him closer to check the bandage on his nose, carefully pressing around the tape to make sure that it isn't too damp.
Under his breath, he murmurs, "Do you want to change it?"
Steve shrugs, his whole body narrowed towards Jonathan. "They cleaned my face at the office, didn't they?"
"Yeah. Just checking."
Jonathan's gaze lingers long enough on Steve's swollen eye for Steve to nudge him, "I'm okay."
The kiss Steve presses to Jonathan's lips is gentle and warm. A simple and comforting touch, even though they're chapped and Steve's lip is still hurt. It was confirmation for the plainest thing: Steve was still here with him.
"Liar." Jonathan sighs, and grabs the Body Wash. It wasn't intended to be an accusation, but Steve had a habit of downplaying his own issues; he supposed they were similar like that, but no one was simply okay after getting the shit beat out of them. (Jonathan doesn't want Billy anywhere near his friends and family ever again—whatever happened earlier was too close.)
Steve lets Jonathan scrub him down without complaint, the exhaustion and pain was likely getting to him by now. Even though he scoffs when Jonathan gets soap over Steve's bruised knuckles, he stays quiet and lets Jonathan care for him. Jonathan lets himself be a little selfish in his touch, going over several places multiple times if that meant he felt the beat of Steve's heart, or grazing a stray mole or freckle. Out of the two of them, Steve was the one who ran warmer, but they now shared temperature under the warm water; Jonathan thought they might meld together with ease.
After Steve is released to rinse off, Jonathan gives himself a quick once over so they could get out sooner and get Steve into bed. Steve gets out with sluggish movements to towel off and Jonathan gets the soap off of him, meeting Steve outside of the shower in record time.
He pats himself down and pulls Steve to him to check on the bandage again. When Jonathan deems it dry enough he give Steve a nod.
Jonathan grabs the boxers and sweatpants he grabbed earlier and helps Steve into them before pulling on his own, and leads Steve back to his bedroom.
He knows it isn't a great idea to let Steve sleep with him tonight, but he would give them tonight. If Joyce asked, he would use Steve's concussion as explanation. He wasn't sure how Will would be about it, but he doubts that Jonathan and Steve's strange "friendship" was at the forefront of his mind.
Steve falls into the covers easily, but Jonathan stops to pull on a shirt first.
"Steve."
Jonathan looks to Steve sprawled out on his bed. "Hm?"
"Do you think it's over?"
The question stuns Steve into silence and for a moment. Jonathan can only look at Steve rubbing at his eye, "I don't know. I mean that's what we thought last time, right?"
Jonathan sighs, unsatisfied with the answer but not knowing what else he would've wanted to come from it. If it's truly over, then Steve would be graduating this school-year with no fuss, and Jonathan would transfer into his Senior year with ease. Thinking about school without Steve made his head spin, though, so he files it away.
He climbs into bed, "I guess we have to hope that we defeated… it this time. They closed the gate. Right?"
Steve, eyes closed but face directed at Jonathan's, "Right."
He blows a breath out from his nose and presses a kiss under Steve's swollen eye.
It takes a minute for them to adjust so Steve's nose wouldn't be squished, so he ends up on his back and Steve on his side, head cushioned on Jonathan's chest. Steve's damp hair smells like him, and they drift asleep with more ease than he has in days.