Chapter Text

It was finally over.

No more portals to close, no more monsters to hunt, no more sleepless nights spent waiting for the worst. Hawkins had stopped trembling, as if even the town, after years of horror, had decided to draw one long, slow breath. The scars remained — on the walls, in the streets, in the people — but the terror that had carved them no longer came back to reclaim its ground.

The Upside Down was just a memory. A shared nightmare that, with time, had begun to feel unreal. Almost invented.

Life had resumed its course. Or at least, it was trying.

Jonathan Byers felt it on him every single day: that strange calm that brought no peace, that normalcy he still didn't know how to inhabit. After living too long in survival mode, learning to actually live was the hardest part. He'd finished high school years ago, and yet he'd stayed in Hawkins longer than he'd planned — caught between dreams that were too big and a town that was too small.

And then there was Nancy.

She didn't live here anymore. She'd moved on with her life.

And they weren't together anymore.

It hadn't ended with an explosion, or a tragedy. No screaming, no slammed doors. Just a distance that had grown slowly — built from silences longer than words, from dreams that no longer matched, from paths that had quietly started pointing in different directions without either of them having the courage — or perhaps the desire — to stop them.

They had loved each other. They had saved each other. But sometimes that isn't enough.

Jonathan didn't hate her, he never could. He just carried that particular kind of melancholy that lingers when something important ends without anyone really to blame. A clean wound, but a deep one.

The war was over. And now all that was left were the people.

The gym of his old school was nearly empty.

The fluorescent lights flickered faintly, casting a weary glow that made everything feel colder, more distant.

Jonathan was there for a photo shoot and was cutting through the side corridor when he saw him.

Steve Harrington.

He coached the school kids — Jonathan knew that, vaguely — but he hadn't expected him here. Not now. Not like this.

Sitting on the floor, his back against the brick wall, knees drawn up to his chest and his head resting on top of them, as if the world had grown too heavy to look in the face. He didn't look like the king of the school, like the self-assured guy Jonathan remembered and had learned to resent. He looked... broken. Alone.

Jonathan slowed without realizing it. His first instinct was to walk straight past. None of his business. Steve Harrington had never made his life any easier — quite the opposite. And yet something tightened in his gut.

Something must be hurting him, he thought. And, against all logic, against every old grudge, he stopped.

"Steve?" he said, his voice more careful than he'd intended. "Hey… you okay?"

Steve barely lifted his head — just enough to shoot him a dark, hollow look, eyes red and exhausted.

"Get lost, Byers."

Jonathan clenched his jaw. Nodded slowly.

"Okay." He took half a step back. Then another.

"No—" Steve's voice cracked. "Wait."

Jonathan stopped.

"Stay," Steve added, quieter. "Please. I just need… someone to talk to."

Jonathan watched him for a moment. Let out a short, dry laugh. Then, instead of answering, he walked over and slid down the wall beside him — back against the same cold brick. Knees bent, hands loosely folded in front of him. He didn't look at him right away.

"Wow," he murmured. "That's new."

Steve glanced sideways, caught off guard. "I didn't ask you to sit."

"No," Jonathan admitted. "But if I'm staying, I might as well do it properly."

For a moment, the silence became bearable.

Steve exhaled, letting himself sink further against the wall. "I know. I'm a mess." He ran a hand through his hair, without even the energy to fix it the way he always did. "And I know you hate me for everything that happened with Nancy, but—"

"Hold on," Jonathan interrupted — surprising Steve, and then himself. "I don't hate you."

Steve looked up, confused.

Jonathan shrugged. "I mean… you're not exactly my favorite person in the world, okay? But hating is something else." He hesitated, then added: "Besides, you're the one who hated me. You bullied me, remember?"

The silence that followed was thick, almost uncomfortable. Their shoulders barely touched — a new closeness, unexpected.

Steve shook his head with a tired smile. "I don't hate you."

Jonathan frowned.

"I'm actually grateful to you. For a lot of things," Steve went on, slightly uncomfortable. "You saved my life. More than once…"

Jonathan raised an eyebrow, a flicker of something like pride crossing his face. "Well, yeah. I mean… we still needed you around."

Steve let out a reluctant laugh, half-swallowed. "Idiot."

"Thanks," said Jonathan, deadpan for exactly half a second.

Steve took a deep breath. "The truth is… back then I was insecure. About me and Nancy. And instead of dealing with it, I took it out on you."

Jonathan stared at him, genuinely caught off guard. Insane, he thought. I always envied him.

"That's…" Jonathan shook his head. "That's insane."

"Yeah," Steve murmured. "Talking about it with you is pretty insane too."

Jonathan smiled faintly. "You know I was jealous of you, right?"

Steve's eyes went wide. "Of me?"

"Yeah. Of how you always seem to know what to do. How you always seem… fine."

Steve laughed softly, shaking his head. "You're really bad at picking role models."

The tone shifted. The tension dissolved, leaving something fragile in its place — but genuine.

"Just so we're clear," said Jonathan. "This doesn't mean I like you now."

Steve smirked. "Thank God."

"And it doesn't mean we're friends."

"Absolutely not."

Jonathan laughed.

After a while, Steve slowly got to his feet. Jonathan did the same, unhurried.

They stood there for a moment, side by side.

"Hey," said Steve, quietly. "Thanks for sitting down."

Jonathan shrugged. "Don't make it a habit."

Steve smiled. Jonathan smiled back, just barely.

And as they walked away in opposite directions, both of them had the same thought:

maybe all that war had never really been necessary at all.