Chapter Text
Jonathan hated Christmas lights.
Well, hate was a strong word. He didn't mind passing by strings of glittering bulbs garlanded out the front of shops and houses as he drove through the streets of Hawkins. He couldn't fault others for their festivity. It's not as if he and his family didn't celebrate Christmas - no, his mother had always made the day feel special, even without money, with (or without) Lonnie, or an over-abundance of gifts.
It was just...God, every time he saw the shining reds, greens, blues, and yellows, he couldn't help but think of Will. When he looked at the lights, he no longer thought of Christmas, but of his poor, poor mum, stringing lights up across every inch of the ceiling in their old house in a desperate attempt to find her missing boy. He didn't think of Christmas, but of his baby brother, cold and alone, hiding from those things in that flawed, dark imitation of their home. He thought of being sixteen, thinking his mother had left him in favour of going crazy, leaving him to browse through too-small coffins for premature funerals paid for by the little money he had managed to save for college.
It made his fingers itch for a blunt, for something to take the edge off. But he had promised his mum and Nancy that he would stop all that "crap". Promises didn't stop cravings, though.
Anyway. He digressed. The point was, it was almost Christmas. Which meant he still had time to send in a portfolio for NYU before the second round of Early Decision applications were due on January 1st.
It was the 8th of December. If he really got his act together, he could make it. Nancy and Karen were right.
Jonathan travelled along the bumpy dirt road to Hopper's old cabin. He, and his mother and siblings had been living there for the past month. It was cramped, and he and Will were still on mattresses on the floor, but they had yet to finalise the purchase of a house on Cornwallis Road with the remuneration from Dr. Owens. Plus, the doctor had advised that El, Jane, needed to lie low for a while whilst he convinced the Department of Defence that Eleven was dead. What they didn't need to know was that Jane Hopper was very much alive.
Despite the warnings to avoid using the name 'Eleven' to make Owens' lie all the more convincing - a name that no one called Jane for its cruel and terrible origin anyway - Jonathan's family and their friends had gotten into the habit of constantly alternating between the two names 'Jane' and 'El'. Jane, her legal birth name, and El, the name given to her by friends that she had made the choice to use.
He pulled up by the dilapidated wooden steps and turned the ignition off. Jonathan sat there for a moment, knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel, thumbs tapping sporadically in a nervous tic. He had no reason to be anxious. His mother had always enthusiastically supported his dreams, even the ridiculous ones of attending schools far beyond their family's means.
But what if his Joyce and Hopper needed him? Owens' money only went so far, and getting two more children through school and saving for their college, as well as bills, household staples, and taxes, would require more money than what a retail assistant and Officer's wages would provide.
And Will and Jane...they had been through so much. Far more than what any other 17-year-olds should have had to go through in an entire lifetime. He couldn't just abandon them. He would not be like Lonnie.
Jonathan sighed, unbuckled his seatbelt, and stepped out into the biting cold, hurrying up towards the door to escape the bitter coolness in the air. It made his back ache like he was a man much older than 21.
Jane and Will waved to their brother, eyes not moving from the television, too invested in the new series Full House that had begun airing earlier that September.
"Jonathan? Are you back, sweetie?" his mother called from the kitchen.
"Yes, Mum," Jonathan replied, dropping his satchel by the front door and walking toward the back of the cabin where Joyce stood, making dinner. He gave her a kiss on the head and leant across the counter.
"Where's Hop?"
"Still at work. I'll leave him a plate in the fridge. Was Nancy alright?"
"Stressed about college, but her mum and I managed to convince her that she needed to go to Emerson. What're you making?"
Joyce stopped her stirring of the pot of mince that sat on the stove, and went still. Slowly, she turned to look at her eldest son.
"College, hey?"
"Yeah, she got into Emerson and just got a letter today saying she was free to begin next semester, as her absence was out of her control. Chilli con carne?" Jonathan gestured towards the pot.
His mum turned to fully face him, hands on hips and right brow meeting her hairline. "I see right through your avoidance, Jonathan. I can read you like a book."
He shrugged, looking up at the ceiling. "Don't know what you're talking about, Mum."
"Oh yes, you do," Joyce quickly pivoted to turn the stove off before pointing a finger at Jonathan's chest. "College. Nancy. You. What's on your mind, sweetpea?"
Jonathan sighed, back hunching over as if the weight of the world pressed down against his shoulders.
"We talked. About college. Nancy and Mrs. Wheeler said I should apply."
"What, to Emerson?" Joyce asked, perplexed, a dumbfounded look upon her face.
"No, no. To...to NYU."
A smile split across his mother's face. "Oh yes, Jonathan! You've wanted it for years now! Since you were six!"
"Mum, it's too much!" Jonathan exclaimed. "Plus, you and Will and Jane need me!" he threw his hands above his head, stress pulsating from his body.
"No, we don't," Will's voice chimed out. It seemed Jonathan and Joyce's raised voices had pulled him and Jane out of their Full House-driven stupor.
"Oh, thanks," Jonathan snarked.
"You know what I mean," Will rolled his eyes.
"Will, Mum and Hop aren't always gonna be around for you two. What if you have flashbacks? Or nightmares?"
"We have each other," Jane answered for her brother. Both she and Will stood up from their place on the couch to join Jonathan and their mother in the entry to the kitchen. Jonathan seethed at his accidental calling of a family meeting. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Hopper burst through the front door to join in.
"Exactly, what she said," Will gestured to El. "Plus, don't give me that shit about nightmares. We're seventeen!"
"Yeah, seventeen!"
"Not babies! We can look after ourselves. When you were our age, you had had a million jobs and were budgeting for bills!"
Jonathan shook his head wildly. "That was different - "
"How?" Will cried out.
"Okay, kids, settle down. This isn't a fight." Joyce interrupted, placing a hand between her two boys.
"Jonathan, sweetie. Will's right. You were doing much too much for a 17-year-old."
"Yeah, but that's fine, Mum. I was happy to do it," Jonathan frowned. He didn't want his mother thinking he resented her for their financial status for all those years.
"I know you don't, baby. You've always been so good," Joyce swiped Jonathan's hair out of his face and stroked his cheek. "You've been an adult for far longer than what you were allowed to be a child for. And I was so grateful for you. So grateful. Still am."
Jonathan reddened and leant into his mother's warm hand.
"You've always been my beautiful, caring boy. And you've been such a good brother."
Will moved to hold onto Jonathan's sleeve in agreeance as El passionately nodded her head.
"But it's time for you to think about yourself for once. And time for me to be a proper mother to you."
"You've always been a proper mum," Jonathan’s jaw clenched as he made a moue of disagreement.
"Oh, sweet boy, thank you. But you deserved more than a mum who relied on her eldest child to figure out how much money we needed month by month and to help pay tax every April."
"Well, that was on Lonnie, not you, Mum - " Jonathan argued, eliciting a snort from Joyce.
"I won't disagree with you there. But regardless, I put too much on you."
Jonathan was quiet, looking determinedly at the lumber floors, too embarrassed to lock eyes with his family.
Finally, he shrugged. "Even if I do want to go, we couldn't afford it."
"Oh, don't give me that crap!" Joyce rebutted. "You know we have some extra cash from Owens."
"And scholarships, too," Will piped up.
"Scholarships?" asked Jane.
"Colleges help with money if an applicant is like, super smart or talented," Will explained.
"Oh!" Jane said, "You could get that! You are very talented with your photography!"
"Thank you, Jane. But - " Jonathan started, but his younger brother slapped him lightly across the head. Jonathan hated that Will was taller than him now.
"No buts! Jonathan, you have been there for me, for all of us, when we've needed you for your entire life. Let us help you out now."
Jonathan felt tears begin to creep up. He shook his head; leaving just felt so wrong. But he was finding it increasingly difficult to come up with arguments against applying.
"When's the deadline for the Early Decision?" Joyce asked.
"It's probably too late, I won't have time to complete my - "
"Jonathan."
"January 1st," Jonathan answered quietly.
"Jan 1st. Plenty of time. You've been taking photos for years, you'll have plenty to help make up your portfolio."
"And we will help you take more, if you need," Jane squeezed her eldest brother's hand.
"Did Nancy say she'd help with the essay for the scholarship? She's super smart," Will asked. Jonathan's younger brother had always considered Nancy a mystifying intellectual, but held her in even higher esteem after seeing his girlfriend in action during the various escapades they had all endured over the last four years.
"Yeah, she did."
"Perfect!" Joyce almost squealed, jumping up to wrap her arms around her eldest's neck. "Oh, Jonathan, I'm so excited for you!”
Jonathan was beginning to feel a sense of excitement himself as his family pushed him towards college. An anticipation towards a future that he had never really let himself consider. NYU had always been this impossible dream. But at that moment, crowded in Hopper's tiny kitchen with his beloved family, it felt more real than ever.
"I haven't even applied yet, Mum," he blushed, his own arms circling around his mother's waist. Will and Jane joined from either side of the embrace, creating a strange sort of group hug where Jonathan was utterly encased by bodies.
"You'll get in. I know it. You'll get in with your own amazing work. And on top of giftedness, Hopper and I aren't married, and don't legally live together, so you're part of a household that earns less than $10,000 a year; it's a sure thing you'll get a scholarship," Joyce winked.
Jonathan laughed. December 8th. He needed a week. One week, and he'd get that application sent.
One week.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
By 7pm the next day, Jonathan, with the help of Joyce and Will, and El, who sat by Joyce, interested by the processes of how one went about applying for colleges, had made good headway with his application.
Fuck, there was so much paperwork. The questionnaires for Jonathan's application were fine enough. Listing classes he had completed and clubs he had been a part of that showed his dedication to photography, and how long he had been photographing. The essays introducing himself were the hardest; it was not that he felt shame, but Jonathan had a pride about him that made it difficult to exploit his background to gain what he considered pity-points from the admissions officers.
"Jonathan, stop being stubborn. You grew up in poverty; that's not an insult, it's a fact!" his mother cried.
"Yeah, but - "
"No buts! We were poor. We are poor. There's nothing wrong with that, except for the fact it makes schools seem a little unattainable. That's why this scholarship's important. You do want to go to NYU, don't you?" Joyce gave one of her renowned 'Mum Stares', tilting her head and arching a brow.
"Of course I do!" Jonathan huffed, "It's just...I don't want to get in just because I'm poor. I want them to actually appreciate my work!"
"Oh, honey," Joyce rubbed Jonathan's arm.
"Jonathan, you won't get in at all unless you leverage our financial situation. Play on their emotions now, and keep them hooked on you once you're guaranteed a spot through the scholarship," Will chimed from his spot opposite Jonathan on the table.
"’Leverage our financial situation’? How the hell do you know to do that?" Jonathan asked incredulously. Will's gentle soul and doe-like eyes made it thoroughly strange hearing him enthusiastically encourage manipulating the admissions officers.
"Something Mike said as Dungeon Master in one of our DnD campaigns. You gotta exploit people all the time to get what you want."
"Oh, of course," Jonathan snorted, grinning at his brother.
They spent the next hour writing the essays explaining who Jonathan was, what he loved, why he hadn't immediately gone to university, and some sob stories on how poor he and his family were, and how his childhood had been stolen by poverty. He'd needed two essays, one for the portfolio and the other for the full-ride scholarship, the NYU promise. He'd get Nancy to check through both when he saw her next, but it had been a solid start.
Jonathan would argue that it was almost less difficult to apply for the enormous NYU Promise scholarship than the standard application itself, if it weren’t for the stupid essay. Just forms upon forms of the Byers' financial background.
Jane, who had been silent, simply moving her head from side to side like a tennis spectator as she watched the Byers' argue with each other, finally spoke up.
"What is CSS and FAFSA?" she asked.
"Oh, sorry, El," Will apologised, "We should've told you. They stand for 'College Scholarship Service Profile', and 'Free Application for Federal Student Aid'."
"It's a form asking for financial aid," Jonathan explained. Jane nodded along, listening intently.
"College is expensive, so lots of people have to ask for money, or get a 'loan'. Or, they can apply for a scholarship, which is what I am trying to do. That's what Will explained earlier; when the school lets you in at a cheaper rate or for free because you either have special skills, or are from a particularly poor background," he continued.
"And Jonathan has both of those things," Will added.
"Which is exactly why he needs to put it in his essay, so that the college's admissions officers see how deserving he is for the NYU Promise."
Jonathan flushed. He'd much rather be known for his talents in photography than for how poor he was.
"Jonathan's photos are so pretty. I think you will get that scholarship easily!" Jane predicted, her cheeks rosy as she smiled merrily at her eldest brother.
"Thank you, Jane," Jonathan gave her hand a squeeze. At least someone liked his pictures more than they cared about how he had been working for half his life at 21 years old.
"Do you have any more questions, dearest?" his mother queried, stroking El's ponytail.
"Not yet. You can keep on writing."
"Just ask if you do, though. Questions are good," Jonathan remarked as he flipped through the pages and pages of FAFSA and CSS forms.
Jonathan was experienced in filling out forms of financial information. He had filled in what felt like hundreds of money orders to pay the bills, had written in dozens of checks when they couldn't afford money orders, and had learnt to make his own budget planners when he was 12. He was well-versed in what his family's income was, what their expenses were, and what went towards savings. He would be able to complete the CSS and FAFSA forms easily.
Income: his mother barely made $8000 a year at Melvalds, and he probably made below the legal minimum with his role as an assistant at the radio station. He and his mum had prevented Will from having to work just yet.
Expenses: though they didn't own a house, Joyce would not have sat idly by living at the Wheelers' without contributing to the house's bills and living expenses. He could prove their contributions to the household with some old money orders and checks, and a well-placed letter from Karen Wheeler.1
And savings: he didn't have any! Though his mother had given up the opportunity to receive federal financial aid when Reagan got in by choosing to invest in a savings account for her boys' college funds, Jonathan had blown all his money organising Will's (thankfully) unnecessary funeral in 1983.
"We'll get Owens to write a letter, as well," Joyce said as she and her sons sat on the dining table, paper strewn across the wooden top.
"Owens? Why? To explain why Jonathan couldn't leave the state?" Will asked, reading through Jonathan's personal essay for the NYU Promise.
"Yes, sweet. But also to explain why Jonathan couldn't work as much as he used to with the quarantine to 'help support us'," Joyce curled her index and middle fingers in air quotes, "Because of the quarantine, Hawkins' economy shrank, meaning there were less jobs. Jonathan was getting paid probably below minimum wage at The Squawk because he couldn't get his old job back at the cinemas."
"And," Jonathan added, "We can get Owens to write a letter stating the amount that went into medical bills for Will."
Joyce snapped her fingers and pointed at her eldest. "Now, you're thinking! Milk 'em for all their worth. That'll get NYU's attention!"
Jonathan grimaced. He knew it was necessary, and yes, what his mum and Will had said technically before was correct; the Byers were poor. He just hated the idea of being judged for how much money his mother earned rather than the qualities of his photos.
But before he could spiral any further, he spied Will's forlorn expression from across the table.
"Hey bud, what's up?”
"I didn't know the medical bills were that bad. How much money did I cost us?" he questions, brows knitted together in concern.
"Honey, don't worry about that. We survived. We were fine. You were what was important," Joyce wrapped her arm around Will's shoulder.
Jonathan reached his hand over the table top to ruffle Will's hair as Jane stood up to walk over to him and wrap her arms around his shoulders from behind. "Any money we spent was worth it. The cost of losing you was higher than anything, Will, okay?"
"Still..." Will trailed off, his brown eyes staring off to the side, almost embarrassed. Jonathan hated seeing his little brother looking like that.
"Still nothing. Your brother's right. There's no point ruminating about it now. Look where we are: alive and content. That's all that matters." Joyce kissed the side of Will's head and stroked Jonathan's cheek.
"If you had not gotten help from the lab, we would not have you. That would be awful," El finished. Will pursed his lips and nodded, leaning back into his sister's hold.
"I'll get Dr. Owens' letter tomorrow; he's still in town. I'll go to Hawkins High after school ends as well. I'm sure my media teacher will remember me well enough to give me at least an okay recommendation," Jonathan said, writing down a quick checklist on a blank piece of note paper. He could tell Will wanted the attention off of him.
"And if he doesn't, just send him my way; Stuart Fields did plenty of crap in my day that I'm sure he doesn't want to be reminded of," Joyce offered, a wicked glint in her eye.
"Please don't threaten my media teacher," Jonathan replied bluntly.
"It'd just be persuasion."
"Are you going to Mike's to see Nancy after?" Will butt in.
"Oh, yeah. Do you wanna come with?"
"Yes, please. I need to pick up some work I missed from school as well."
Jonathan nodded and chucked Will a thumbs-up.
"What about you? Wanna join?" he directed at Jane now.
Jane shook her head. "No, thank you. Dustin said he'd take me to see Max tomorrow."
"Oh, tell her I'll come by the day after. We can go together," Will requested. His siblings had been frequently visiting the redhead, who had lost feeling in her legs and was still getting used to using a wheelchair. When Will couldn't go, Dustin, Lucas, or Mike would often sneak El to Max's home, as the former girl was technically not allowed out. But nothing could stop her from visiting her best friend.
The family worked well into the night on the rest of Jonathan's paperwork. By 11pm, Jonathan sent his mother and brother to bed, and by 1 in the morning, he himself trudged over to the mattress he shared with Will. God, he was excited to see Nancy. He needed a break from all of this college stress.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Hopper had ended up going to Owens himself by the slowly dismantling military camp, unwilling to let Jonathan and Will near anyone associated with the Department of Energy.
"I'll get the letter explaining this whole shitshow," he had promised, smiling awkwardly at the two Byers boys.
After a clumsy goodbye between the three, Jonathan drove himself and Will to Hawkins High in the afternoon after school had gone out for the day. Whilst Will went to his teachers to pick up any missed work or assignments, Jonathan made a beeline for the darkroom where Mr. Fields could usually be found for Wednesday's photography club meeting.
No intervention by his mother was needed, as Mr. Fields was more than happy to write a recommendation letter for Jonathan. He remembered the young man and his "skill beyond his years" well. Jonathan would just have to pick it up the next morning.
Jonathan did not need to go to the office to grab any of his old files on record, with his portfolio being sufficient for his application, and thus returned to sit on the hood of his car in a much quicker time than he assumed he would need.
The cold felt like it went right through him, the freezing wind nipping at his uncovered face and hands and sending painful jolts down his spine. His back was already fucked from being thrown about so often; the cold made it that bit worse.
About 25 minutes later, Will came bounding across the drive-through towards the Ford, backpack sufficiently heavier-looking than it was before.
"Sorry I took so long! Mr. Mundy wouldn't shut up. You didn't have to wait outside the car for me, it's freezing!"
"You're fine, bud. I wanted to make sure you could see me so you'd know the car was open. But I'm fucking freezing now, so hurry up and get in," Jonathan ushered his brother into the passenger seat before jumping into the driver's. Will didn't need to know about Jonathan's back pain.
"You wanna drop anything off first, or go straight to the Wheelers'?" he asked as he cranked up the heater.
"Mike's," Will answered swiftly. Jonathan held back a small grin.
Within twenty minutes, Jonathan had parked out by the front of the Wheelers' new house. He had almost made the turn onto Maple Street, where the family had lived for decades now. He felt a lump in his throat; all of this urgency to leave Hawkins for NYU still seemed wrong in the face of everything that had occurred over the last month. Over the last four years, even.
"You coming?" Will's voice startled Jonathan out of that seemingly never-ending loop of self-criticism and anxiety, his head leaning down to stare at his older brother inquisitively from the open passenger door.
"Oh, uh...yeah. Yeah, I'm coming," Jonathan responded. He had half a mind to stay in the car and ruminate, but he was so desperate to see Nancy. It had only been a few days, and he had spoken to her over the phone, but Jonathan felt like months had dragged on by since he had been able to see her and hold her tight.
Will practically ran to the front door as Jonathan opened the boot of his car to take out the box full of forms and essays. He'd gone through the photos with his family late last night, but had decided to wait to pass them by Nancy until tomorrow. The priority was to get the actually-being-able-to-afford-NYU part out of the way first.
Mike opened the door, enthusiastically greeting Will and pulling his best friend inside from the cold by his jacket sleeve.
"Nancy's in her room!" Mike yelled behind his shoulder as he and Will made a direct course to Mike's bedroom.
Jonathan snorted at the scene that had just transpired in front of him, then made his own way towards his partner's room. Cutting through the dining room, he greeted Holly, who ran up to give him a great hug,2 which Jonathan shyly received.
As he made it to Nancy's room, he raised his fist to knock, only for her to aggressively whip open the door before he could.
"I thought I heard you talking to Holly!" she beamed. She snatched the box from Jonathan, chucked it on her bed, and wrapped her arms around Jonathan's torso, resting her chin on his chest. "I've missed you."
"I've missed you, too," Jonathan said, cupping Nancy's face in his cold hands and placing a tender kiss against her lips. Nancy pulled him inside her room, mouth still glued to Jonathan’s, until she hit the end of her bed and fell on her backside with an "Oof!"
"Is that your NYU stuff?" she asked, taking Jonathan's hands and guiding him to sit on the bed with her, taking care in making sure his back was comfortably leaning against her frilly pink pillows. Jonathan had called that morning to ask for Nancy's help with the essays, which she had eagerly agreed to.
"Yep. They must both be like the fifth draft or something, but you're the most intelligent perfectionist I know, so I figured you'd be able to find any last-minute errors."
"Easy."
Nancy dragged the box towards herself, placing the lid next to her, before pulling out the two essays that Jonathan had placed on the top of the small mountain of papers.
Nancy, as it turned out, was certifiably not a break from college stress. In fact, she had managed to be as highly-strung as his mother in regards to Jonathan's application. Jonathan would have thought it was Nancy who was applying for Tisch.
Using a red pen from the pencil holder that sat on her bedside table, she ruthlessly circled and underlined and scribbled out entire sentences like a teacher on a warpath.
"'I didn't have much else to do, so working all those extra shifts was little trouble.' Jonathan, you make it sound like working was your hobby!"
"Well, it wasn't much trouble! We needed the cash, so it's not as if more hours was difficult to say yes to."
"So say that! You need to emphasise the fact that you were stripped of a childhood because of your socioeconomic status. I can see that's what you're trying to get at during some points through the essays, but you backtrack on yourself. Your theme's all over the place."
"You sound like Mum and Will. I hate having to be all mopey through the essay. I don't want them thinking I'm this impoverished person begging for a spot at their school. I want them to accept me for my photos!"
"Jonathan," Nancy admonished, "the purpose of one of these essays is to literally convince NYU to fund your schooling. Your family's right; you need to really pull at their heartstrings." She shuffled over to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with her boyfriend.
"Okay, fine, I get needing to write about 'how poor I am' for the scholarship, but for the portfolio application? Why do I need to harp on about money there?" Jonathan asked, leaning his head on Nancy's.
"Well, is your work inspired by how you grew up?"
Jonathan thought about it quietly for a moment. He knew Nancy was probably thinking of the exact same thing as him; that argument in the woods all those years ago, when Jonathan opened up about taking photos to see the real person behind the masks that Hawkins' residences put on.
"I guess. Trying to capture who people are without what their money gave them."
"See, how good is that? Even I couldn't have come up with it. Put that in your essay; connect your photos with who you are."
That made sense. Dammit, everyone was right. He did need to talk about money. He didn't have to like it, though.
"Speaking of, have you picked your photos?" Nancy asked.
"Not yet. Not fully, at least. Mum, Will and Jane helped me narrow some down yesterday morning, but I can only have 20, and there's still dozens to choose from. Plus, I have to talk about some theme between them all."
"Oh, well that's sorted then. Your photos all have that meaning of...revealing something. You're pretentious enough to string the photos all together to tell a story."
"Hey!"
"I meant it in the most loving way, Jonathan," Nancy moved her head from under his to give her boyfriend a quick kiss.
"It's called art," Jonathan smiled against Nancy's mouth.
"Mmm, I'm sure," she grinned back before quickly pulling away. Jonathan could've whined. He cursed the stupid application for taking all of Nancy's attention.
Over the next hour and a half, Jonathan and Nancy moved to the small desk in the corner of her bedroom so that he could scribble down two new essays with Nancy's advice in mind. Sitting on the desk chair with a warm girlfriend on his lap pointing out mistakes, Jonathan must have written in the World's Worst Handwriting about how he had to start work at 12, even before his dad left, to help support the family, grew up learning how to fill in money orders and how to beg for extra shifts, how he was ostracised from Hawkins for the crime of being poor. And then, to tie it all together, he wrote about how through it all, the camera his mother had spent three months worth of savings on for his 11th birthday had been his saviour. How his experiences of growing up poor directly inspired the art he chose to create.
"It's perfect," Nancy declared, giving the essays one final readthrough. "It's beautiful. Now you just need to write it out neatly before sending it in with the photos.
"It's a cliché. But I trust you."
"Good to know you have some sense." Nancy crawled off her partner's lap, extending her arms up above her head in a big stretch. Jonathan admired the sliver of skin that peeked out from under her sweater.
"God, it's almost six o'clock. I'll need to start on dinner," she stated, glancing down at her watch. She had taken on many of the household chores on top of her full-time job as secretary at the police station, so that her mother could rest up as much as possible.
"How long 'til 6?" Jonathan asked, getting up from the desk chair himself. He reached behind him and massaged his back in circular movements from his shoulderblades to his tailbone, whilst he moved to place the essays back in the box.
"A half hour. Why?" Nancy asked, smiling coquettishly as she flung herself back onto her bed.
"No reason," Jonathan feigned ignorance as he crawled up the length of Nancy's body, capturing her in a kiss. She wound her arms around his back, hand pulling at his hair that grew at his nape as she drew him closer. Jonathan ground up against her, and Nancy gasped into his mouth in what he assumed was pleasure, and...
Essentially kicked him off her.
"What's wrong, are you alright?" Jonathan questioned, hands flying out by his head, not wanting to touch Nancy in case she needed space.
"We'll go to The Squawk tomorrow!" she exclaimed excitedly. That was not at all what Jonathan was expecting. Nor something he thought she'd be thinking about whilst they were mid-makeout.
"Steve and Robin'll be there!"
Yep. Definitely not something he thought Nancy would be saying whilst they were in bed together.
"You gave me a heart attack! I thought I had done something!"
"Oh, sorry. No, you were perfect. I was just thinking about your application."
Jonathan groaned aloud. Stupid application ruining stupid everything. Maybe he wouldn't go to NYU after all.
"What about it?" he asked.
"We'll get them to help with your photos. A, what would it be? A...a sixth and seventh opinion!" Nancy snapped her fingers.
"Steve and Robin?! I don't know, Nance. What if they're weird about it?"
"Look, if this is about when Steve - "
"No, no, it's not about that!" Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous tic. "God knows he had every right to hate that photo. It's just...what if they don't like it?" Jonathan cringed at himself as he mumbled. It sounded so childlike when he said it aloud.
"Jonathan," Nancy deadpanned, "You've shown your photos to clubs and school newspapers and the Hawkins Post. You can show your photos to our friends."
"Yeah, but that wasn't personal stuff. These photos weren't for anyone but me. What if they're weird about it?"
Nancy sighed fondly and moved to straddle Jonathan, pushing his back gently against her bedframe. She sat on his thighs rather than places higher up and perhaps more pleasurable, wary of placing pressure on Jonathan's lower back. His hands immediately fell onto her hips. She grabbed his left hand and stroked the long scar across his palm with her thumb.
"Your photos are amazing. They won't be able to do anything but love them. Plus, if you can't show Steve and Robin, how will you be able to send the portfolio to strangers in an admissions office?"
Jonathan huffed, his head thudding against the frame. "You're right. I know you're right. We'll go tomorrow morning."
Nancy placed a kiss on Jonathan's bared throat. "I know I'm right. You're just smart enough to recognise it." Another kiss against his Adam's apple.
"If we put that on my application, it'll be a sure entry into NYU," Jonathan caressed the sides of Nancy's waist as he enjoyed the kisses.
Nancy snorted. "I like it. 'Dedicated follower of Nancy Wheeler'."
"It's got a nice ring to it, at least," Jonathan smirked as Nancy placed a final peck on his nose.
"Anyway," she moved back to settle her weight on Jonathan's shins. He almost pouted as the feeling of her against him was ripped away. "We can all look through your photos and decide which ones to pick, and then you can tell us all the backstory. From there, you'll easily be able to write a thesis on a common theme. You'll be able to get different perspectives and understandings from all of us, too. It'll mimic the Admissions Committee."
"It's a good idea. You're so wise," Jonathan admired aloud, gripping onto Nancy's hand. She flushed; despite all her amazing self-determination, Jonathan found that she often broke under his praise.
"You're just trying to get into my pants," she teased, shuffling along Jonathan's legs towards him again.
"Sure," he affirmed playfully as he tucked Nancy's curly hair behind her ears. "Is it working?"
Nancy leaned closer and closer, until her face was but millimetres away from Jonathan's own. He felt his eyelids droop as he readied himself for another kiss.
"But I got a mac 'n' cheese to make!" she practically sang, pressing her lips against Jonathan's forehead for a moment before she jumped off the bed.
"Tease!" he cried out as she laughed herself out of the room. Picking up the box, he caught himself smiling dopily in his solitude. That woman would be the death of him.
Sighing, he hauled himself from Nancy's comfortable mattress, gave a second for his backache to calm down, and followed his girlfriend out of the room. She would also be the death of her siblings via food poisoning if he didn't help her out in the kitchen.3