Archive of Our Own

The cabin felt different at night.

Not wrong anymore. Just quiet in the particular way places became quiet after surviving something they probably never should have survived in the first place. Beyond the windows the woods stretched dark and endless around Hopper’s cabin, the porch light spilling a weak amber glow across the clearing while wind moved softly through the trees. Somewhere deeper in the forest branches creaked against each other in slow uneven rhythms, but inside everything felt warm enough to soften the sound before it fully reached them.

Steve had forgotten, somewhere over the last few months, how strange comfort used to feel. Now it settled around all of them almost accidentally.

Blankets dragged off couches without asking. Half-finished beers abandoned across side tables. Robin upside down in Hopper’s armchair with her socked feet hanging over the backrest while she loudly criticized everyone else’s movie choices like it was a moral obligation. Nancy curled into the far corner of the couch beneath one of Joyce’s old knitted blankets, arguing with Jonathan over whether horror movies still counted as “relaxing” after literal interdimensional warfare. Jonathan stretched out along the opposite end of the couch with his boots abandoned near the door and a cigarette tucked behind one ear for later, looking looser than Steve still entirely knew what to do with.

That part caught him off guard sometimes.

Not because Jonathan suddenly looked carefree. He didn’t. There was still tension living in him almost constantly, something watchful beneath the surface Steve didn’t think would ever fully disappear. But lately there were moments now where it eased enough to notice. The way Jonathan laughed easier than he used to. The way he leaned into rooms instead of lingering half a step from the nearest exit. The way his shoulders no longer stayed drawn tight every second somebody looked at him.

Steve noticed all of it without meaning to. Which was probably a problem. Maybe not as big a problem as being hopelessly in love with his new found friend for most of his adult life at this point, but definitely somewhere in the same family.

The thing was, Steve had gotten good at living around feelings he couldn’t do anything about. He’d had practice. Nancy taught him that first. Then Eddie had made everything worse accidentally by dying before Steve could fully untangle half the things he’d started realizing about himself. Somewhere in the middle of all that—quietly, gradually, almost unfairly—Jonathan Byers had become the person Steve trusted most in the world.

That part still felt dangerous sometimes.
Because Jonathan had caught him.

Literally.

Steve still dreamed about it occasionally. Poisoned red air splitting open around him while Vecna’s world cracked open overhead, the sickening drop beneath his feet, Jonathan grabbing him hard enough to bruise and hauling him back with both hands while screaming his name like losing him wasn’t survivable.

Nothing had really settled back into normal after that.

Not the way Jonathan looked at him now when he thought Steve wasn’t paying attention. Not the strange carefulness that kept slipping into place whenever they sat too close together. Not the way Steve had started reacting to every casual touch like his entire nervous system had rewired itself specifically around Jonathan’s hands.

The worst part was that he genuinely couldn’t tell how much of it lived only in his own head because he had convinced himself over years that this was hopeless.
Robin thought he was an idiot about it. Nancy clearly agreed. But neither of them pushed him too hard, probably because Steve had perfected the art of circling around things without ever actually saying them out loud.

Which was how Steve ended up sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the television near midnight while Jonathan argued passionately about punk cinema and Robin threw popcorn at him from across the room.
“No, because you always do this,” Robin complained, pointing accusingly with a beer bottle balanced against her shoulder. “You pretend to hate romance movies and then get emotionally attached halfway through.”

Jonathan looked genuinely offended. “I do not.”
Nancy snorted softly beside him. “You cried during When Harry met Sally .”
“I was tired.” Jonathan argued.
“You cried during E.T.” Nancy replied.
“That alien died.”
“He got better,” Steve pointed out automatically.
Jonathan pointed at him immediately. “Exactly. Emotional manipulation.”
Steve laughed before he could stop himself.

Jonathan looked over at the sound just as automatically, and for a second something quiet caught between them again. It had been happening more lately, those strange suspended moments neither of them seemed to know how to move around properly anymore. Jonathan’s gaze flicked downward briefly before returning toward the television, but the warmth of it lingered anyway.

Robin noticed. Her eyes narrowed on Steve with the exhausted expression of somebody trapped inside a social experiment against her will.
“Anyway,” she announced loudly, breaking whatever had almost settled over the room, “we need another movie before the testosterone in this cabin becomes fatal.”

Steve reached toward the stack of VHS tapes scattered across the coffee table. “We already watched your weird German submarine movie.”
“It was critically acclaimed.” Robin said offended.
“It was three hours long, Robin.”
Nancy leaned over the armrest toward the pile. “What’s left?”

Jonathan got there first, pulling one free before Steve could grab it. Steve saw the cover and groaned immediately. “Oh, absolutely not.”
Jonathan’s mouth twitched slightly as he held up the tape. “What? Scared?”

Valley Girl gleamed beneath the dim cabin light in washed-out pink and blue. Robin sat upright so fast the chair creaked beneath her. “Oh my god, yes.”
“No,” Steve said immediately. “Do. Not.”
Nancy laughed softly. “Steve Harrington afraid of a romance movie feels so wrong.”
Steve pointed at Jonathan instead. “He picked it.”
“Yeah,” Jonathan said easily, already pushing himself off the couch. “Because Robin brought it and now I want to understand why she talks about it like it personally changed history.”
“It changed culture,” Robin corrected.
“It changed Nicolas Cage’s hairline.” Jonathan said dryly.

Robin threw popcorn at him again. Jonathan caught it without even looking and tossed it into his mouth on instinct. Steve hated, a little helplessly, how fond the sight made him feel.
Jonathan rolled his eyes like he already knew Steve was staring, but there was laughter pulling faintly at the corner of his mouth anyway as he crouched in front of the VCR and slid the tape inside with the resigned patience of someone who had long ago accepted that once Robin Buckley decided something was happening, resistance became mostly theoretical.

The television crackled softly to life a second later. The cabin lights stayed low except for the lamp beside the couch and the uneven blue flicker washing through the room from the screen. Outside the windows the woods had gone fully black, the glass reflecting back fractured pieces of all of them whenever the movie brightened enough to catch it.

Robin immediately reclaimed her upside-down position in the armchair, dragging a blanket over herself like she planned to defend the entire movie aggressively but in comfort. Nancy settled deeper into the couch beside Jonathan while Steve stayed on the floor where he already was, one shoulder resting against the edge of the couch near Jonathan’s legs.

At some point during the marathon all of them had stopped paying attention to personal space. Not consciously. Just slowly enough nobody questioned it anymore.

The movie started ridiculous almost immediately.

Steve spent at least the first ten minutes groaning into his beer while Robin defended every creative decision with increasing hostility toward anyone who disagreed with her. Jonathan mocked it too at first, dry comments tossed lazily toward the screen between drags from his bottle, but somewhere along the way the commentary faded out. Steve noticed the exact second it happened. Jonathan stopped pretending not to care halfway through a scene and never really started again afterward.

Nancy noticed too. “Oh my god,” she said eventually, nudging his knee lightly with her socked foot. “You actually like it.”
Jonathan didn’t look away from the television. “I’m observing it.”
“Sure.” She smiled. Steve snorted softly into his beer.

The soundtrack rolled through the cabin all sharp-edged synth and dramatic romance, everybody onscreen staring at each other like wanting things was a medical emergency. Somewhere in the middle of the movie Robin slowly sat upright in the armchair, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully at Nicolas Cage like she was trying to solve a crime.

Then she turned toward Jonathan.
“Nancy,” she said carefully, “am I insane or does he kind of give Jonathan vibes?”

There was a brief silence.

Nancy looked from the television toward Jonathan stretched out beside her beneath the flickering light, his knees drawn slightly up against the couch cushions, hair falling loose across his forehead.

Then she burst out laughing. “Oh my god.”
Jonathan looked immediately offended. “Absolutely not.”
Steve glanced up automatically.

And—

Okay.

A little bit.

Not exactly. But enough that once Robin said it, Steve couldn’t fully unsee it anymore. Not the hair. More the energy. The restless intensity. The vague sense both of them looked like they belonged smoking cigarettes behind buildings while making terrible romantic decisions.

Steve realized too late he’d been staring. Jonathan caught him instantly.
“What?” he demanded.
Steve pointed vaguely toward the television. “No, I— okay, maybe a little.”
Robin made a triumphant noise.
“This is slander,” Jonathan informed the room.
Nancy was still laughing beside him. “No, wait, I kind of see it too.”
“I hate all of you.” Jonathan sounded more amused then offended.
“You have the same music taste,” Steve offered helpfully.
Jonathan turned slowly toward him. “You, on the other hand, have no taste in music.”
“That’s not even true.” Steve tried to defend his case.
“It’s mostly true because I had to show you great music first.” Jonathan said.
Robin pointed aggressively between them from the armchair. “See? This is why the movie works. The tension.”

Steve nearly inhaled his beer. Beside him Jonathan made a strangled sound somewhere between outrage and embarrassment while Nancy folded briefly into the couch cushions laughing. Robin only looked more encouraged by the reaction.
“No, seriously,” she continued, sprawling sideways beneath the blanket now while the movie’s love triangle escalated dramatically in the background. “This whole thing feels weirdly familiar.”

Jonathan dragged one hand down his face slowly. Steve coughed hard enough his chest hurt. Robin pointed at him immediately. “Interesting reaction from somebody who allegedly sees no parallels.”
“I inhaled wrong,” Steve managed.
“Sure you did.” Her grin was almost feral at this point.

Jonathan’s ears had gone visibly pink beneath his hair now, which honestly wasn’t helping his case at all.
“You know what’s funny?” Nancy asked lazily from the couch.
“No,” Jonathan said flatly. “And I don’t want to.”
“You and Steve are reacting exactly like the characters.”
Steve turned immediately. “Excuse me?”
Nancy lifted one shoulder beneath the blanket. “Jonathan’s pretending he’s above the whole thing while being emotionally invested anyway, and you’re acting defensive because you keep taking every comment personally.”

Steve stared at her. Jonathan stared at her.
Robin pointed triumphantly at Nancy like she’d just won an argument in court. “THANK you.”
“This is unbelievable,” Steve muttered.

But Jonathan was laughing quietly beside him now, low enough that Steve could feel the vibration of it through the couch at his shoulder, and despite himself something warm twisted through his chest at the sound. He took another sip of beer mostly to hide it.

Above him Jonathan shifted slightly, one knee knocking lightly against Steve’s shoulder before settling there without either of them moving away. The movie kept playing. Outside the woods breathed softly around the cabin while somewhere inside the room the atmosphere loosened into something quieter and warmer than before.

The movie spiraled deeper into neon-lit misunderstandings and dramatic romance while the four of them drifted slowly into the kind of exhausted comfort that only really existed after midnight. Empty bottles accumulated across the coffee table. Half the blankets disappeared without explanation. The cabin settled softer around them while the darkness outside thickened fully against the windows.

Steve barely followed most of the movie anymore.
Not because it was bad. Mostly because Jonathan kept laughing. Not loudly. Just enough to keep catching Steve off guard every time it happened.
Another overly emotional scene swelled across the television before Nancy groaned dramatically into the armchair cushion.
“Oh my god,” she muttered. “People in movies flirt so aggressively.”
Robin smiled faintly beneath the blanket. “That’s kind of the point.”
“No, but seriously.” Nancy gesture vaguely toward the television. “Nobody actually talks like that in real life.”
Steve snorted softly into his beer. “You’d be surprised.”
Robin turned toward him immediately, eyes narrowing with dangerous interest. “Steve Harrington.”

Steve already looked wary. “What?”
“You flirt like you’re being held at gunpoint.”
Nancy barked out a laugh before she could stop herself.
Steve stared at both of them in immediate betrayal. “What?”

Beside him Jonathan made the fatal mistake of snorting into his drink. Steve whipped around instantly. “Oh, absolutely not. Not you too.”
Jonathan was already trying unsuccessfully to hide his smile behind the rim of his beer. “Sorry,” he said, sounding not remotely sorry.
“I do not flirt badly,” Steve informed the room with the confidence of someone who had once built an entire personality around this exact belief.
Robin folded sideways into the armchair immediately. “Steve. You once asked a girl if she liked the weather.”
“It was raining.” he muttered.
“She said it was humid,” Robin continued mercilessly, “and you nodded like she’d revealed the secrets of the universe.”
“That conversation was going somewhere.”
“It absolutely was not.” Robin laughed.

Jonathan’s shoulders had started shaking slightly with contained laughter now. “You also told that waitress in that bar her earrings looked…” He paused briefly, trying not to laugh again. “Structurally sound.”
Steve looked genuinely horrified. “They were big earrings.”
Nancy disappeared briefly into the couch laughing.
Jonathan finally gave up pretending not to smile, ducking his head toward his beer again while the cabin light caught the curve of it anyway. Steve noticed before he could stop himself. He always noticed.

Which was distracting. And not helping.

“Okay, fine,” Steve said, throwing one hand up dramatically. “At least I actually talk to people. Jonathan flirts like a raccoon trying not to get caught in daylight.”
Jonathan looked deeply offended. “What does that even mean?”
“It means,” Steve said immediately, “you spend months staring at someone like you’re writing poetry about them in your head and then act shocked when nothing happens.”
Jonathan straightened slightly against the couch cushions. “I do not—”
“You literally spent almost a year communicating with Nancy exclusively through eye contact.” Steve said accusingly.
Nancy made a startled choking sound around another laugh.
Jonathan’s ears went red almost instantly. Robin sat upright in the chair like somebody watching live combat. “Oh, this is getting personal now.”
“That worked, though,” Jonathan muttered into his mug.
Steve stared at him for one long second before leaning back against the couch in disbelief. “Oh my god,” he said. “That’s your defense?” Jonathan narrowed his eyes immediately.
“‘It worked once in 1984’?” Steve continued, grinning helplessly now. “That’s what we’re going with?”
“It did work.” Jonathan just stated.
“It took you like nine months.” Now Steve was laughing too.
“And it still worked.” Jonathan replied again.

Robin looked between them with growing fascination. “This might be the most embarrassing argument two deeply questionable men have ever had.”
“Thank you,” Nancy said sincerely.
Steve pointed at Jonathan again, increasingly delighted by the fact that Jonathan was actually participating instead of shutting the whole thing down. “No, because I’m serious. You flirt like you’re trying not to alert wildlife.”
Jonathan laughed despite himself, low and brief before he caught it. “And you flirt like every sentence is a hostage negotiation.”
“That’s not true.” Steve huffed.
“It absolutely is.” Robin agreed.
Steve opened his mouth automatically to argue back.
Then stopped. Because Jonathan was looking at him now.
Still amused, still faintly flushed from the beer and the warmth of the cabin, but quieter suddenly too, his attention settling on Steve with a steadiness that made the rest of the room blur at the edges for a second. It happened more lately, these strange suspended pauses neither of them seemed to know how to move around anymore.

Robin noticed immediately. Steve could feel it in the way she went still inside the armchair. Jonathan’s mouth twitched slightly. “You wanna compare success rates here, Harrington?” he asked softly. And just like that the entire conversation tipped sideways.
Robin sat up so fast the blanket nearly slid off her lap. “Oh no,” she whispered faintly. “This is gonna get embarrassing.”

The movie kept playing behind them, all dramatic synth and neon heartbreak, but nobody was paying attention anymore. Steve could feel the cabin narrowing around the conversation instead, the warmth of the lamp beside the couch, the stale beer in his hand, Jonathan’s knee still resting lightly against his shoulder where Steve sat on the floor leaning back into a couch cushions. Neither of them had moved away from it once.

Steve grinned automatically, reckless from the late hour and the dangerous thrill of Jonathan actually leaning into this with him. “Please,” he said, tipping his head back enough to look up at him properly. “I could pull anyone in this room.”
Jonathan barked out a surprised laugh. “That confidence alone should be studied by scientists.”
Steve shifted more fully toward the couch without really thinking about it, one arm hooking loosely along the cushion behind him. “You saying I couldn’t pull you?” The words landed harder than he intended. Jonathan went still. Not dramatically. Just enough.

And Steve, whose mouth had always moved faster than the rest of him, suddenly became aware of several things at once: the television humming softly in the background, the wind brushing faintly against the cabin walls outside, the fact that he was half-turned between Jonathan’s knees, looking up at him from the floor like this conversation had become something private without either of them agreeing to it out loud first.

Jonathan recovered first.

Slowly, without looking away, he lowered his bottle onto the coffee table beside Nancy’s abandoned one. The movement felt oddly deliberate.
“Honestly?” he said.
Robin made a muffled choking noise somewhere inside her blanket.
Steve stared up at him. “Excuse me?”

Jonathan leaned back deeper into the couch corner, one arm stretching lazily across the backrest behind Nancy like he had all the time in the world, but Steve still caught the faint color lingering high across his cheeks.
“You heard me,” Jonathan said. “If you’re trying to flirt, at least commit to it.”
Nancy turned toward him in open disbelief. “Jonathan.”
“What?” he asked, not taking his eyes off Steve.
“You’re encouraging him.”
Jonathan’s expression shifted slightly, almost a smile. “Maybe.”
Steve laughed softly under his breath, but it came out rougher than intended. “Oh, you think you can do better?”
Jonathan looked at him fully then. Dark eyes steady beneath the flickering television light, expression unreadable in that way that always pulled Steve in harder instead of pushing him back.

“Probably,” Jonathan said quietly.
The room erupted immediately around them.
Robin collapsed backward into the armchair with a horrified sound while Nancy buried her face briefly into the blanket beside her, but their reactions already felt distant compared to the sudden sharp awareness curling low beneath Steve’s ribs.

Jonathan was still looking at him. Still waiting.
Steve pointed vaguely toward Robin without breaking eye contact. “If either of you repeats any of this to another human being, I’m killing you.”
“No promises,” Robin informed him weakly.

Jonathan laughed softly under his breath again, and something about the sound loosened the knot of nerves winding tighter through Steve’s chest.
“Go ahead, then,” Jonathan said. “Hit me with your best shot, Harrington.”

Steve scoffed automatically because there was absolutely no universe where he could back down now. Not with Jonathan looking at him like that. “Fine,” he said. “Easy.”
He shifted more comfortably against the couch, still turned toward Jonathan while the movie soundtrack drifted softly beneath their voices.
“Did it hurt?” he asked
Jonathan already looked tired. “Did what hurt?”
“When you fell from heaven.” Steve smiled charmingly.

Robin booed immediately from somewhere inside the blanket cocoon swallowing most of her body.
Jonathan didn’t even blink. “That’s terrible.”
Steve grinned anyway because Jonathan’s ears had gone pink again. “And yet you’re blushing.”
“I’m embarrassed for you.”
Nancy laughed quietly into the couch cushion beside him while Steve pointed accusingly upward toward Jonathan’s face.
“Oh, okay,” he said. “Your turn, Byers.”

Jonathan hummed thoughtfully like he was actually considering strategy now. His gaze drifted briefly toward the television before settling back onto Steve slower this time, lingering just long enough to make Steve abruptly aware of the space between them again.
Outside, wind moved softly through the trees around the cabin. Inside, everything felt warm and close and strangely suspended.
“Alright,” Jonathan said eventually. “Are you a parking ticket?”
Steve frowned immediately. “What?”
Jonathan’s mouth twitched faintly. “Because you’ve got FINE written all over you.”
Robin screamed directly into a pillow. Nancy folded sideways laughing beside him.

And Steve—
Steve felt heat climb into his face so fast it was almost painful.
“That one doesn’t even make sense,” he said, which might have sounded more convincing if he hadn’t immediately looked away afterward.
Jonathan noticed. “You’re blushing pretty hard for someone criticizing the methodology.”
“That is not—”

But Jonathan leaned forward slightly then, forearms resting loosely against his knees as he looked down at Steve from the couch above him. The movement brought him closer without seeming intentional. Close enough that Steve could smell cigarette smoke still caught faintly in the fabric of his flannel beneath the warmth of the cabin. Close enough to catch the tired softness lingering underneath the teasing expression Jonathan kept trying to hide behind.
“Maybe,” Jonathan said softly, “you’re just easy.”
Steve’s brain stalled out for a second. “Oh, absolutely not,” he shot back immediately, straightening so fast he nearly knocked his beer into the coffee table. “You wanna play dirty? Fine.”

Robin made a tiny sound of alarm from the armchair.
Steve pointed dramatically upward toward the couch. “Are you French?”
Jonathan squinted at him already looking exhausted. “No?”
“Because Eiffel for you.”
Robin actually fell sideways out of the chair.
Nancy grabbed blindly at the blanket trying not to go down with her, laughing hard enough she nearly lost her drink in the process, but Steve barely noticed because Jonathan had gone completely still again.

Not stunned this time.
Just staring at him.
One second.
Then another.

And then the laugh hit him all at once.

It broke out low and helpless, Jonathan ducking forward with one hand over his face while the other pressed briefly against his chest like the line had done him actual physical damage. His hair slipped loose across his forehead as he laughed, shoulders shaking openly now instead of trying to hide it behind a mug or a sarcastic comment.

And God.
Steve felt it somewhere deep in his ribs every single time Jonathan laughed like that.
It changed him completely. Smoothed something sharp out of him for a few seconds. Made him look younger somehow, softer around the edges, like all the guarded parts of him had loosened without permission.

Steve liked being the reason for it more than was probably healthy. The laughter lingered in the cabin long after the line itself stopped being funny. Jonathan was still grinning into his hand when Robin finally resurfaced from the brink of death wheezing dramatically into the couch cushions.
“Okay,” she gasped. “I need air before one of you kills me.”
Nancy laughed into the blanket gathered around her shoulders. “That dramatic?”
“I’m serious.” Robin pointed weakly between Steve and Jonathan. “This feels medically unsafe.”
Jonathan leaned back against the couch again, still flushed faintly pink beneath the low cabin light. “You’re the one encouraging him.”
“You’re encouraging him too,” Nancy pointed out.
Jonathan opened his mouth automatically.

Paused.

Steve caught the exact second the realization crossed his face, brief and unreadable before Jonathan looked away again. Robin caught it too and immediately made a scandalized noise.
“Oh my god,” she whispered. “He is flirting back.”
“I’m literally not.” Jonathan mumbled.
“You literally are.” Nancy pointed out helpfully.

Before Jonathan could argue further, Robin shoved herself upright and grabbed the cigarette pack off the coffee table. “Nope. Outside. If this horrifying mating ritual continues, I need nicotine first.”

The migration toward the porch happened slowly after that, everyone moving with the lazy disorganization that settled in after midnight. Nancy stole one of Joyce’s blankets off the couch on her way past. Steve grabbed two beers from the kitchen without asking who wanted the second one. Jonathan disappeared briefly down the hallway and came back pulling on his jacket, cigarettes already tucked into the front pocket, his hair still messy from laughing. Steve noticed that too. He noticed everything lately. Probably because they spend more and more time together.

Cold air rolled through the cabin the second the door opened, sharp with damp woods and the lingering promise of rain somewhere deeper in the trees. Beyond the porch the forest dissolved into darkness, branches shifting softly against each other whenever the wind picked up. The porch light cast a weak amber glow across the steps and railing, leaving the rest of the clearing washed silver-blue beneath the moonlight.

Robin claimed the porch swing immediately like she’d won it in a custody battle. Nancy settled beside her beneath the blanket while Jonathan dropped onto the top porch step, lighting a cigarette with practiced ease. The lighter briefly illuminated the line of his face in warm orange before darkness settled back around him again.

Steve sat beside him without thinking about it. Their knees bumped immediately. Neither of them moved.
Jonathan exhaled smoke slowly into the cold air while Steve stretched his legs down the steps, one shoulder brushing lightly against Jonathan’s jacket whenever either of them shifted. Behind them the movie still played faintly through the open cabin door, reduced now to distant music and muffled dialogue nobody was paying attention to anymore.

After a while Jonathan glanced sideways at him, smoke curling pale between them. “You’ve already used heaven and the Eiffel Tower,” he said lazily. “Your material’s getting boring.”
Steve scoffed. “Please. I’m just warming up.”
“Sure you are.”
Steve narrowed his eyes, already searching for another line despite himself. The beer buzz sitting warm beneath his ribs probably wasn’t helping. Neither was Jonathan sitting this close looking unfairly good half-lit beneath the porch light.

Then inspiration struck.
“Oh no,” Robin muttered immediately from the swing.
Steve ignored her. “Do you have a sunburn,” he asked smoothly, “or are you always this hot?”
Jonathan physically recoiled. Nancy burst out laughing while Robin slapped the porch swing hard enough to make it creak violently beneath them.
“Oh my god,” Jonathan groaned, dragging one hand down his face. “That was painful.”
Steve grinned. “You smiled before the cringe hit.”
“That was a stress response.” Jonathan almost whispered.
“Still counts.” Steve claimed.

Jonathan shook his head slowly, cigarette balanced between his fingers while laughter still lingered around the edges of his expression despite himself. The cold had turned the tips of his ears pink again. Steve looked at them longer than he should have. Then Jonathan straightened slightly beside him, turning just enough that their knees pressed together more firmly beneath the blanket Nancy had draped half over both of them at some point without either of them noticing.
“Okay,” Jonathan said. “Fine.”
Robin made a faint sound of dread. Jonathan ignored her completely. He cleared his throat with exaggerated seriousness before looking directly at Steve again.
“Are you a magician?”
Steve groaned instantly. “No. No, absolutely not—”
“Because when I look at you,” Jonathan continued anyway, fully committing now, even adding a slow ridiculous wink at the end, “everyone else disappears.”

Robin made a wounded noise somewhere behind them. But Steve barely heard her. Because Jonathan was still looking at him afterward. And for one suspended second, with the woods breathing quietly around the cabin and cigarette smoke drifting pale between them in the cold night air, it stopped sounding entirely like a joke.

Steve stared at him for one stunned second before the tension snapped all at once. Laughter hit him so hard he folded forward immediately, forehead dropping against his arm where it rested over his knees while cold air scraped sharp through his lungs. “Jesus Christ, Byers,” he groaned through helpless laughter.
Beside him Jonathan laughed too, quieter but no less gone over it now that he’d actually committed to the line. He ducked his head slightly, cigarette trapped loosely between his fingers while smoke curled pale around him in the dark.
“You asked for this,” he pointed out.
“No,” Steve said, lifting his head just enough to look back at him again. “I asked for flirting. This feels like psychological warfare.”

“And yet somehow neither of you has stopped,” Robin said from the porch swing.
Steve twisted enough to glare over his shoulder at her. “Nobody asked you.”
“You literally started this in front of an audience.” Nancy laughed softly beside her, disappearing deeper into the blanket while the swing creaked lazily beneath them.

The woods had gone quieter as the night settled deeper around the cabin. Wind moved unevenly through the trees and somewhere farther out an owl called once before silence folded back in again. Jonathan sat beside him half in shadow beneath the porch light, cigarette ember glowing briefly every time he lifted it toward his mouth.
Steve could still feel the line sitting somewhere under his ribs.

Because when I look at you, everyone else disappears.

Which was exactly why he needed to keep talking before his brain caught up to it too much.
“Okay,” he said, straightening again. “Fine. You wanna die on this hill? Let’s go.”
Jonathan shifted beside him, one knee knocking more firmly against Steve’s while he stretched one arm loosely along the step behind them. “Hit me.”
There was something different about him now. Looser maybe. The beer. The late hour. Or maybe just the fact that somewhere along the way Jonathan had stopped looking like he was trying to escape this conversation.
Steve narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You seem way too confident all of a sudden.”
Jonathan smiled faintly around the cigarette balanced against his mouth. “Maybe your standards are just low.”
Robin made an offended noise. “Excuse you. Those standards are historically low.”
“Thank you, Robin,” Steve muttered.
“You’re welcome.”

Jonathan laughed softly under his breath again and Steve immediately pointed at him before the sound could settle too comfortably beneath his skin. “Okay. New one.”
Jonathan gestured lazily with the cigarette. “I’m terrified.”
“You should be.” Steve leaned slightly closer without realizing it. “Even if there was no gravity on Earth,” he declared dramatically, “I’d still fall for you.”

The words landed differently. Steve saw it happen.
Jonathan’s gaze flicked toward him automatically, something quieter moving briefly across his expression before he looked away again, exhaling smoke into the cold air between them.
“So falling’s your thing now? Want me to catch you again?” he asked lightly.
Steve frowned. “What?”
Jonathan’s mouth curved at one corner. “Good to know the radio tower incident didn’t scare you off.”
Robin choked somewhere behind them. Nancy buried her face straight into the blanket.

And Steve—
The memory hit him instantly anyway. Red lightning splitting open the sky above Hawkins. The feeling of empty air beneath him. Jonathan grabbing him hard enough to bruise. The almost desperate look in his eyes while he screamed down to Steve.

Jonathan had never joked about that before. Steve looked at him. Jonathan looked back this time, still pink around the ears, still faintly smiling, but there was warmth tucked beneath it now that made Steve’s pulse stumble strangely against his ribs.
“You’re evil,” Steve informed him quietly.
Jonathan shrugged one shoulder. “You started it.”
Steve should probably stop staring at him. Instead he found himself smiling helplessly back. The smile lingered on Jonathan’s mouth afterward, small and knowing around the edges like he was enjoying watching Steve try to recover from that, which honestly felt deeply unfair.

The cold had started settling heavier over the porch by then, enough that Steve finally reached into his jacket pocket for the cigarette pack Jonathan had tossed him earlier. Their shoulders brushed as he pulled one free and Steve became immediately, painfully aware of the warmth of him beside him in the cold night air. At some point they’d drifted closer without either of them mentioning it. Or maybe they had noticed and simply never moved away.
Steve leaned forward slightly, shielding the lighter against the wind while the flame flickered alive between his hands. For one brief second it illuminated Jonathan’s face beside him in warm gold before darkness settled softly back around them again.

The movie still murmured faintly through the open cabin door behind them. Nobody cared anymore. Steve took the first drag slowly, smoke curling warm through his lungs before he exhaled it into the cold between them. For a little while nobody spoke.
The woods breathed quietly around the cabin. Wind moved through the trees in long uneven waves while the porch swing creaked softly behind them.
Then Steve pointed vaguely toward Jonathan with the cigarette balanced between two fingers. “Your turn.”
Jonathan hummed like he was genuinely considering it.
Then he tilted his head slightly toward Steve, moonlight catching silver-blue along the loose strands of hair falling across his forehead.
“If I had a garden…” he begann.
Steve groaned immediately. Robin made a sound before Jonathan had even finished the sentence. He continued anyway, perfectly calm. “I’d put your tulips and my tulips together.”
Nancy collapsed sideways laughing. Robin slid halfway off the swing. Steve made a strangled noise somewhere between outrage and genuine suffering. “That is the worst thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Jonathan’s face had gone visibly pink again even in the low light, though he was trying very hard to look unaffected by his own joke. “You’re just mad because it worked.”
“It absolutely did not work.”
“You’re blushing again.” Jonathan pointed out.
“That,” Steve informed him firmly, “is secondhand embarrassment.”
Jonathan smiled slowly, visibly unconvinced. Then, before Steve fully understood what he was doing, Jonathan leaned toward him.

Close. Too close.

Steve’s thoughts scattered instantly as Jonathan leaned in and plucked the cigarette smoothly from between his lips with two fingers. The gesture should not have felt like that. But sitting shoulder-to-shoulder in the cold dark with Jonathan’s hand briefly brushing his mouth, it landed somewhere far beneath the level of a joke. Jonathan settled back beside him with the cigarette caught between his own lips now instead, taking a slow drag while still looking directly at Steve.

Then he winked. Small. Lazy. Completely unfair.

Somewhere behind them Robin made a muffled sound of emotional collapse while Nancy disappeared fully beneath the blanket, but Steve barely registered either of them. Smoke drifted pale from Jonathan’s mouth as he laughed quietly under his breath, embarrassment finally cracking through some of the confidence he’d been wearing all night.
“Okay,” he admitted, ducking his head slightly. “That one was accidentally smooth.”
“It absolutely was not,” Nancy said from somewhere beneath the blanket. Steve was still staring at Jonathan.

Because the problem now was that none of this felt entirely fake anymore. The pickup lines were objectively terrible. Every single one should have died on impact. Instead they kept landing somewhere strange between them, followed by lingering looks and laughter that lasted a little too long and moments where neither of them quite seemed to know how to step back out of it again.

And underneath all of that was something quieter that Steve could feel every time Jonathan leaned into his space without thinking. Every time their knees brushed on the porch steps. Every time Jonathan looked at him and then didn’t immediately look away again.

Steve pointed at him quickly before his brain could settle too deeply on any of that.
“Okay,” he said. “No. I’ve got one better. I can absolutely still win this.”
Jonathan leaned back slightly beside him, one arm draped loosely across his bent knee while he handed the cigarette back. “You’re treating this like an Olympic event.”
“I am winning this Olympic event.”
Jonathan smiled faintly. “Proceed, Harrington.”
Steve lasted maybe two seconds before he started laughing at his own line. “Okay. Are you made of Copper and Tellurium?”
Jonathan blinked slowly. “What?”
“Because you are CuTe.”

The porch went still. Not silent — the movie still murmured through the open cabin door behind them and wind still moved softly through the trees — but everyone stopped moving for one suspended second before Jonathan folded forward so abruptly he nearly dropped the cigarette into the yard.

Robin howled. Nancy collapsed sideways against the swing while Jonathan bent over his knees laughing helplessly into the sleeve of his jacket.
“Oh my god,” he groaned. “You did not come up with that yourself.”
Steve cracked immediately. “Okay, fine, Dustin gave me that one.”
Jonathan pointed at him blindly without lifting his head. “I knew it.”
“He was very proud of it!”
“That somehow makes it worse.” Jonathan shook his head.
Steve laughed hard enough his stomach started hurting, and beside him Jonathan was still folded halfway into himself, shoulders shaking while moonlight caught silver along the strands of hair falling loose across his forehead.

It hit Steve unexpectedly then, the familiar quiet warmth that always arrived during moments like this. Jonathan laughing openly. Unrestrained. Comfortable enough to let go of himself for a minute. Not many people got to see that version of him.
Steve looked away before the thought could settle too heavily.
Jonathan eventually lifted his head again, hair completely wrecked now from dragging his hands through it while laughing. His cheeks were flushed warm beneath the porch light and there was still a helpless smile caught around his mouth when he looked sideways at Steve again.
“Alright,” he said. “Last one.”
Steve snorted softly. “Oh, you’re giving up already?”
Jonathan ignored that entirely. The cigarette glowed briefly between his fingers before fading again as he leaned back beside Steve, one knee knocking lightly against Steve’s thigh.
“Are you a Rubik’s cube?”
Steve laughed immediately. “That cannot possibly go anywhere good.”
Something shifted slightly in Jonathan’s expression then. Not enough to lose the teasing. Just enough to soften it.
“Because,” he said quietly, voice settling low into the cold air between them, “I can’t solve you… but I kinda want to spend hours trying.”

The words landed differently than the others had.
Steve felt it before he fully understood why. Maybe it was the way Jonathan said it. Maybe it was the way he looked at him afterward, laughter still lingering faintly around his mouth while something quieter stayed underneath it. Whatever it was, Steve’s own smile faded slightly at the edges before he could stop it.

Jonathan seemed to noticed.

Steve saw it happen in real time — the flicker of realization crossing Jonathan’s face when he understood he’d struck something real.

For a moment neither of them moved. Then Jonathan looked away first.
Not sharply. Just enough to break whatever had formed between them as he pushed himself slowly to his feet, dragging one hand through his hair while pale breath curled into the cold night air.

Robin made the tiniest strangled sound from the swing before Nancy elbowed her into silence.
Jonathan wandered a few steps across the porch like he suddenly needed movement, cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers while moonlight traced silver along the line of his jaw. The warm light spilling from the open cabin behind them softened the edges of him when he leaned briefly against the railing, half-shadowed against the dark woods beyond.

Steve stayed where he was on the porch steps. But he turned automatically to follow Jonathan with his eyes, upper body twisting halfway toward him now, one arm draped loosely over his bent knee while he looked up at Jonathan leaning against the railing in the dark.

That wasn’t helping.

Not with the quiet stretching out between them like this. Not with Jonathan standing there half-shadowed beneath the porch light while smoke curled pale around him in the cold air. Steve needed to say something before the silence started meaning too much.So naturally his brain chose violence.“Wanna share your side of the bed tonight?”
Robin folded directly into Nancy beside him.
Jonathan closed his eyes briefly like the line caused him physical pain. Then he laughed anyway, soft and helpless, head tipping forward while his shoulders shook once beneath the jacket. Relief loosened something tight beneath Steve’s ribs. “There he is,” he said, grinning despite himself. “Thought I lost you for a second.”
Jonathan looked back over at him then, moonlight catching the smile still lingering faintly around his mouth. “You are genuinely impossible,” he informed him.
“And yet,” Steve said before he could stop himself, “you’re still out here talking to me.”

That earned another quiet laugh, lower this time. Jonathan leaned one shoulder more fully against the railing, cigarette balanced between his fingers while he studied Steve with an expression that stayed frustratingly difficult to read in the shifting light.
“Jesus Christ, Harrington,” he said. “We’re skipping straight to propositions now?”

Steve grinned immediately, too pleased with himself to even pretend otherwise. Sitting one step lower than Jonathan put him in the deeply unfair position of having to look up at him through drifting cigarette smoke while Jonathan stood there all flushed cheeks and soft shadows like some kind of terrible independent film Steve would absolutely make fun of Robin for liking. “You were practically asking for it.”

Jonathan barked out a disbelieving laugh. “I did not ask for emotional damage via whore behavior.”

Steve’s grin widened. “Didn’t say no to it either.”
Jonathan narrowed his eyes slowly like he was considering whether attempted murder counted as self-defense.

The problem was that Steve could still see the smile threatening around the edges of it. And maybe worse than that was how comfortable Jonathan looked out here now. Loose-limbed against the railing, stealing Steve’s cigarettes, flirting back instead of shutting down or disappearing into himself the second things got too close.

Steve felt warmth spread low and aching through his chest before he looked away from it. Jonathan shook his head once under his breath and took another drag from the cigarette. Then, perfectly calm, “What is a nice person like you doing in a dirty mind like mine?”
Steve made an outraged sound so dramatic it circled all the way back into laughter. “Oh, that’s terrible.”
“Thank you.” Jonathan said.
“No, like genuinely upsetting.” Steve laughed.
Somewhere behind them Robin muttered, “I can’t believe this is my life,” but Steve barely heard her anymore.

The porch had narrowed down to Jonathan standing three feet away from him in the dark.
“Okay,” Steve said. “Fine. Is your name Earl Grey?”
Jonathan groaned immediately. “No.”
“Because you look like a hot-tea.”
Jonathan tipped his head back against the porch post with a muffled sound of suffering.
“That one physically hurt me,” Nancy informed him weakly through laughter.

Steve was laughing too hard to defend himself properly. “No, listen—”
“No,” Jonathan interrupted immediately, dragging one hand down his face. “I refuse.”
“You’re weak.” Steve accused him.
Jonathan looked back at him through the loose strands of hair falling across his forehead, eyes narrowed in exhausted judgment before something there shifted slightly again. Amusement. Maybe something else underneath it. Then he held one hand out toward Steve.“Can you touch my hand?”
Steve blinked up at him. “What?”
Jonathan’s mouth twitched. “I want to tell my friends I’ve been touched by an angel.” Silence held for one full second. Then Steve clutched dramatically at his chest. “Oh my god,” he breathed. “That’s horrifying.”
“And yet,” Jonathan said smugly, still holding his hand out anyway. Steve looked at it. Then at Jonathan.

Robin was silently mouthing do it from the porch swing with terrifying intensity.
“This means nothing,” Steve informed all of them. “This is not a win.”Then he reached up and slapped his hand into Jonathan’s. Jonathan’s fingers closed automatically around his.

Warm. Callused. Lingering.

Steve felt the slight hitch in Jonathan’s breathing at the exact same moment Jonathan must have felt his own pause in return.

The porch swing creaked softly somewhere behind them.

Jonathan cleared his throat first and let go a little too quickly afterward, retreating into another drag from the cigarette before handing it back toward Steve. “Anyway,” he said, slightly too fast, “your turn.” Steve’s ears felt hot now in a way he chose not to examine too closely. He took the cigarette mostly to give himself something to do, lighting a fresh one off the fading ember while Jonathan watched the movement in silence. “Right,” Steve muttered. “Okay. Uh—” Then inspiration hit. “Are your parents bakers?”
Jonathan closed his eyes immediately. “Please no.” “Because you’re a cutie pie.” Jonathan actually slid halfway down the porch railing in visible despair. Robin lost whatever composure she still had left. “HE SAID CUTIE PIE WITH HIS WHOLE CHEST.”

Steve couldn’t stop laughing. The cigarette shook slightly between his fingers every time he tried to recover enough to breathe properly while Jonathan leaned beside him against the railing, close enough now that Steve could feel warmth rolling off him whenever the wind shifted wrong. None of this was helping. Mostly because Jonathan was trying very hard to look unimpressed and failing at it completely.

Moonlight caught softly along the edge of his face while he shook his head beneath the mess of dark blond hair falling loose across his forehead. “Alright,” he said finally, straightening slightly from the railing. “No mercy anymore.” Steve snorted. “You think I’m scared?”

Jonathan leaned forward just enough to pull Steve’s attention toward him completely.
“Aside from being drop-dead gorgeous,” he asked casually, “what do you do for a living?”

Steve froze for half a heartbeat. Not because the line itself was good. It absolutely was not. But Jonathan said gorgeous like it slipped out before he could stop it. Like maybe he’d forgotten for a second that this was supposed to stay ridiculous. Jonathan seemed to realize it immediately afterward too, because Steve watched the exact moment something flickered across his face. Steve reacted on instinct before the silence could settle around it.

“Nope,” he said at once, pointing accusingly upward at him. “Absolutely not. You do not get to sneak actual compliments into the cringe war.”
Jonathan’s smile widened despite the color already climbing back into his cheeks. “Sounds like someone’s losing.”
“Oh, absolutely not.” Steve leaned forward too now, forearms braced loosely against his knees while he looked up at Jonathan standing over him beneath the porch light, cigarette glowing warm between his fingers before fading back into darkness again. “Do you like Star Wars?”
Jonathan’s expression collapsed instantly into regret. “Oh no.”
“Cause Yoda only one for me.”
Robin made a sound so high-pitched it barely qualified as human.
Jonathan dropped his head briefly into one hand, laughing despite himself. “You sound like a twelve year old”
“You’re just jealous of my range.”
“My god.”
Steve pointed triumphantly at him with the cigarette. “That one got you.”

Jonathan looked back at him then, still laughing quietly under his breath, and the thing Steve kept noticing all night happened again. The way Jonathan changed when he laughed like this. Not dramatically. Just enough for the guard to slip loose around the edges without him seeming to realize it. Steve felt the warmth of it settle low beneath his ribs before he could stop himself from staring. Jonathan must have caught something on his face, because his laughter softened slightly around his mouth. For one suspended second neither of them looked away. Then Jonathan dragged one hand down his face, trying and failing to recover enough dignity to continue. “Unfortunately,” he admitted, voice roughened by laughter, “yes.”

The porch had gone quieter somewhere along the way. The movie still murmured faintly through the open cabin door behind them, all distant soundtrack swells and muffled dialogue, but it had faded into the background beneath the steady pull of the conversation. Even Robin and Nancy had stopped interrupting much. Steve could still feel them there beneath the blanket on the porch swing, watching with the exhausted fascination of people realizing something had shifted without quite knowing when it happened.

Every joke landed a little too close now. Every pause stretched longer than it should have.

Steve hated how aware he’d become of Jonathan’s mouth whenever he laughed. The curve of it. The way he pressed his lips together afterward like he was trying not to smile too openly. The way his hair kept falling loose across his forehead every time he ducked his head down laughing. He kept wanting to reach over and push it back.
“Okay,” Jonathan said eventually. “I’m ending this.”
Steve took another drag from his cigarette mostly because his hands needed somewhere to go. “You’ve said that like six times already.”
“This time I mean it.” Jonathan claimed.
He shifted away from the railing just enough to turn more fully toward Steve. Moonlight caught pale along the edge of his face. “Kiss me if I’m wrong,” he said.
Steve’s brain stopped completely. For one catastrophic second there was nothing in his head except the shape of the sentence and Jonathan looking directly at him while he said it.
Then—
“But dinosaurs still exist, right?”
The joke caught up half a second later.
Steve folded forward laughing, smoke breaking unevenly from his mouth into the cold air while relief tangled painfully with something else beneath his ribs. “That’s so stupid,” he managed.
Jonathan was already smiling again, softer around the edges now, like he knew exactly what he’d done to Steve for that one terrible suspended second before finishing the line.
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“Oh my god.” Steve shook with laughter
“You didn’t answer.” Jonathan didn't back down
Steve shook his head helplessly, still grinning despite the fact that his pulse had not remotely recovered yet. “No,” he said. “Dinosaurs do not still exist.”
Jonathan shrugged lightly. “Damn.”
The cigarette ember glowed briefly between his fingers before fading again.“Guess you gotta kiss me now.”

The world narrowed after that.

Robin made some kind of strangled sound from the swing, but Steve barely heard it. Jonathan was still standing there looking down at him beneath the porch light, amusement lingering around his mouth while something quieter sat underneath it now too. Steve could feel his heartbeat stumbling over itself. So naturally he did the only thing he ever seemed capable of doing once emotions became unbearable.

He escalated.

“Your outfit,” he said quickly, gesturing vaguely toward Jonathan’s flannel with the cigarette still trapped between his fingers, “would look really good on my bedroom floor.”

Silence dropped over the porch. Jonathan blinked once. Then twice. And for the first time all night Steve actually managed to shut him up completely. Not performatively either. Steve saw the exact second the line landed for real, the way surprise cracked briefly across Jonathan’s face before embarrassment and laughter hit all at once afterward.
“Wow,” he said, almost breathless. “Wow, okay.”
Steve grinned helplessly up at him, pulse still running too fast beneath his skin. “What?”
“We’re doing horny ones now?”
“You afraid?” Steve asked in return.
Jonathan leaned back slowly against the railing again, eyes narrowing with dangerous amusement while the smile lingered stubbornly around his mouth.
“Steve.”
Something about the way he said his name made Steve sit up straighter automatically.Jonathan’s smile deepened slightly.
“I may not be Fred Flintstone…”
Steve was already laughing under his breath. “Oh no.”
“But I bet,” Jonathan continued calmly, holding his gaze the entire time now, “I can make your bed rock.”
Steve completely lost it. Laughter hit him hard enough he nearly dropped the cigarette as he bent forward on the porch steps, shoulders shaking helplessly while Jonathan broke apart laughing right after him, one hand covering his eyes beneath the mess of hair falling loose across his forehead. They got stuck there for a while after that somewhere between humiliation and hysterics.

Steve laughed until his face hurt. Jonathan leaned against the railing still laughing too, cold air fogging around both of them in uneven breaths while the woods moved softly beyond the porch light. Behind them the porch swing creaked. Then Robin stood abruptly. “I need a drink.”
“Strongly agreed,” Nancy muttered, already getting to her feet beside her.
Neither Steve nor Jonathan paid much attention beyond the cabin door opening wider and warm light spilling briefly brighter across the porch before fading again once they disappeared inside.

The woods settled quietly around them afterward. Steve was still smiling when he finally looked back up. Jonathan was already looking at him. That kept happening too. The laughter eased gradually between them, but something underneath it stayed warm and taut beneath Steve’s skin. Jonathan leaned beside him against the railing now like he belonged there, loose with exhaustion and alcohol and the kind of ease Steve still wasn’t fully used to seeing from him. It should have made this feel less dangerous. Instead it did the opposite.

The cabin door opened again a few minutes later. Robin stepped back outside balancing two beers awkwardly in one hand while Nancy followed behind her wrapped deeper into the blanket against the cold. Both of them stopped immediately in the doorway. Steve and Jonathan were still exactly where they’d left them. Steve twisted halfway around on the porch steps. Jonathan leaning beside him against the railing. Both of them still looking at each other like the conversation had never really paused. Robin sighed deeply. “You two have the sexual tension of divorced parents at a PTA meeting.”
Steve pointed at her instantly. “We are not—”
“Oh my god,” Robin interrupted, holding up both hands. “Do not even start. I just listened to Jonathan tell you he could make your bed rock.”
Jonathan groaned and dropped his forehead briefly into his palm. “You thought you left.”
“I tried.” Robin handed Nancy one of the beers. “But apparently the universe needed witnesses.”
Steve leaned back against the porch step with exaggerated offense. “This is a competition.”
“Mhm.” was the only answer. “It is.” Steve stated again. Robin looked directly at Jonathan instead. Jonathan opened his mouth automatically.

Paused.

Then he laughed softly under his breath and looked away, pushing himself off the railing just enough to crouch beside the steps where the abandoned beer bottles sat near Steve. The movement pulled Steve’s attention after him immediately. Jonathan grabbed one of the bottles loosely by the neck and flicked Steve’s lighter beneath the cap with practiced ease. Steve watched longer than he probably should have. The easy way Jonathan moved around him now. The way he stayed close without seeming to think about it anymore. The looseness in his shoulders that had settled there over the course of the night until he looked almost comfortable sitting out here beside Steve beneath the porch light.

Comfortable with him.

Something small and dangerous stirred in Steve’s chest before he shoved it back down again. Because this was still all a joke.
Right?
Just terrible pickup lines and too much beer and surviving the apocalypse together badly enough that maybe all of them had forgotten how normal people acted afterward.

That had to be all this was.

Jonathan finally got the bottle open with a soft metallic snap and glanced back toward Steve automatically, smiling faintly like he’d caught him staring again. Steve’s heartbeat stumbled anyway. Jonathan stayed beside the porch steps afterward instead of moving away, one shoulder resting loosely against the railing while he took a slow sip from the bottle. Steve could feel him there even without looking directly at him anymore. The warmth of him close behind his shoulder. The quiet scrape of glass against old wood. The subtle shift every time Jonathan adjusted his weight.

The porch had gone quieter again. Not silent. Just narrowed somehow. Robin and Nancy lingered near the open cabin doorway beneath the blanket, talking softly between themselves while the television murmured faintly inside behind them. Neither of them interrupted anymore. They just watched with the exhausted fascination of people seeing something unfold exactly the way they’d apparently expected it to.

Steve tried not to think about that. He took another drag from his cigarette instead. It didn’t help.

Jonathan looked down at him then, and something in the space between them shifted almost imperceptibly. Nothing sharp enough to break the warmth lingering beneath the conversation, but enough that Steve suddenly became hyperaware of the fact that Jonathan was standing directly behind him now, leaning slightly forward against the railing while he looked down at Steve from above. Amusement still lingered around Jonathan’s mouth, quieter now. Softer.

From somewhere near the doorway Robin whispered a distressed, “Oh no.”
Jonathan didn’t look away from Steve. “You know,” he said quietly, “for someone who talks this much, you get distracted really easily.”
Heat climbed immediately up Steve’s neck. He laughed under his breath, though it came out rougher than intended. “Maybe you’re distracting.”
Jonathan’s smile shifted slightly at that. Smaller than before somehow, but harder to recover from.

Steve’s pulse kicked unevenly against his ribs hard enough that he had to move before the silence swallowed him whole. He leaned back slightly against the porch step and reached for the beer bottle still hanging loose in Jonathan’s hand behind his shoulder.
“There must be something wrong with my eyes,” he said, voice lower now without meaning to.
Jonathan let him take the bottle without resistance. Steve could feel Jonathan watching him the entire time.
“I can’t take them off you.” He lifted the bottle before he could think too hard about what he’d just said, taking a sip from the exact spot Jonathan had touched while holding eye contact anyway.

Behind them Robin grabbed Nancy’s arm hard enough to wrinkle the blanket.
“Oh,” Nancy whispered softly. “This is bad.”
Jonathan’s gaze flicked briefly toward Steve’s mouth before lifting again. The look on his face afterward sent something low and dangerous twisting through Steve’s stomach.

“That one,” Jonathan said quietly, “almost sounded genuine.”
Steve’s heartbeat skipped once. This would be the smart place to laugh it off. Throw another joke between them before the conversation drifted somewhere harder to survive.
Instead Steve heard himself say, “That’s because it is.”

The porch went still. Jonathan blinked once.
Then he tilted his head slightly, eyes warm and intent in a way Steve had absolutely no defense against anymore.
“Do you believe in love at first sight,” Jonathan asked softly, “or should I walk past you again?”
Steve laughed automatically, but the sound caught somewhere halfway out of him. Because Jonathan was still looking at him like that. And suddenly Steve couldn’t quite tell anymore where the joke ended.
“I can’t believe,” Nancy murmured somewhere behind them, “I used to think both of them were subtle.”
Steve barely heard her. Jonathan was standing close enough now that Steve could feel the warmth of him even through the cold drifting across the porch. One hand still hung loosely on his side where he had earlier had hold the beer bottle while the other rested against the railing beside Steve’s shoulder, near enough that if Steve leaned back even slightly he’d brush against him. That thought did absolutely nothing helpful to Steve’s nervous system.

Jonathan kept doing this. Saying things in that low quiet voice and then looking at Steve afterward like he was waiting to see what happened next. Like there was another conversation moving underneath all the terrible pickup lines and laughter, one Steve could almost reach if he leaned just a little closer. And maybe the worst part was how badly he wanted to believe it. So naturally Steve panicked.
“Hey,” he said quickly. “Tie your shoes.”
Jonathan’s mouth twitched immediately. “Why?”
“I don’t want you falling for anyone else.”
The line came out softer than Steve intended. Jonathan smiled then. Not embarrassed. Not laughing. Just smiling at him openly in a way that landed somewhere deep in Steve’s chest all at once.

The porch suddenly felt too small. Jonathan shifted slightly beside him, dragging his knuckles briefly against his mouth like he was trying and failing to hide the smile still pulling there. Moonlight caught pale across the flush spreading visibly through his cheeks. And Steve saw it. Jonathan Byers was blushing because of him. Something reckless sparked immediately beneath Steve’s ribs. He handed the beer bottle back and twisted around on the porch step to look up at him properly, unable to stop grinning now even if he wanted to.

“Oh,” he said softly. “Oh wow. Okay. So we’re flustered now.”
Jonathan pointed weakly at him with the bottle, already laughing under his breath again. “Don’t—”
“No, no, hold on.” Steve leaned forward before he could stop himself, adrenaline and warmth crashing together beneath his skin. “I’ve got one more.”
Jonathan narrowed his eyes immediately. “Steve.”
Steve ignored him completely.
“I may not be a photographer like you—” “Steve.”
“But I can totally picture us together.”

Jonathan froze. Steve felt the hit land in real time. All the teasing confidence Jonathan had been carrying through the last half hour dissolved so quickly it nearly stole the air from Steve’s lungs watching it happen. Jonathan’s mouth parted slightly like he meant to answer, but nothing came out. The flush already lingering across his face deepened instantly beneath the moonlight while he just stood there looking at Steve like the line had caught him completely off guard.

From the doorway Robin made the tiniest strangled sound. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “Direct hit.”
Jonathan still hadn’t recovered. Steve felt something dizzying bloom warm and dangerous through his chest at the realization that he’d actually managed to do that to him. That Jonathan Byers looked genuinely wrecked over a stupid pickup line about photography because Steve had said it.
“Wait,” Steve said immediately, reckless now from the way Jonathan was still staring at him. “No, I have another one.”
“You absolutely don’t,” Jonathan managed finally, voice rougher than before.
Steve tugged lightly at the front of his shirt anyway. “Go ahead.”
Jonathan’s eyes flicked downward automatically.
Steve caught the movement instantly. The quick involuntary glance before Jonathan dragged his gaze back up again a second too late to hide it.
“Feel this,” Steve said softly. “It’s made of boyfriend material.”

The silence afterward settled heavy and warm around all of them.

The woods beyond the porch shifted quietly in the wind while forgotten television dialogue drifted through the open cabin door behind them. Robin had gone completely silent now. Nancy too. Neither of them interrupted anymore. Steve could still feel Jonathan looking at him. And suddenly the whole thing hung somewhere dangerous between joke and confession, neither of them quite brave enough to ask which one it actually was.

Nancy slid slowly down the doorframe afterward until she ended up sitting on the floor beside Robin like her knees had simply stopped functioning somewhere in the middle of that last line.

Jonathan was still staring at Steve. Not laughing this time. Just visibly trying to process the fact that Steve Harrington had apparently become a tactical threat once properly motivated. Steve’s panic responded the only way it knew how.
“You’re blushing so hard right now,” he said before he could stop himself, delighted and wrecked by it in equal measure.

Jonathan groaned softly. “Shut up.”
“That’s not even a denial.”
Jonathan laughed once under his breath then, quiet and helpless, shaking his head slightly like he genuinely didn’t know what to do with this version of Steve. The beer bottle hung loose between his fingers while moonlight caught pale across the flush still spread openly over his face.

But when Jonathan looked back at him again, something in his expression had changed. Warmth sat there now completely uncovered. Not teasing. Not guarded. Just fondness.

Open enough that it hit Steve somewhere deep and catastrophic all over again.
“You’re ridiculous,” Jonathan said softly.
Steve smiled before he even realized he was doing it. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Still working, though.” Steve sounded almost proud.

That pulled another laugh out of Jonathan immediately, quieter this time. Softer. His gaze dipped briefly toward the beer bottle in his hand before lifting it again slower than before, eyes lingering on Steve in a way that made the cold night air suddenly feel thin.

Robin and Nancy sat only a few feet away near the cabin door, but they felt impossibly distant now beneath the quiet pull steadily tightening between Steve and Jonathan. Neither of them had leaned back again. If anything they kept drifting closer without noticing it.

Steve still sat twisted halfway around on the porch step beneath him while Jonathan still leaned against the railing beside his shoulder. Steve could feel the warmth rolling off him every time the wind shifted through the clearing.

The distance between them felt microscopic. Then Jonathan said quietly, “I want our love to be like the number Pi.”
Steve blinked up at him. “What?”
Jonathan smiled slightly. And somehow that was worse than the teasing had been. Because the smile softened instead of sharpened. Because suddenly it didn’t feel like he was joking anymore.
“Irrational,” Jonathan said softly, holding Steve’s gaze the entire time, “and never-ending.”

Steve stilled completely.

The line landed somewhere deep enough to hurt.

Because unlike all the others, this one didn’t sound corny when Jonathan said it. It sounded real.

The woods beyond the porch moved softly in the wind while the television murmured forgotten dialogue through the open cabin behind them. Somewhere nearby a bottle shifted faintly against old wood as Jonathan’s grip tightened unconsciously around it.

Nobody moved.

Robin made the tiniest sound from the doorway like she was witnessing a slow-motion disaster unfolding in real time.

But Steve barely heard her.

For the first time all night his brain simply stopped.

No comeback. No joke. Nothing.

He just stared up at Jonathan beneath the moonlight with that unbearably soft look still lingering across his face and felt something inside him come loose all at once. Steve still hadn’t recovered from the Pi line. He didn’t think he could. Something about it had slipped clean through the layer of jokes and terrible pickup lines and landed somewhere too real before he’d managed to defend against it. The problem was that Jonathan had said it so quietly. So softly. Looking directly at him the entire time like maybe he hadn’t realized how honest it sounded until it was already too late to take back.

Or maybe he had. Steve genuinely couldn’t tell anymore.

That was the worst part. Every look felt loaded now. Every pause after one of the lines landed. Steve kept thinking he caught something real underneath it all and then immediately pulling back from the thought before it could become dangerous. The alternative felt impossible to survive hoping for. So Steve just sat there on the porch step with his heartbeat trying to punch through his ribs while Jonathan stood above him beneath the moonlight looking unbearably soft around the edges.

“Why,” Steve heard himself ask quietly, voice slightly unsteady now, “are you looking at me like that?”

Jonathan smiled. And something in Steve’s stomach dropped instantly. Not because the smile was teasing. Because it wasn’t. Jonathan looked almost nervous suddenly. Flushed bright red all the way to the ears now, color disappearing beneath the collar of his flannel while something unreadable crossed his face too quickly for Steve to catch properly before it vanished again.

Then Jonathan pushed away from the railing. Steve’s pulse spiked immediately. Jonathan started down the porch steps toward him slowly, one hand dragging briefly along the railing beside him like he needed the contact for balance.
“Jonathan,” Steve said quickly. The nervous laugh that escaped him sounded breathless even to his own ears.

Because what the hell was happening? What the hell was Jonathan doing? Why did Steve suddenly want him closer so badly it physically hurt?

Jonathan kept moving anyway. Steve reacted entirely on instinct now. One hand tightened against the edge of the porch step beside him while the other shifted automatically to make room before his brain had even caught up enough to understand why he was doing it.

Steve caught the flicker of surprise that crossed Jonathan’s face before it softened into something warmer. Then Jonathan reached him. There was only the briefest hesitation before Jonathan dropped sideways into Steve’s lap in one smooth movement, shoulder knocking lightly against Steve’s chest as he settled there across him.

Steve made a tiny broken sound that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Every coherent thought in his head vanished instantly.

Jonathan was in his lap. Warm and solid and real.

Steve could feel the weight of him against his thighs, the heat of his body through layers of denim and flannel, the violent uneven rhythm of his own pulse detonating through his nervous system while Jonathan laughed softly under his breath, still flushed red enough that even the weak porch light couldn’t hide it. But he wasn’t pulling away.

That was the part Steve couldn’t process.

Jonathan wasn’t pulling away.

Steve’s hands landed automatically at Jonathan’s sides just to steady him, fingers curling instinctively into the fabric of his flannel before he even realized he was touching him.

Warm.

Jesus Christ.

Jonathan looked up at him from impossibly close range and the rest of the world blurred at the edges. The woods around the cabin dissolved into background noise. Wind through trees. Faint television dialogue drifting from inside. Robin and Nancy somewhere near the doorway no longer feeling entirely real either.

There was only Jonathan looking at him like this. Still flushed. Still close. One of Jonathan’s hands lifted slowly until his fingers brushed lightly against Steve’s shoulder, catching briefly in the fabric of his shirt.
“Yeah,” Jonathan murmured, voice softer now. “Okay.”
Steve couldn’t think.
“You were right.” Jonathan whispered. A tiny helpless sound escaped Steve before he could stop it.

Jonathan smiled then, small and nervous and devastatingly fond all at once as his fingers tightened briefly against Steve’s shirt. “Feels really like boyfriend material.”

The silence afterward felt enormous.

Steve just stared at him completely wrecked, heart somewhere between breaking apart and launching itself directly out of his chest because Jonathan was still sitting there in his lap and Steve still genuinely couldn’t tell if this was a joke that had spiraled too far or something else entirely.
Robin’s whispered, horrified “holy shit” cut through the night hard enough to drag Steve partially back into his own body again.

Partially. Not fully.

Because Jonathan was still there. Still close enough that Steve could feel the warmth of his breath every time either of them moved. Still close enough that Steve could see the flush spread deep beneath his skin beneath the weak porch light, could see the tiny uneven hitch in Jonathan’s breathing, the nervous softness lingering around his mouth after the boyfriend material line like maybe he couldn’t quite believe he’d said it either.

Steve’s thoughts felt molten and useless.

Boyfriend material.

Jonathan had just—

“Jesus Christ,” Steve muttered under his breath, voice rough enough that he barely recognized it.
His hands tightened instinctively at Jonathan’s waist before he could stop himself.
Not rough. Just enough pressure that Jonathan sucked in the smallest breath against him.

Steve felt it immediately. The warmth of Jonathan beneath his hands. The shift of muscle under flannel. The way Jonathan went still for one suspended second afterward. Steve’s fingers trembled visibly where they rested against Jonathan’s sides. But Jonathan still wasn’t pulling away. That fact kept landing over and over again in waves strong enough to knock the breath out of him.

Jonathan wasn’t moving.

If anything—

Jonathan shifted closer.

Only slightly, but Steve felt every inch of it.

The movement stole the air straight from his lungs as Jonathan turned more fully toward him, one arm sliding loosely around Steve’s shoulder and then the other until he was half-curled against him now, warm and close and suddenly near enough that Steve could kiss him with barely any movement at all. Somewhere behind them Nancy made a muffled sound. Robin seemed moments away from requiring medical intervention.

Steve couldn’t look away from Jonathan long enough to care. Jonathan lifted one eyebrow slowly then, still blushing impossibly hard, smile crooked and soft around the edges in that way that always seemed to bypass every remaining survival instinct Steve possessed.
“You know,” Jonathan said quietly.
Steve swallowed hard enough it hurt.
“Your chances would improve,” Jonathan murmured, eyes flicking briefly toward Steve’s mouth before lifting again, “if you stopped using pickup lines and just asked me out.”

Everything inside Steve stopped. Just complete blackout.Because suddenly all the noise in his head vanished beneath one impossible realization:

Jonathan wasn’t joking anymore.

Maybe he never had been.

Jonathan was still looking at him. Still waiting. Still close enough that Steve could feel his heartbeat where their chests brushed together. Steve stared at him for one heartbeat longer. Then something inside him finally gave way completely. His hands tightened once more at Jonathan’s waist, careful despite the shaking still running through them, and Steve moved before he could think himself out of it.

Slowly. Carefully.

Like he was giving Jonathan every possible chance to stop him if this had all somehow been a misunderstanding after all. Jonathan didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned in first.

Their foreheads brushed softly together for one dizzy suspended second before Steve finally closed the distance between them. The kiss landed careful and a little breathless around the edges from laughing too hard and flirting too long and wanting this for so many years Steve had stopped letting himself imagine it could ever actually happen. Jonathan made the softest surprised sound against his mouth before one hand slid instinctively into the back of Steve’s hair, fingers curling there as the kiss settled properly between them.

Behind them Robin shouted, “FINALLY,” loud enough to echo into the woods while Nancy groaned something that sounded suspiciously like, “I’m never surviving this friend group.”

Steve barely heard either of them. Because Jonathan was kissing him back. Steve still couldn’t quite believe he was allowed this.

The kiss softened slowly after that, neither of them really pulling away so much as drifting apart just enough to breathe. Jonathan stayed curled against him, warm and solid in Steve’s lap, one hand still tangled loosely in the back of Steve’s hair while their foreheads rested together beneath the weak porch light. Steve could still feel Jonathan smiling faintly against his mouth every time either of them tried and failed not to laugh. For a long moment neither of them said anything.

The woods moved softly around the cabin. Somewhere inside, the movie they’d abandoned hours ago was still playing to an empty room, voices and music drifting faintly through the open door in broken pieces. Steve looked at Jonathan and felt another wave of disbelief crash through him all over again.

Jonathan looked back immediately, softer now than Steve had maybe ever seen him. Then Jonathan’s fingers tightened slightly where they rested against Steve’s neck and he murmured quietly, lips still brushing Steve’s when he spoke.

“Still think the shirt line was stupid.”
Steve laughed softly under his breath, the sound breaking helplessly between them. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“But,” Jonathan added after a second, visibly fighting another smile now, “ I hate to admit it, it worked.”
Steve’s heart nearly gave out on the spot.

Jonathan kissed him once more before Steve could recover from that, slow and warm and impossibly gentle, and somewhere through the dizziness of it Steve suddenly remembered the beginning of the night again — the terrible movie playing in Hopper’s cabin, Robin laughing herself breathless at the love triangle on screen, Nancy insisting Nicolas Cage reminded her of Jonathan, all of them pretending this was still simple somehow. Steve had spent the entire evening thinking they were dancing around something impossible. Now Jonathan was in his lap kissing him beneath the porch light like he’d been trying to get here too. And for the first time in all those months, Steve stopped trying to convince himself he’d imagined it.