Archive of Our Own ^beta

Her hand on the banister, her mind elsewhere, Nancy stood on the landing looking down the steps at the front door. She could hear the Byers boys outside talking, the soft noise of Will’s laughter, the answering music from Jonathan’s mix tape being pushed into the casette player. They drove off into the night, as they usually did when Will stayed past daylight hours on a campaign, but something was off. Nancy couldn’t place it, and so she stayed there, frozen, thinking.

“Way to be in the way,” her brother said, motioning past her with a slight smile. She moved, her eyes still trained on the door.

She felt Mike watching, aware that something wasn’t right but not sure how to ask. She blinked and forced a smile.

“You alright?” he asked, his tone sarcastic as if he was trying to make it sound like he didn’t care. Nancy held back an eye-roll.

“Do you ever just feel weird?” she asked instead of replying. Mike narrowed his eyes.

“Weird how?”

“Like…” it was hard to describe. Nancy sighed, motioning helplessly in front of herself with her hands. “I feel like I’m forgetting something.”

“You probably wrote it down and left the note someplace,” Mike said, shrugging. He stomped up the stairs to his room, calling down after her, “Tell mom goodnight for me!”

“Tell her yourself,” Nancy replied, turning to look at her brother as he opened the door to his room.

“Ugh. Do you know where she is?”

“Probably the kitchen,” Nancy answered, furrowing her brow.

“No,” Mike said. “Dad’s asleep on the recliner, but she wasn’t in the kitchen.”

There was a moment of sharp panic between them, like static; the events of winter were still fresh, still present, just like the lights their father hadn’t gotten around to taking down from outside. Mike took the stairs two at a time, pushing past Nancy as they both began to search the house.

Nancy took the kitchen to double-check, and Mike walked through the living room and checked the basement. Nothing on the counter, nothing at the sink, but there was something hanging taped onto the stove where the low-wattage bulb burned, a night-light of sorts. Nancy let out a long sigh of relief, taking the note in her mom’s handwriting and pulling it off the stove light.

“Mike,” she called softly, considering her father was still snoring in front of the television. Her brother popped up from the basement steps, worry written on his face. Nancy smirked and held up the note their mother had left. “She’s fine. She went to the store. Said she forgot to get…” breakfast food was written, but the word didn’t come. They went through waffles more frequently nowadays. Instead, she finished lamely, “stuff.”

“Oh.” Mike seemed to deflate, the anxiety leaving his gangly body just a mass of jointed limbs. He looked up at Nancy, a trace of hopefulness at the edge of his voice. “Maybe that’s what was bothering you. You felt that Mom wasn’t around, felt like you were forgetting something.”

“Yeah,” Nancy gave a small smile, wanting him to feel reassured. She resisted looking towards the door, pushed down the lyrics of The Clash that popped up without her permission. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.”

Index cards in hand, Nancy moved through the hallways, muttering to herself. She had always done this as part of a pair, had always had Barb beside her to double check. Steve had offered to help, as he always did, but it felt… wrong. Again, she couldn’t pinpoint it, but something was just wrong in general. Five basic types of conflict… She muttered the list to herself, then turned it over. She’d missed one.

Unnerved, she put her flashcards away and turned right to get into the English classroom. She extracted her notebook and binder with care, bringing out her pencil case with slow precision. If she looked down and concentrated, she wouldn’t have to look up at--

“Hey,” Steve said quietly, patting the corner of her desk. She glanced up with a smile, one she knew he’d see through.

“Hey,” she answered. He nodded, like he’d expected nothing less, and she quelled a nauseous annoyance with him. It wasn’t fair to him, he’d done nothing but try to make things right. She opened her mouth to apologize, but shut it again. He couldn’t know what she was thinking. Best to keep it to herself.

“Class is about to start but,” he pointed at the corner of the desk as he walked back to his, and Nancy saw that there was a note there. She opened it underneath of her textbook, not sure what she expected to see. The bell rang and she swallowed hard.

Come over tonight?

She put the note away, not sure how to reply. Glancing up, she saw a tall shadow pass by the door outside. Blinking hard, Nancy struggled to process if she’d seen what she thought she’d seen. If there was really something faceless out there, the lights would flicker. She would feel it, she was sure of it. Nancy forced herself to breathe slower and to look back up.

Nothing was in the glass pane of the door now, nothing but lockers reflecting the dim but steady lighting from above. Instead of dwelling on the impending feeling of unrest in her legs, she made herself stand and get in line to sharpen her pencil at the front before the test began.

That night, after staying after school to halfheartedly chat about prom plans, Nancy got home feeling wearier than ever before. She’d had to tell Steve no thank you, had to endure the kiss on her forehead that she didn’t feel like she deserved, and then had walked home just to force herself to move. She was almost positive that she’d bombed her test, her mind unfocused and rattled by an unexplained force, and once again she had forgotten a form of conflict: man versus fate. She walked into her house defeated, hung her coat in the hallway, and was immediately hit with vanilla essence clinging to the air, along with an innocuous question.

“How was your day?” her mother called, and even though Nancy knew she meant well a shiver of frustration pulsed through her. She swallowed it down.

“It was okay,” she lied, making an effort to talk. If only her family had talked more, so much could have been avoided. She needed to make an effort to try. “I think I might have messed up my lit test.”

“Really? How come?”

“I studied the section on poetry harder than the section on the novel we finished,” she answered, more naturally now. Holly was sitting in her high chair, gazing back and forth between her mother and older sister. Nancy smiled, walked into the kitchen, and sat down at the table beside Holly, putting her bookbag on the chair at her left.

It wasn’t a lie she’d told, the misplaced studying she’d done had been one reason she had tanked today. She sighed, turning back to her mom, and added, “Otherwise, it wasn’t bad. I’ve been talking a bit to Nicole and Heather, they seem nice. Sat with them at lunch, they’re part of the prom planning comittee so that was cool to hear about.”

“That’s good,” her mother looked up from the hot cookies she was setting out on the cooling rack. “Not about the test, but about the girls.” They sat in amicable silence, her mother bringing over a plate of cooled cookies and setting it in front of Nancy. Holly reached for one, a please on the edge of her lips, but Karen put the cookie in her hand before she could articulate anything. Wiping her hands on her apron, she asked matter-of-factly, “Got math homework?”

“Just a little.” Nancy suspected the dip in homework was a kind of grieving allowance for the students, like the teachers were acknowledging in more ways than one that they weren’t going to focus on their subjects at home. She sighed, opening her workbook to the five problems she was required to finish before tomorrow. “It won’t take long.”

“Good. Once you finish up, I’d like for you to take the car and bring some cookies over to the Byers’ place.”

Nancy glanced up, confused, then forced her gaze back at the math problem before her. The numbers swam together.

“Want me to bring Mike over with me?”

“No, I think he and the boys are actually meeting at Dustin’s place after school. Something about some comic or whatever,” her mother swiped her hand through the air, unconcerned.

“So, do you and Holly want to come with me?” Nancy asked. “To say hi to Joyce?”

“Oh I can’t sweetheart, Holly hasn’t been feeling well.” Nancy glanced at her toddler sister, who turned to her with pigtails bouncing. She seemed unaware that she was sick, and took a delicate bite of her cookie. Nancy turned back to her mom. “So that’s why I’m having you go on ahead,” Karen said, her voice a bit too sweet.

Nancy raised an eyebrow, but didn’t argue. She was pretty sure her mom knew that she knew. Nancy took a cookie, keeping her head down as her mother came over and kissed the top of her head. She tried to focus more on the math problems and less on how her mother was beginning to put the nicest cookies into a tupperware.

The wall was fixed more precisely now, Nancy noticed. The last time she’d been over had been to drop Mike off when it had still been boarded up rather messily, and she’d just stood on the stoop looking in. Had they filled the holes left behind from the staples? Surely they’d at least thumbed toothpaste into the holes in the drywall that Joyce had used to string up the Christmas lights? Had they scrubbed the burnt char from the carpet on the way back to Will’s room? Would she still find her blood in the sink?

Nancy hesitated, telling herself that she wouldn’t go in if Joyce invited her. She’d say she had more homework to do. She avoided looking at the patched-up portion of siding the same way she avoided going to Steve’s backyard, avoided looking at the pool there.

Walking up through the snow, the one street-light outside casting a clean glow on the white surface, Nancy rung to doorbell before her nerve could fail her. She would give the cookies, get the car, go home. She exhaled a puff of white smoke, steeling her nerves.

“Just a second,” Jonathan called from inside. The relaxation at the sound of his voice was immediate, the anxiety of what she would say to Will’s mother vanishing into thin air.

“Take your time,” she called, and wondered if Jonathan was shocked to hear her from the other side of the door. There was a long pause, during which Nancy wished she’d brought her thicker scarf, and then the door opened between them.

“Hey,” Jonathan breathed. He glanced her over quickly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Nancy shrugged, smiling despite herself. Of course he’d worry about her; it wasn’t like her to show up here, especially not unannounced. She bit her lip. “Yeah, everything’s fine. In fact,” she held out the box, gently pressing it into his stomach.

“More presents? I can’t,” Jonathan said quietly, and Nancy could tell he was half-joking. She felt her smile falter a bit, something wistful taking its place.

“It’s nothing, really.” She forced her eyebrows into a more teasing expression. “My mom baked all these cookies, and I think she realized that logistically she couldn’t feed her own family that much sugar. So she sent these over to share.”

“Oh. Well. That’s sweet,” Jonathan said, his eyes narrowing in a smile just slightly at the pun he’d made. He reached for the box, the tips of their fingers touching. Neither of them pulled away. Their cuts where only a few inches from each other, healed over. Had Jonathan used any ointment to make the scar heal faster, like she had?

She pulled her fingers back to her side, too warm, and Jonathan stepped backward into the foyer.

“Would you like to come in?”

“Sure.” It was automatic, only hitting her after she’d stepped in and closed the door behind herself how she hadn’t wanted to do this. But that had been before she’d seen him, before she’d noticed the way his face lit up at the sight of her.

“I was just…” Jonathan motioned to the mess on the living room table. Pictures were laying out, and Nancy crossed her arms to remind herself to stay in her own space.

“You’ve been using the camera,” she beamed, oddly proud.

“I have. I messed with some of the settings, and now, it’s perfect,” Jonathan conceded. “I just developed these today so I was… I didn’t expect company.”

“I should’ve called. I’m sorry.”

“No, no it’s okay. It’s not that--”

“I thought my mom--” she sighed, cutting herself off even though she’d interrupted him. She shook her head as her mother’s ploy dawned on her. “Is your mom home?” Nancy asked, figuring she already knew the answer.

“Ah, no,” Jonathan replied, moving over to gather up piles of photos, scissors, and an empty photo album. A gluestick rolled away from him and under the couch. He hesitated, obviously wanting to get down on all fours to chase after it, but seemed to be aware that Nancy was watching him. “She's out running errands, asked me stay home in case Will needs anything.”

Nancy frowned. She turned, looking around the house. Lonely. Who was going to be there in case Jonathan needed anything, then, if he was the only one here? She felt her jaw clench.

“Do you like hot chocolate?” Nancy asked, walking into the pantry with a renewed sense of purpose. She could hear Jonathan behind her, putting his scrapbook items on the desk in the corner.

“Sure. Why?”

“I’m feeling like making some hot chocolate to go with our cookies.”

“We probably have some in the pantry.”

“Good. Let’s see here.” Nancy took off her coat, setting it and her scarf down on one of the chairs at the table. She walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, finding milk. Bringing it out, she opened the cupboard and gently searched through the spices and box mixes until she found a few packets of Swiss Miss, without the marshmallows. She reached up, accidentally pushing it further back into the cupboard.

“Let me,” Jonathan said, warm and close. She turned, averting her eyes from his. He reached up, oblivious, the dark forest-green knit of his sweater close enough to tug on should she want to. She crossed her arms again, hugging herself as she waited. With a slight exhale, Jonathan brought down two packets of chocolate powder, handing them to her. Nancy took his hand in hers, and the wrongness of the atmosphere around her seemed to dissipate. That feeling, the feeling of forgetting something, floated away like smoke. She wanted to close her eyes, to inhale deeply and exhale all of her worries.

Jonathan closed his fingers around hers for one brief moment, then moved to the side, dipping low to pull a small pot out from under the stove.

“We can use this, right?” he asked.

“S-sure,” Nancy said, smiling, shaking her head to clear her thoughts, sending her ponytail whipping about her neck. She was too warm. She’d taken off her coat too soon, wanted to shed this sweater as well but had no layer underneath. Blushing, she moved to the stove Jonathan had turned on, convinced that she’d be able to heat the chocolate drink just by cupping it in her palms at this rate.

“Can you get me some cinnamon? Do you have that, vanilla, and cayenne pepper?”

“What kind of chocolate are you making?” Jonathan asked.

“It’s gonna be great.”

“I don’t know if I should trust you,” he murmured, soft in that way of his. “But have at it.”

Nancy smiled and tried to focus on the recipe, instead of how Jonathan looked at her when he thought she couldn’t see.

About twenty minutes later, Nancy was pouring the spiced drink into two mismatched mugs for them both. It was snowing again outside, fat flakes that were already covering Nancy’s car with their microscopic lace.

“It smells great,” Jonathan said, taking his mug from her. Nancy watched his jaw work as their fingertips brushed, watched him relax in a way she recognized. He brought the mug up, pursed his lips, and blew on the surface gently. She forced herself to look away.

“Where should we sit?” she asked, not sure what they would do to occupy their time, but not wanting to sit in absolute silence as she stared at him, either.

“We could stay in here and watch TV, or we could go to my room and listen to music, or we could sit at the table and play tic-tac-toe until one of us falls asleep,” Jonathan listed out their options, the mug still close enough for the frothy chocolate to ripple at his every word.

“You could show me the pictures you’ve taken since you got the camera?” she hinted, maintaining eye contact even though it was Jonathan’s turn to look away. He was trying not to smile, finally bringing his mug down away from his lips.

“If you want, sure. But they’re nothing special.” He led her into the living room, and set his mug down on the table. Nancy sat herself on the couch and watched him bring over the book, balancing several dozen pictures on top of its open pages. Black and white contrast. Beautiful lines. Skeletal trees and rusted car wheel-wells. His mother, laughing at the dinner table. A stained glass window, its muted gray geometry crisscrossing along half the photo. Will and the boys, a secret shot from the stairs as they were immersed in their questing. A Christmas tree, with a normal amount of lights.

“What did you do with all the lights your mom bought?” Nancy asked, playful and teasing as she set the picture of the glowing tree aside.

“Donated them to other families, mostly. Will likes to have them around, so he keeps some of them in his room.” Jonathan reached across her, again so close that Nancy had to restrain herself-- though from what, she couldn’t say. “Here, look at this one. It’s kind of blurry, but I like it.”

It was a picture of Will and his friends outside, moving together in a line, taken from behind by an older brother who was used to being a shadow. Nancy frowned, feeling heavy. She looked up at Jonathan, searching his gaze, but he was staring at the picture and didn’t notice.

“Where are the pictures of you?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowed. Jonathan let out a little breath, something that was meant to be a laugh, and shook his head.

“I’m the photographer. There aren’t any.”

“It’s a shame,” Nancy said. He looked up, then, surprised. Had nobody said this to him before? His eyes were wide, dark. She smiled automatically, couldn’t help herself. “Where’s your camera?”

“Why.”

“Bring it here!”

She smirked, taking a sip of her hot chocolate and then setting it down. Still not cool enough to drink. Reluctantly, Jonathan stood to go get his camera and Nancy realized how close their chocolate was to the photos. Not wanting them to get damaged from any stray droplets, she carefully moved the mugs to the side table, by the lamp. She couldn’t find any coasters, or she would’ve used them. By the time she sat back down to wait, Jonathan was settling onto the couch next to her with his camera in hand.

“I don’t really like having my picture taken,” Jonathan said, his voice small. “I prefer being on the outside, you know?”

“Here,” Nancy held out her hand. He hesitated only once, then seemed to relax completely. Looking down as he passed her the camera, she noticed that the hand she’d held out was the one she’d cut. He could see her scar. She wondered briefly if that had convinced him. Nancy took the camera in her hand, and then adjusted it so that she could hold it out and take a picture of them both at arm’s length. “I’ll do it with you. It’ll be fun.”

“How do you know it’ll come out?” Jonathan protested.

“We should take a couple, to make sure. I can buy you new film.”

“There’s a timer-”

“This is better, though,” Nancy said, her shoulder coming into contact with the green sweater, pressing forward until she convinced herself she could feel the warmth from his skin through the layers. “Right?” She turned, searching his expression. He swallowed, nodded.

“Try to find your reflection in the lens when you hold it up,” he said, motioning for her to hold out her arm and try. She fumbled around a bit, having to wiggle her forefinger to find the shutter. When she hit it, it took less force than she realized, and the picture was unposed and most likely a failure. Jonathan laughed as she brought her arm down. “Try again, try again.”

“Make sure you smile for this one,” she warned, teasing him.

“How do you know I wasn’t for the other one?” he asked.

She bit her lip, smiling at the thought, and counted down.

“Three, two, one.”

The click of the shutter signaled it had taken, and she repositioned herself.

“Here, I probably cut you off.” She repositioned the camera up again, holding it out, pretending as if her heart wasn’t suddenly racing. “Put your arm around me.”

He hesitated, but didn’t ask her if she was sure. Pulling it free from where it was pinned between them, Jonathan slid it around her shoulders and rested it lightly there. She snuggled deep, drawing him in, resting her head on his shoulder. She remembered the way he’d held her when he’d pulled her from the upside-down: tight, safe, an anchor. Now, he was barely there.

With her free hand, the one between them, she reached over herself and interlocked the tips of her fingers with his. If he wasn’t going to hold them down, she could keep them both steady. She could definitely do that. He cleared his throat, a tiny noise that made her heart beat faster.

She pushed the shutter before the expression on her face could change. She realized she wanted him to see, wanted him to be forced to look at that openness she felt when they were near each other. She turned into his neck, closing her eyes and dropping the camera gently to her knee.

“Nancy?”

Her name on his lips, the patient way he didn’t press, it caught something in her chest and tugged hard. She exhaled sharply, surprised at the echo of her breath bouncing back to her from the skin of his neck.

“Can you…” her words caught in her throat, her request pathetic to her own ears. “Can you just hold me for a minute?” she managed to choke out.

There was no hesitation. His arms were around her instantly, keeping her from drifting off too far in her own mind. She inhaled, trying to supress the tears she felt coming, but then his hand was letting go of her to better position her, to better be able to soothe her, and she couldn’t help it.

Taking fistfuls of the dark green wool in her hands, she let a shuddering sob rack through her. His open palm was between her shoulder blades, gently moving up and down, encouraging her. She clung to him and cried softly for a few minutes longer, not sure what or who she was even crying for. It just washed over her so suddenly, so enormously, that she knew to fight it would be futile.

She hadn’t cried since they found Will. Looking at him in the emergency room, she’d felt such a disgusting amount of envy that she’d had to leave. Even with the memorials at school for Barb’s death, it felt eclipsed by Will’s return. Her friend was gone and life was already distracted by the victory; and it was a victory, she could never bring herself to detract from that.

It wasn’t ever that Nancy would trade Will’s life for Barb’s. But why did Barb’s absence have to feel so secondary? Why was Nancy expected to feel normal after something so paranormal had taken hold of her town, taken hold of her best friend?

Jonathan gripped her tighter, as if he could tell what she was thinking. The camera pressed into his ribs, still in her hand, and she nuzzled into the cotton of his sweater. Green cotton like the pines underneath the snow outside, a promise that this lack of color was only a brief season of time in an otherwise colorful life.

After a moment, after her breathing was calm again, Nancy pulled away to swipe at her face with shaky hands.

“Better?” Jonathan asked. She nodded, sniffling. He reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, smoothing it back. “I get the same way, sometimes.”

“Do you?” she asked, wishing he didn’t lower his hand back to her shoulder. He looked down, nodded.

“You’d think you’d cry out all of the bad stuff in one go. But it lingers.” He looked up, his eyes bright. “I know I’m not going through anything near what you are, what with Barb being gone, but I do understand.”

“I know you do,” Nancy whispered, even though Barb’s name shook her. He said it with a type of compassion that others did not. When teachers said her name it carried worry. When students said her name it carried thrill at the taboo. When Nancy said her name…

Guilt washed over her, tasting like cinnamon and cayenne chocolate mixed with coppery regret. She didn’t say her name, not anymore. She stared at Jonathan’s collar, her left hand on his chest.

“I think… part of me really wants to talk about it,” she whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She sniffled. “But I can’t. I don’t know where to start.”

“Start with what you can. Like…” he paused, drawing a deep breath. “Are there any good memories that come to mind?”

“No.” She paused, horrified at herself. “I mean,” Nancy stuttered, “I have them. I just can’t find them, I can’t get past the last time I looked at her.”

“So,” Jonathan frowned, giving a small shrug. “Start there.”

Nancy looked at him, a flare of worry licking its way up the inside of her chest like a flame left on too long. She swallowed, and finally nodded.

“I… I was on the stairs. I’d had a beer, or two. Swam a bit. I was cold and warm at the same time, wrapped in a towel, and I was looking down at her.” In more ways than one. She screwed her eyes closed against the memory. “I told her to leave. To go home and to leave me. Told her I knew what I was doing, and to just go, and--”

“Hey.” Jonathan dragged a palm over her arm, drawing out the panicked heat within her, forcing her to breath as he spoke. “You didn’t know what was out there, and you didn’t know she’d wait around.”

“But I should have never chosen Steve over her,” Nancy whispered, pulling her eyes back to Jonathan’s, daring him to contradict her as his arm stilled over her. He didn’t. She sighed, feeling tears well anew. “She deserved better.”

They sat in silence until Nancy realized she was too heavy to sit upright. Something was pulling on her, increasing the gravity around her, drawing her back into Jonathan’s sweater. She acquiesced, sinking with a thud onto his chest. He seemed surprised, unsure of how to continue holding her, but then settled on resting both arms around her shoulders as she sighed.

“I can’t do the same things anymore,” she whispered. “It’s not like I can see her, like a ghost or anything. But it’s like, there’s negative space left behind exactly where she isn’t. It’s there even when I don’t notice it, and my brain notices for me. I can see that she’s not there, even if I don’t realize that’s what I’m seeing.”

“Mmm,” Jonathan agreed. One of his hands was absently stroking her back, playing gently with her hair. He soothed her so naturally, she felt herself relaxing under his comfortable touch.

“Was it like that when your dad left?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“In some ways, I guess,” he said, his voice a whisper even though there was nobody around to hear. Always courteous, Nancy thought. Always thinking of his family first, how they’d react if they overheard. He cleared his throat, keeping quiet. “Mom got rid of his chair, and that helped. But for a while I’d feel the emptiness around that place, for sure.”

“I feel it around people too. In class, in the halls…” she trailed off.

“Around Steve?” Jonathan pressed lightly.

Nancy stopped. She hadn’t thought about it, because Steve had been nothing if not accomodating. He’d helped her study, had accepted it when she told him she wasn’t comfortable doing anything physical anymore, had taken late night phone calls with her when she was too afraid to go to sleep for fear of seeing Barb’s face rising from the mist of her dreams. He’d done nothing but support her, and so she hadn’t thought about it. Her annoyance with him, she just attributed to the mild numbness she was feeling towards everyone lately.

Everyone except Jonathan.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, most likely mistaking her silence for offense. “You two seem really happy together.” His hand was still moving at her shoulder blades, his heart was still beating evenly beneath her ear, so she could tell that Jonathan wasn’t upset at the easy statement.

“No, I just…” How to phrase it? She sighed.

“What?”

“The blank space is there, too.” The guilt was still there, bitter at the back of her tongue. “But he’s incredibly kind. He’s a good guy-”

“He is,” Jonathan agreed, his tone wary.

“-but I just don’t feel anything around him.” She had let it slip before she could help it, the words strung in the air between them like unlit Christmas lights. Jonathan’s hand stopped moving, paused between her shoulders, warm and heavy.

“Nothing?”

Nancy shook her head. Jonathan sounded surprised, and it just furthered the guilt she already felt at even admitting it out loud.

“I like who he is as a person. I appreciate what he’s done for me. And I know I should be-”

“Stop.” Jonathan’s voice was small but firm. Nancy paused, obeying. “Remember what you said about your mom, before in the forest?”

“Wh-when?”

“When we found out you were a better shot than me,” he teased.

“Ah,” she let out a little breath. “The day you were shooting between the cans?”

“Yes,” his chest moved slightly, a silent laugh. “I remember you said you didn’t want to be the type of person who thought they had to do anything just because it was expected of them.”

“But I don’t want to hurt him. Not after everything he did for me,” she whispered, feeling trapped.

“You don’t owe him your discomfort just because of that,” he said grimly, and Nancy felt the prickle of hot tears in the corner of her eyes. She blinked hard, hoping they would absorb somehow back into their ducts. “Steve is a really good guy,” Jonathan gently patted her shoulder, “right?”

She nodded without opening her eyes.

“Look at me.”

He pulled her up and slightly away from himself, and she opened her eyes. She could feel her lashes clinging to the unshed tears, barely dangling them above her cheeks.

“He’d understand,” Jonathan said quietly. “He’d understand if you told him all of this, and then some, because he wouldn’t want you to feel nothing.”

“You think so?”

“I do. But even if he doesn’t, he deserves to have it said to him,” Jonathan replied. “And you deserve to let things go.”

“Have you let stuff go?” she asked, genuinely curious. He paused, looking slightly hurt. She backtracked, feeling a cold space on her back where his hands once were as they fell away from each other. “I mean, are you okay, Jonathan?”

“I’m fine,” he said, and she couldn’t read his facial expression as he turned from her to take their drinks in his hands. “Here. Drink up. It’s cold chocolate by now, I bet.”

It wasn’t, not yet, but Nancy took it and sipped at it gratefully. After a moment, Jonathan moved to the kitchen and got the tupperware of cookies, opening it and grabbing two.

“Hey,” Nancy said, watching as he paused with the cookie almost at his lips.

“Yeah?”

She wanted to tell him that around him, she felt more normal than ever. Around him, she could trust that he had her back, that he would pull her back from whatever world grabbed her up. Around him, she felt safe.

Instead, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek, holding her arm out and hoping that the Pentax caught the kiss in the frame as she tapped the shutter. She pulled away after a second, swiping at her eyes again, and smiled.

“I’ll get you some new film,” she promised again.

“Great,” he smirked down into his hot chocolate, a blush rising on his cheeks, “More presents I can’t reciprocate.”

“You could,” she said, putting the camera down on the table and turning her cheek to the side.

“I... could what?” It was low, disbelieving, like he thought he couldn’t possibly have heard her say what he thought she said. Nancy nodded, confirming even as she pulled a stray curl away from where it hovered near her cheek.

“Reciprocate.”

She’d kissed him twice now. Those were both chaste pecks; they weren’t really more than a testament to the unchecked intimacy they shared after nearly dying at the hands of an interdimensional monster. But still, he’d never tried once to return the gesture. Maybe it was out of respect, possibly some lingering remorse over the way he'd taken her picture all those weeks ago, or maybe it was out of shyness. Whatever his motivation, Nancy had never thought about it. She’d also never given him express opportunity or invitation, until now.

Jonathan was watching her, studying her, as if he were trying to divine what she could have meant besides what she had said. She bit the corner of her lower lip to keep her mouth closed, to keep from making any more of a fool of herself than she already had in the last half an hour. If she allowed herself to speak, she’d want to clarify everything she’d confessed. She’d want to urge him forward. She’d want to kiss him again, instead of letting him move towards her on his own time, and she couldn’t keep doing that to him.

Jonathan hesitated, his brow knit. She wondered vaguely what he was shuffling through in his mind, or if he was thinking anything at all. He reached out, drawing a line with his knuckle from her jaw back to the spot just below her ear, and Nancy felt a soft hum well up in the back of her throat. He leaned forward at the sound, one hand between their thighs on the couch, the other one coming to rest on her shoulder. Nancy closed her eyes, sighing as Jonathan’s lips brushed over the high arch of her cheekbone. It was sweet, delicate, and she could feel his tiny exhale against her temple as he kissed her.

She realized belatedly that she still had her eyes closed even after he’d pulled away, was still processing it. A small click surprised her into opening them. The camera was right by her face, Jonathan smiling behind it.

“You took so many of me, I had to get back at you,” he teased, setting it down on the table and picking his cookie back up. He bit into the buttery, frosted confection and made a small noise in the back of his throat.

“No good?” Nancy asked, unsure of what she was referring to, the cookie or the kiss. Jonathan paused, chewing slowly as he registered her question. She had her hands folded on her lap, was forcing herself to look up at him through tearstained lashes. She smiled, as she always did, as she couldn’t seem to stop doing around him, and he mirrored the expression back at her.

“It’s a little on the sweet side,” he answered, drawing his lower lip in to gently pull the sugar from it, his dark brown eyes already moving away from hers. She resisted the urge to roll hers at the pun, but just as she opened her mouth to tease him, Jonathan leaned forward and closed the space betwen them.

Nancy made a noise at the feeling of his thumb tracing a smooth line over her cheek where he’d kissed her before. Both of them exhaled, and Nancy could tell he was nervous from the way his eyes focused on hers. The dilation of his pupils reminded her of how he’d looked when he’d held her palm in his and tried to tell her that she didn’t have to cut her hand if she didn’t want to. She’d wanted to then, wanted to now, and so she mouthed one word: please .

Hesitantly they collided, soft and gentle. Brushing a tentative kiss across her mouth, Jonathan almost pulled back after the merest touch, but Nancy didn’t. She kept contact, kissing him back with slow confidence as he moved. It’s how she ended up settling further on his chest, her fingertips at his chin  marveling at the line of his jaw.

His lips drew hers open with a nudge, and she brought her other hand up to his shoulder to draw him deeper, her instincts driving her to fist her fingers in his knit sweater as she pulled him harder into the kiss.

Her heart was beating so loudly in her own ears that she could barely hear the tiny breath of a moan that escaped Jonathan’s mouth when he drew his palm to the nape of her neck. As he cradled her head, threading his fingers past her headband and into her slightly curled tresses, his other hand pulled her waist flush against him. The kiss deepened further, and Nancy wondered who was the one to initiate the quickening of pace. When he moaned softly, the breath of it playing across her cheek, she found that she didn’t mind who it was, as long as it stayed the pace from now on.

Richer now, his tongue tracing a gentle, playful line on her upper lip as Nancy tried not to make too much noise. Her chest felt too light, as if this weren’t real, as if she were dreaming. She arched underneath of his hand as it slid to the small of her back, moving as close as she could get with her arms around his neck and her hands in his hair. His hips shifted underneath of hers, an awkward, unconscious gesture that made her feel too warm. Was he trying to get more comfortable? Get closer to her? Did the kiss send shocks through his nerve-endings, too, all the way down to his hips like it was doing to hers?

Her mouth opened against his, and she could taste vanilla and a hint of cayenne. Hungrily, he explored her mouth as if he thought it would be the last chance he’d get to do so, as if he were memorizing every aspect of the moment before they came back to their senses.

For one moment, a quick, breathtaking minute, Nancy felt wholly herself again, glimmering from the inside out with the warmth of the stolen kiss. And then it was softer, a suffused glow, as Jonathan pulled away to bite his lip and press his forehead to hers. Their breathing began to slow, and it seemed to Nancy like they were both waiting to wake up.

Nancy didn’t speak for fear of ruining the moment, of jinxing whatever spell had spurred him to take charge and really reciprocate . But she found she didn’t have to. Bringing his thumb back to her cheek, Jonathan gave a humorless chuckle as he straightened slightly. He swallowed hard and readjusted on the couch, leaning forward to grab something off the floor. Most likely it was his cookie from before, dropped in lieu of something he’d craved more in the moment.

Why had he stopped, though? Surely it wasn’t for the cookie. She was recovering still, taken by surprised by the intensity of the kiss probably as much as he was, but could they continue? The warmth in her core was a tingling, pleasant purr and she wasn’t ready to let go of it just yet. Compared to the sinking feeling of guilt that had gnawed at her for weeks, it was like an antidote attacking the poison comprised of her self-doubt. She clenched her jaw as Jonathan drew himself up again, taking another bite of the cookie he’d picked up from the carpet. Nancy took a second to take in a deep breath and readjust her headband, pulling her mussed hair over her shoulder. A hand on Jonathan’s shoulder, she pushed him gently into the couch cushions and turned to face him fully right as the front door to the trailer opened with a bang of the screen.

“Oh! Nancy,” Joyce exclaimed, sounding like she had barely stopped herself from jumping out of her skin. “I didn’t know Jonathan was-”

“Oh no, it’s not-” Nancy tried to recover, sitting away as Jonathan tried to mask a smile.

“Hey Mom,” he said, moving to help his mother with some of the plastic bags she was overloaded with. Joyce had her eyes elsewhere and looked like she was biting both lips in an attempt to conceal a sneaky smile.

“Hi, Ms. Beyers,” Nancy finally said, standing up awkwardly, hoping that if she stretched her lips into a smile they would look less kiss-ravaged. They felt a bit swollen, and she resisted the urge to lick them.

“Hi to both of you,” Joyce said, letting Jonathan take three of the heavier-looking bags. He moved the food to the dining room table to sort through and help put away, and suddenly Nancy felt she needed a task herself.

Moving over to the kitchen as Joyce maneuvered in the last two bags of groceries from where they’d gotten caught on the screen door handle, Nancy called over her shoulder, “My mom made cookies. That’s why I’m here. That’s all.”

“Oh that’s nice, honey,” Joyce answered, and then some furious whispering between the two Byers in the foyer. Nancy hastily touched the corner of her pink cardigan sleeve to her lips, then brought in the Tupperware to the living room. “Wow, look at that. Your mom is so thoughtful,” Jonathan’s mom exclaimed, ever the horrible actress. Nancy resisted an eyeroll, too embarrassed at the moment to do more than stand there and play along. She wondered what would be worse, Nancy telling her mother about what had happened or letting Joyce talk to her first about what she’d seen. Nancy felt her smile falter slightly.

“I can go,” Nancy said, blushing furiously. “I mean I should go. Now. I’m intruding, and I’m sure Mom wants me home for dinner, and you know how it can be.” She realized she wasn’t looking at Jonathan, and she wished fiercely she hadn’t worn her hair back away from her face. She’d given anything to be able to hide behind it right now.

“You can stay, you know,” Joyce said, taking the Tupperware from Nancy’s outstretched hands. “You don’t have to rush off. We eat dinner here, too.”

“I know,” Nancy said, finally feeling like she was getting her coloring under control. She tucked an imaginary strand of hair behind her ear for lack of something to do with her hands and kind of swayed in place. Glancing up at Jonathan, she tried to put on a friendly mask of neutrality.

His hair was still mussed from where she’d dragged her hands through it only a second ago. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, then thought better of it and blurted, “Call me when you get that next roll of film developed. I'll come over, help you scrapbook it.”

His lips curled into a surprised smile, his eyes wide with disbelief. She closed her eyes to his expression, blinking hard at the inanity of her own statement. And then the implication fully hit her, and Nancy's eyes opened again with a start. She turned to Joyce, trying not to acknowledge the knowing smile that Joyce had sneaking onto her lips. It was finally breaking free despite the woman’s best efforts at acting inconspicuous.

“Goodbye Ms. Byers,” Nancy said, her voice cheery but her eyes already on the door as she turned to leave. Careful not to slam the door behind her, she took big strides down the porch steps and out over the gravel until she reached her car. She had her fingertips on the handle when she heard the door open behind her.

“Hey, wait a second,” Jonathan said, hopping down the steps and into the powdery dusting of snow on the driveway. “You okay?”

“Sure,” she said, shrugging, feeling askew and delighted and embarrassed all at once, the taste of vanilla frosting still in the corner of her lip.

“Are you really? I mean, I know my mom can be a little awkward, but she means well,” Jonathan said fondly. He shuffled his hands through his hair, combing it back away from his face as he tried to level with her. Nancy laughed, or made a sound that was close to a laugh at least.

“I promise." She paused and thought about what she'd just said, and her brow scrunched slightly as she realized how genuine the statement was. "I’m actually more okay than I have been in a long time. Awkwardness and all.”

“Good,” he said, smiling with her and stepping forward. For a second, she tipped her chin up, fully expecting another explosive kiss. But instead, Jonathan surprised her again and held out his arms for a hug.

She stepped into his sweatered embrace, breathing in deeply the slight smell of film, chocolate, and something undefinable that made her hold him even tighter.

“I’ll call you,” she said into his chest. She paused, bracing herself. “But not until after I’ve had the chance to call Steve.”

“I understand,” he answered, breaking away. He sighed, but it wasn’t a dissatisfied noise. “I’ll see you.”

Nancy smiled, pulling her keys from her jacket pocket, and as she swung into the driver’s seat she noticed he stepped back. He intended to see her off, maybe wave to her as she drove away. She started her car and rolled down her window slightly, just enough for him to barely hear her.

“You’re a sweetheart, Jonathan Byers.”

He grinned as he brought one hand up to try to wipe away his smile. As Nancy drove away she looked back into her rearview at the snow-frosted gravel behind her. With a hand she knew must have tasted like sugared cookie crumbs, Jonathan gave her a little wave just like she'd predicted he would. She bit into her lip, wondering what Barb would have said if she knew the situation. For the first time since she'd lost her friend, the image of Barb felt warm and welcome in Nancy's mind. Barb would have smiled,Nancy thought. She would have smiled and shaken her head and asked where Nancy's head was. The thought lingered sweetly, tasting vaguely like the last of a mug of hot chocolate.