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Sunlight pooled on the hardwood floor, pouring in thin rays through the blinds. The window is slightly ajar, the faint chirping of crickets audible, saturating the otherwise silent room. Steve sighs with resignation, lifting his upper body, leaning his back against the headboard as he sits up. He wasn't aware of the exact time, figuring it must be early morning - the sunlight struck his eyes mercilessly, though he hadn't been sleeping.
Hazily, he rolled onto his side, reaching for a sheet of paper folded on his bedside table. He toyed with the corners for an instant and unfolded it, squinting at the black ink as if he was actually reading - he knew the letter nearly by heart. Approximately 6 PM - the angular handwriting caught his eyes yet again. In less than ten hours, he'd finally see him. Jonathan Byers was returning to Hawkins, temporarily. All his friends were enthralled and eager to see the Byers brothers, but not as much as he was.
Steve glanced briefly at each line of the letter before folding it again and returning it to its previous place. He kept every letter from Jonathan, all neatly piled in a drawer. He'd even sent Steve a photograph once, artfully shot and pleasing to look at - picturing a vacant street in Lenora at dawn. Steve often wondered how Jonathan was doing at any given moment, sensing the letters didn't paint a complete picture, details omitted for some unreachable reason. He figured Jonathan wasn't particularly popular, but he also took into account that Jonathan probably didn't mind, accustomed to being alone.
Sometimes he'd speculate about the possibility of Jonathan having a girlfriend; he found out about the breakup between him and Nancy, so it could make sense. Steve felt his chest tighten, nearly wincing at the thought. Not because he sympathized with Nancy, she made it abundantly clear that she'd gotten over him, though Steve believed she deserved far more than either he or Jonathan could offer. No, for an entirely different reason. He could only conceptualize the feeling that overcame him as jealously, with its familiar sting. It was pure nonsense and a betrayal of logic - he hadn't seen Jonathan for almost a full year.
Through the letters they exchanged, Steve felt their relationship was paradoxically closer than before, despite them being states and hundreds of miles apart. Later came the phone calls, consisting mostly of Steve talking and silence on Jonathan's end of the line. Sometimes, Steve doubted Jonathan was actually listening, but then he'd make some small, indiscernible sound that affirmed his existence. Jonathan seldom spoke, but when he did, Steve's entire body stiffened and he'd hear his heartbeat echoing in his ears over the sound of Jonathan's voice - it was an unexplainable occurrence.
Steve's miserable love life was a recurring and habitual topic, he'd mostly verbalize his frustration, not expecting any advice from Jonathan. He was an excellent listener, Steve could practically visualize Jonathan nodding along as he spoke, showing understanding and compassion. The more he got to know Jonathan, the more remorseful he became of his past behavior and actions towards him. Steve knew fully that he'd been an asshole back in high school, an unbearable bully - the stereotype of a vapid, arrogant jock. He also acknowledged that he'd matured since then, his life wasn't constrained by arbitrary rankings and a pointless hierarchy anymore, he didn't feel like he had to constantly prove himself to everyone. Flirting with every girl he saw wasn't a priority of his anymore, his interest in dating dissipated - Steve was far from his golden years.
He couldn't pretend to be completely unaffected, but there were more pressing issues to be dealt with in his life - such as recovering from the recurring trauma caused by inter-dimensional monsters who nearly killed him and several of his close friends. Compared to that, being single was a trivial problem. Truthfully, Steve wasn't looking for a relationship of any kind - no friends with benefits, no girlfriend or anything that fell between those parameters. He didn't pride himself on scoring dates or flirting with girls; the appeal of it was simply lost. He didn't group female customers into categories of babes and non-babes, it just didn't intrigue him anymore. The girls who approached him, overtly flirting or striking up pointless conversations, couldn't hold his attention anymore, he wasn't phased by their mascara-laden eyelashes batting, or the saccharine scent of their perfumes - if he could, Steve would gladly redirect them to Robin.
Something had changed, he was no longer King Steve, nor a womanising, flirtatious harlot - that reputation was behind him now. Even when an undeniably attractive girl was talking to him, Steve wouldn't be fully engaged; he'd simply help her find the movie in question and formally say his goodbyes, his mind elsewhere during the interaction. Robin had picked up on it, shooting Steve quizzical looks and checking whether everything was alright with him. He was thinking of Jonathan's recent letter or if he'd be able to phone him tonight, inciting various comments from Robin. She'd jokingly ask Steve whether he was absolutely sure of his heterosexuality, inquiring about the contents of their letters, sarcastically framing it as a forbidden, secret affair.
Sometimes, his best friend's comments made Steve wonder, but he'd discard the thought. Robin had once asked him about Jonathan's appearance, if he looked any different now; Steve didn't know the answer, shrugging. Sometimes he had an urge to ask Jonathan for a photo, just so Steve could see what he looked like now. He still imagined Jonathan with a choppy bowl-cut, in his dull and oversized clothes, that gentle and fretful look in his eyes, dark circles underneath, a camera hanging on a strap from his neck. The one Steve had bought him years ago as an apology, that was the initial step towards becoming less of an asshole.
It only took a ruthless beating for him to brought to Earth, the world tilted on his axis when he lay there on the gravel. After that, he didn't understand why he hadn't befriended Jonathan earlier - societal labels were bullshit to say the least and the self-titled freak was more genuine than most people Steve had ever encountered. There was indeed something charming about Jonathan, something that drew Steve in - lately he began to understand why Nancy had fallen for him - something about his entire presence; from the hoarse voice, the eccentric music taste, the zealous shine that occasionally flashed in his dark eyes. Steve would attempt to visualize Jonathan while reading his letters, to picture him writing them or mouthing the words, but he couldn't see it entirely.
Jonathan was more of a concept to him at this point, one he'd grown attached to - a hand scribbling in black ballpoint pen, a quiet voice on the other end of the phone call, a rush of fervor upon opening his mailbox to find a new envelope. Jonathan was also the omnipresent thought floating in Steve's mind, occupying his conscious - when those ladies talked to him at the video store, brushing arms against his purposely, Steve's mind wandered to Jonathan; a vague warmth tugging the corners of his lips upwards.
Robin accused him of having a crush when he told her about it, which was absolutely bonkers, in Steve's opinion. Completely bizarre and unfathomable, considering the fact he was Steve Harrington, talking about Jonathan Byers. He didn't like guys in that sense, it was ostensible and unquestionable - Steve had only ever dated girls, because he was solely interested in them - to him, this cemented the fact he was straight. Robin only complicated it by bringing up bisexuality, which he wasn't really aware of existing.
Sure, he was fully supportive of it, it just didn't apply to him - Steve Harrington liked women, right? Yes, definitely. Not men. Totally not. - he'd stare at himself in the mirror and utter his affirmations. The only potential exception was that incident with Billy, back in November - getting beaten up always seemed to incite change in Steve. Perhaps he'd found it a bit attractive when Billy got in his face aggressively, but it could've been due to the adrenaline, Billy's laboured breath hitting his face and sending shivers down his spine. Everyone must feel that way when fighting, it's just close physical contact - Steve made it sound completely rational. Even if he wasn't straight, there was always a miniscule chance of that, Steve couldn't possibly pursue Jonathan, of all people.
Not only did he live in an entirely different state, hours away, but he was unequivocally too good for Steve. Reminiscing of their first and only altercation, Steve found himself wishing Jonathan had inflicted more pain, injured him more severely - he was convinced he deserved far worse. In retrospect, the complete and utter weight of his actions sunk in, Steve realized just how insufferable he was back then - he was surprised Nancy and Jonathan even made amends with him, considering how he acted.
He used to view high school as a brutal hellscape that favored only those capable of thriving in its ingrained hierarchy, determined to climb the ranks and ascend to a status of king or queen - popularity was the sole value that could earn him respect, ensuring that no one crossed him. Peaking in high school was utterly useless and sort of pathetic, he could see that in hindsight, but at sixteen, nothing else was tangible. Steve started out as a freshman whose sole goal was to rule the school, to feel in charge and be acknowledged for once in his life - tormenting less fortunate kids fed into his ego for a while, giving him a sense of superiority and making his name known throughout all of Hawkins.
Being athletic, good-looking, charismatic and generally popular came with a sense of belonging that he later realized was faux and misplaced - even at the height of his social prosperity, no one saw or heard him. He always felt obligated to play into his role, to accentuate his desirable traits and conceal less favorable ones - his confidence amplified to narcissism, charm completely fake and overblown, there wasn't any actual bite beneath his bark. Jonathan had put him in his rightful place that day, grounding him in more ways than one; after his wounds healed, Steve was almost grateful. Sure, his characteristically pretty face had been mauled and his confidence briefly debased, but it was ultimately a positive. Without the conflict, he wouldn't have gotten to know Jonathan, a reality he couldn't imagine living in now.
His alarm clock went off even though it was a Saturday, beeping in an irritably high pitch. Steve turned it off with a groan, slumping back onto his mattress. He'd barely slept tonight, mind whirring endlessly, thoughts swarming so fast he couldn't detach from them. He yawned, stretching, eyes shut, not having a clue why he'd set an alarm for 9 AM. He was free of responsibilities today, no work or plans, just waiting around for the fateful hour to strike. He was meant to pick up the Byers' from the airport, him and Jonathan had previously arranged it. Steve's car was spotless inside and out for the occasion, he'd even hung a new air freshener up - minty scent, associated with Jonathan, he'd probably like it. Steve was partially aware such meticulous details didn't matter, but he felt compelled to pay attention to them anyway.
Jonathan hadn't told him where they'd be staying during their visit, but Steve concluded it couldn't be their old house, as it had been sold some time ago. Will could stay at the Wheeler's house, so could Joyce and El. It would undoubtedly be awkward for Jonathan, though, considering the terms he and Nancy were on. Steve thought of suggesting his own house, it was close to a perfect solution - his parents were rarely home anyway, that hadn't changed. Steve practiced asking Jonathan to stay at his house without making it sound as if he was flirting; he wasn't particularly successful so far.
It was only a matter of hours before he'd see Jonathan again, so much time had elapsed and a part of him dreaded the encounter. There was always the possibility of Jonathan ignoring him in favor of spending time with Nancy, though it didn't seem likely. According to her, Jonathan hadn't even reached out after their break up - meanwhile, he was mailing Steve at least a letter each week and they talked on the phone increasingly often. On occasion, Steve wished he could record Jonathan's voice, just to listen to it when he missed the sound.
It would meddle nicely with the music Jonathan had been recommending to him - all artists Steve was unfamiliar with; The Clash, Talking Heads, Descendents, The cure and such. Listening to the albums, Steve liked to imagine Jonathan listening along, many miles away, yet brought closer by the melodies and lyrics. Under his breath, Steve hummed the tune of Good good things by Descendents, he'd listened to them recently.
Absolutely not in the hopes of impressing or, God forbid, charming Jonathan by matching his music taste. He drags a palm over his face, sighing with regret from not having slept, assured he looked awful. I have to be prett- presentable, for Jonathan - he thought aloud. Burying his face in the pillow, he let out a scream, followed by a sigh.