Chapter Text
Their legs tangle and overlap, sneakers squeaking on the hallway’s laminate floors, nearly tripping as they stumble away from the common room. Jonathan glances down the corridor, probably worried about people seeing, but Steve just pulls him back in by his shirt collar, sucks on his earlobe and kisses at the skin beneath his jaw, moves his hands down to wrap around Jonathan’s waist. Steve’s not willing to turn away from Jonathan’s pink mouth for a single stupid second, so he chooses to push his dorm room door open with his back instead, letting the handle cut into his skin.
They land on the bed, Steve’s sweatshirt falling alongside some textbooks he hasn’t read yet.
‘I can’t believe that was your line,’ Jonathan laughs, hiding the noise in the crook of Steve’s neck.
‘Yeah, well I do like your hair,’ Steve says, moving to kiss again, parting pink lips with his tongue, trying to taste inside. He likes when Jonathan talks, when he makes small jokes that he almost seems afraid of, but he also likes Jonathan’s mouth like this, and there’s some deep-rooted part of Steve being uncovered by the taste, a burnt out idea he could never shake as a teenager reigniting. Some fantasy he dreamt up in the back row of the science labs at Hawkins’ High, staring at the slice of skin revealed below the hem of Jonathan’s Byers' tee when he was forced to raise a hand.
Steve runs his fingers under Jonathan’s shirt, traces over his shoulder blades and counts down the bumps in his spine. He licks at Jonathan’s lower lip, feels delirious when he feels a soft whimper from way back in Jonathan's throat.
‘Yeah?’ Steve asks, pulling back, just to look at Jonathan’s eyes as he answers. Jonathan looks cautious, and there’s a horrible moment where Steve thinks he’s gonna jump and run, but he doesn’t, instead he goes cute, hiding in Steve’s chest, pushing Steve’s shirt down with his chin, kissing the dip under his collarbone.
‘Yeah,’ Jonathan whispers, and Steve swears he can feel soft tongue against his skin. With his nose resting in Jonathan’s hair, smelling mint and tea tree (he wasn’t lying when he said Jonathan's hair was nice), Steve grinds his hips downwards and wraps his feet around Jonathan’s legs.
Jonathan moves his crotch upwards, doesn’t seem afraid to show how hard he is, how hard Steve made him, sighs as he does it again, moving up and down, denim rubbing on denim.
There’s a juvenile excitement at the idea, that they could keep on grinding, fully clothed, because it feels good. It feels safe and separate and basically just as hot as Steve always secretly imagined it would as a teenager, but they’re adults, and he can do more, he can be better, he wants Jonathan to see his best. So, he sneaks a hand down between them, grips Jonathan’s through the jeans, only starts rubbing his palm against him after there's a gasp; a warm, short stutter against Steve's chest.
‘Can I…’ Steve asks, already undoing Jonathan’s zipper, but incredibly happy when Jonathan nods along with it, even more happy when Jonathan, unprompted, decides to do the same, reaches out and undoes Steve’s button, runs his fingers over the waistline of his underwear. He pulls Steve’s hips against his, with a sweet, determined little huff, like he just can’t stop himself, so Steve kisses him again, pleasantly surprised, and wondering if Jonathan’s done this before.
He doesn’t want to admit that he assumed Jonathan was a virgin - but he completely did. Jonathan never dated anyone in high school (rumours about him kissing Fred Benson in the dark room don’t count), he hasn’t been seen getting friendly with anyone at college so far, and he was never the type of dumb kid to talk about some girl at camp. Steve was; he totally made up a summer camp girlfriend, but then he got a real girl the fall afterwards; Tammy Thompson, and he dragged her by the hand around the cafeteria and kissed her under the bleachers and made her wear his letterman jacket and bought matching corsages with her for Homecoming, called her a frigid bitch for dumping him when she caught him sniggering with Tommy after calling the poor Byers' boy a freak.
Then he got another girlfriend; Nancy Wheeler, and repeated the whole process again, switching up Homecoming for Senior Prom, adding in falling in love like an idiot, squaring up with Jonathan a final time, switching freak for queer, and getting his comeuppance in the form of Nancy breaking his underdeveloped heart.
He then, in a mastermind act of posturing and self-destruction, used all that good quality heterosexual experience, as inspiration to never, ever, ever, become consciously aware of his tendency to, sometimes, in the dead of night when no one was around, imagine kissing boys while humping his mattress.
But then he moved up to Indy for college, and was forced to pick up a humiliating part-time job scooping ice cream, became best friends with the angry lesbian who was his shift-lead, let her rant at him over seasonal sundae specials until he reluctantly grew some empathy, discovered he was living in the same dorms as the enigmatic Jonathan Byers, had an enlightening wet dream starring said Jonathan Byers; got wrecked at the first cool party he wound up at (Tequila Rose and Sambuca: a deathly combination), ended up being dragged home by Byers, all while drunkenly slurring into his ear that he had; super nice hair, it’s really cool you let it grow out, and sorry about the shit at school, dude, turns out, I’m a ma-hoosive hypocrite, oh, nice jacket.
So, a week later, after his first lock-in shift with Robin at Scoops, discussing blatant sexual desires over the spilt litre of cream he helped her mop up from the blue tiles; feeling excited about his freshly confirmed and confident status as a bisexual, Steve, upon discovering Jonathan watching some boring arthouse movie alone in the common room, took his chance, and flirted his socks off; and is honestly, slightly shocked, that not only did it work; but that Jonathan is now pushing him onto his back, moving down the bed, resting his forehead on Steve’s happy trail.
‘I want to… I want…’ Jonathan mutters, slowly pulling down Steve’s jeans, staring at what lies beneath.
‘You don’t have to,’ Steve says, no matter how much he might want it too. Jonathan’s talking like this is new, a first, but his hands are moving all over, grabbing at warm skin, like he knows how good it feels. Steve was going to do his moves, but if Jonathan wants to lead, he’ll be powerless to stop it.
Jonathan kisses the top of Steve’s right thigh, then his left, then looks up; his sharp, sad eyes blinking in the soft light. Steve lowers a hand, runs his forefinger over the Jonathan’s dimples, distantly remembers, he imagined doing this as a teenager, tracing Jonathan Byers' dimples.
Jonathan smiles lightly, but then he shakes away from Steve’s hand, gulps before he talks. ‘Don’t laugh at me.’
‘Dude, why would I laugh at you?’ Steve drapes his arm over his own eyes, raises his hips a fraction, trying to gently remind Jonathan of the very hard erection bouncing in front of him. ‘I’m trying to get a blow job. I’m not going to laugh at you, that would be fucked.’
It’s not sexy, or even that nice, and Steve’s worried all the blood rushing away from his brain and into his cock might have led to him saying something stupid, well, more stupid than usual, but somehow, against all odds, it works, and he feels Jonathan plant both hands on his thighs, followed by a tentative lick.
‘Oh shit,’ he pants, more excited than he would normally be. Maybe it’s because it’s his first time he’s got this far with a guy, maybe it’s because it’s Jonathan, either way, he’s not going to disclose that information. ‘That’s good.’
He moves his arm, glances down at Jonathan, going slightly cross-eyed, looming over Steve’s crotch, looking, searching. Jonathan lowers his mouth, takes the head between his lips, pulls back, a string of saliva connecting them (Geezus Christ) then goes down again, further than Steve expected, makes him breathe heavy, pants sounding throughout the room.
Jonathan moves away, catches his breath before going down again, too far, ends up jumping up with a cough. ‘Shit, sorry.’
‘Don’t need to say sorry, man,’ Steve says, cautiously placing a hand on Jonathan’s head, not to push him, just to mess with his soft hair. ‘Seriously, it all feels good. Keep going.’
Jonathan starts licking again, not so nervous. He draws one hand away and down the bed, slipping under him, hums as his elbow moves back and forth, lips vibrating, makes Steve throw his head back onto the pillow and moan, just looking down in time to see Jonathan close his eyes as he quickly nuzzles against Steve’s balls, like he might get away with it without anyone noticing.
‘Goddamn,’ Steve mutters, hoping it’s quiet enough that Jonathan doesn’t hear, scared it will make it awkward, but maybe Jonathan does, and maybe it reassures him, because soon Steve feels fingers rubbing against his taint. That, with the wet mouth, tongue lathing around his dick, tight when Jonathan hollows his cheeks, makes Steve cling onto the sheets, feeling all his muscles uncoil, then tighten again, the familiar race inside taking hold. ‘Gonna- going to cum, soon.’
Jonathan keeps his mouth sealed over Steve for a dangerously good second, looks up with wide eyes, then releases him, leaving a wet line of kisses down to his hip, moving away and using his hand to finish him off.
Steve finishes with a choke, sees it land on Jonathan’s nose, smiles when he sees Jonathan wince, wiping it off with a frown. Then, Jonathan does something completely wack-a-doo hot, sucks Steve’s cum off his thumb, his pink tongue marked with it.
‘Fuck, Byers.’
Steve yanks him up by the shoulder, kisses the rest away from Jonathan’s tongue, because he’s always been filthy like that. He lowers his hand down to Jonathan’s briefs, feels them wet and warm. ‘Good time?’
Jonathan falters, his face freezes, eerily expressionless. He rolls away onto his side, not looking at Steve.
And it’s not like Steve is planning to delve into a serious relationship after only a couple weeks of college, he knows he’s meant to play the scene, and all the other bullshit his dad spouts; but he’s not against it morally, and he wouldn’t mind entertaining the idea, especially if it was Jonathan, so he whispers an apology, hopes there’s still a small chance of something good, like a date, maybe.
‘Sorry, sorry, it’s hot, like that was really hot.’
Jonathan laughs a little, lets Steve kiss him on the cheek, then the corner of his mouth, then lick at his lower lip, until they basically just start making out all over again, ignoring the sticky mess between them. ‘Would you want to-’ Steve starts, almost whimpering when he feels Jonathan’s tongue against his teeth. ‘Would you want to get breakfast, tomorrow, with me?’
‘Um, I dunno...’ Jonathan mumbles, moving his face away, but not letting go of Steve’s arms. ‘Maybe. But I’m not really… you know, with me… you…’
‘It’s cool if you don’t want to,’ Steve says, disappointed, but too blissed out to let it get to him. ‘We could just get breakfast as friends.’
‘Friends?’ Jonathan snorts, but he smiles with it, so Steve doesn’t care.
‘Yeah, friends,’ Steve says, smiling back. ‘What? You never heard of em’?’
Jonathan flinches, like he doesn’t hear it as a joke. ‘No, not that, just… I don’t think friends give their friends head, is all.’
‘We could be.’ Steve decides, linking his arms behind Jonathan’s back, pleased with the idea he’s cooked up. ‘We could be friends who give their friends head, if you want.’
Jonathan takes a while to reply, running his fingers through the hairs at the back of Steve’s neck, carefully, like he doesn’t want it to tickle, and it’s so calming that Steve almost falls asleep, forgetting he’s waiting on a reply.
Eyes closing, brain melting away, his limbs falling into place on the bed, he doesn’t think about the sweaty mess they need to clean up, just twitches slightly before he succumbs to the dreams, when at the back of his consciousness he, finally, hears Jonathan’s low answer.
‘Sure, whatever you want.’
Three Months Later
‘So, are you guys, like, a thing?’ Robin asks, her voice cutting through the thrum of the dining hall buzz. She steals the bacon from Steve’s plate, and he lets her, with a fake offended sigh, pretending he didn’t pick up extra just to keep her happy.
‘No, it’s just sex.’
‘Really?’ Vickie asks, leaning a little closer into the conversation. ‘I didn’t think he would be into that.’
‘Oh my god, I know.’ Robin pulls Vickie further in with a gentle tug to her shoulders. They share a brief look, knowing and smirking, that Steve really doesn’t like, but it’s too early in the morning to reckon with.
‘You two are cute together though,’ Vickie says, abruptly.
‘That’s not what you said the first time we saw them,’ Robin says, grinning. ‘You said…’
‘Aw, don’t do this to me…’
‘What did you say?’ Steve asks, pushing, in that careful way when it’s a new friend and he doesn’t know how mean he can be yet. Vickie doesn’t look that uncomfortable, so he thinks it’s okay, but she doesn’t answer either.
‘She said… that it was weird.’ Robin takes over, rubbing Vickie’s shoulder, like she’s apologising for it as she goes. ‘That it looked like Jonathan was your minder, dragging you out of that party.’
‘Vickie,’ Steve tuts, smiles up at her after, so she smiles back with a self-conscious roll of her eyes.
‘Sorry, sorry! You know what I mean, though, right? Right?’
‘Yeah, Steve, right?’ Robin mimics, not kindly, but Vickie doesn’t care, just makes Robin’s blush in retaliation by placing a kiss on her cheek, leaving a faint peach lipstick stain. She’s made of stronger stuff than he expected.
‘I’m not saying it’s bad. It’s nice, I like Jonathan,’ Vickie says, and Robin scowls, shakes her head in disagreement, because somehow, she’s even worse with Jonathan than she is with Tommy. ‘He’s just not who I thought you would go for.’
Steve stills, drinks up his coffee and checks his watch. He’s not trying to be rude, he just doesn’t know what to say, because she’s right. They both are. No one can work out why Steve and Jonathan have been a not-thing for the last few months, least of all Steve himself. He just knows he likes it. He knows it’s easy, that Jonathan is unexpectedly laidback as far as sex goes, doesn’t ask for much, even seems to like it when Steve tries to date other people.
‘I’ve got class,’ he says, pushing the rest of his food onto Robin’s tray. ‘See you guys tonight?’
Robin nods, and Vickie apologises again, and he sends her a reassuring smile, because he likes her. He likes that she’s sweet and silly and steady enough to handle Robin’s moods, without pretending like they do no harm. He likes that she wears long pearl earrings and watches foreign animated films that even Robin struggles to keep up with. There’s a lot of reasons to like Vickie, and Steve can list them, he can identify them easily.
He walks over to the lecture hall, chooses a seat in the back, pulls out his laptop and hits record. Gets a text from Jonathan halfway through the hour; a photo of some vinyl he pulled out at the record store, his thumb and forefinger holding it up by the corner. It’s some eighties pop star, big hair, wide smile, orange skin, not famous enough for Steve to recognise, and there’s a yellow reduced price sticker covering up the name.
J: Is this you?
S: Haha. Get some new material.
J: U jealous of the hair?
S: His hair is shit compared to mine
J: His hair is glorious compared to yours
S: Shut up. You love my hair
J: Argyle’s is better
S: You take that back
J: Never
Steve’s smiling into his phone, holding it under the armrest and acting like the girl next to him isn’t glaring at him for it. He starts searching through his photos, looking for the one of Jonathan freshly out of bed, long hair sideways and stuck to his forehead, just to shame him for it - when Jonathan texts first.
J: Want to come by the station tonight?
Not really, it’s Friday, he wants to go out with Robin, maybe see Tommy along the way, catch a drink, watch as the two of them barely hide their distaste for each other over another game of overly aggressive foosball. But Jonathan finally asked, and Steve’s been waiting a while, so…
S: Yeh. Your boss okay with me being there?
J: Bob won’t notice. Argyle wants to see you too. No pressure. Only if you want to
S: I want to
J: Cool
He puts his phone away, waits until the lecture is finished before messaging Robin.
S: Can’t come out tonight
R: Why Not?
She follows it up with a snap of her furious scowl hovering over a library computer keyboard, clearly procrastinating her revision.
S: Hanging out with Jonathan. Watching his radio show
R: omg
She doesn’t message anything else for a while, and Steve is almost nervous, sliding his phone back into his pocket as he walks back to dorms, the only student on the grass quad, feeling exposed. He checks his phone when he’s back in his room.
R: U r so boyfriends 😵 gross
He stuffs his phone away quickly, focuses on picking out his gym gear. He’s not Jonathan’s boyfriend. He doesn’t know much, but that’s been made clear. He knows Jonathan must like hanging out with him, he must, if he wants him at the station tonight. Steve can’t even work out why he likes hanging out with Jonathan, maybe if he did, he would be able to connect the dots, and he could finally stop feeling so confused, about someone that’s basically just a fuckbuddy, really, beneath it all.
Jonathan texts him, tells him to bring snacks along tonight (not red vines!), and Steve smiles.
He’s uncertain in a way he hasn’t been for a while, and the weed made him anxious, but Jonathan’s nose is pink and he looks cute when his eyes crinkle, and they stumble back to Steve's dorm room around eleven, because the radio show finished at nine, but they smoked up with Argyle afterwards, and Steve's room is closest.
He pushes Jonathan onto the bed, kisses his jaw, then starts unbuttoning his jeans.
‘You liked the show, huh?’ Jonathan asks, breathing fast, caught off guard, but still widening his legs and leaving space for Steve to drop to his knees.
Yeah, Steve liked the show. He liked seeing Jonathan’s fingers run over the dials of the mixing board, choosing the songs that flow, followed by the quiet performative laugh piped into the mic after Argyle finished a ludicrous tangent. He always likes seeing Jonathan working with his hands, likes it when Jonathan takes out the camera, flips the switches and lets the bulb flash in Steve’s face when he least expects it. Last time was in Jonathan’s dorm room, Sunday morning, Steve smoking a cigarette out of the window with the broken latch, a leg hanging over the ledge.
‘I want to see that photo,’ Steve says, leaning in to rub his cheek against Jonathan, tenting in his briefs.
Jonathan smiles up at the ceiling and laughs, and Steve realises he did that thing where he jumped to a conclusion without tying anyone else into the lead up. He doesn’t do it often, mainly around Jonathan, it seems.
‘What?’ Jonathan runs a hand through Steve’s hair, uses the other to push his chin up. ‘What photo?’
With his hands like this, it’s almost like he’s cradling him, holding him, gentler than most. Makes Steve nervous, so he ducks out of the hold, pushes Jonathan’s underwear down and leaves kisses in the hair above the base of his dick.
‘That photo you took when we were at yours,’ he clarifies, ‘Me by the window. I want to see it. Bet I look good in it.’
It’s a gamble, but it pays off, because Jonathan smiles as he rises an inch to lower his jeans and underwear, lets Steve push his shirt up so it bunches under his arms. Steve kisses his stomach as he goes back down, smells sweat, and the woody ash that fell from the joint earlier.
Jonathan keeps one hand on Steve’s shoulder, gripping a little tighter when Steve licks a hot stripe down his dick, sealing his lips over the head. Raises his other hand to rub over his face as he pants, sounds good and hoarse from the smoke. ‘Fuck.’
Steve hums, looks up through his eyelashes, bobbing down further, speaks without speaking. Good?
‘Fuck you, you know you’re good at that,’ Jonathan says, bucking up slightly, doesn’t apologise like he used to, just swears under his breath and pinches his eyebrows. ‘I’ll get- I’ll get the photo developed… tomorrow. I’ll do it tomorrow.’
Steve removes his mouth, holds Jonathan’s dick in his hand, licks with the flat of his tongue, just around the tip, then takes it down again, going as far as he can, before pulling off completely. Jonathan groans, the taut skin around his abs heaving as all the air is pushed out his body.
‘Wanna fuck me?’ Steve asks, flippantly, like he’s not moving his hand lower, so his knuckles brush against Jonathan’s balls.
Jonathan groans again, and it’s still hot, but it’s mixed with that cynical surprise, like Steve is the only person he’s ever met who would ask like that. It should feel judgemental, a little mean, but it just makes Steve laugh as he clambers up and joins him on the bed. ‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah, yeah, come here.’ Jonathan pulls him into a kiss, starting timid, always so polite until Steve pushes. They kiss as they shuck off the rest of their clothes, Steve’s shirt last, only pulling away from the kiss so he can tear it up and over his head. It catches on his nose, and Jonathan tuts as he helps pull it up, which is basically the same as Jonathan laughing, so Steve laughs too.
Jonathan reaches over to the bedside cabinet, knows where Steve keeps the lube and condoms without asking, and searches for the bottle. Steve goes with him, running his hands through the fair hair on Jonathan’s chest. It’s as Jonathan flips the bottle cap open, that Steve’s phone starts vibrating, flashing yellow through the denim of his jeans lying on the floor.
‘You going to get that?’
‘Nah.’
He moves on top, knees either side Jonathan’s thighs. It always makes Jonathan blush when he straddles him, makes Steve like it even more. He lowers his mouth down to Jonathan’s ear, their dicks rubbing hot and hard against each other, whispers with wet lips as Jonathan reaches behind and slips his fingers between Steve’s cheeks, because he thinks Jonathan likes the encouragement, but he’s never asked cos’ he knows it would come out condescending. ‘Like that, more. Fuck. That’s good, like that.’
His phone stops ringing, then a second later, rings again. Jonathan’s fingers slow down, he quickly kisses Steve on the nose, then pushes his forehead up with his. ‘Are you sure you’re not going to get that?’ Looks at him with his eyebrows raised, like he knows better.
‘Urgh, fine.’ Steve rolls away, clambers over the edge of the bed to pick up his phone from the floor, doesn’t look at the screen when he answers the call with a huff. ‘What?’
Jonathan smiles at it, leans against the headboard and watches.
It’s Tommy on the other end, drunk and babbling and asking him why the fuck he didn’t come out tonight. Steve doesn’t want to admit that he was busy on campus, watching his not-boyfriend record a college radio show no one willingly listens to, so he tells Tommy to fuck off, and makes some half-assed promise about getting drinks with him tomorrow. Hangs up and throws the phone back onto the floor.
‘Who was it?’ Jonathan’s shuffled away during the call, has his arms crossed and there’s a couple inches separating their bodies, so Steve pulls him in, his chest bracketing Steve’s back, still close, but no eye contact, because he thinks Jonathan needs that sometimes.
‘Just Tommy, he always calls when he’s drunk.’
Jonathan gets a loose fist around Steve’s dick, running a thumb over the head, then making it tight and hot, talking like he isn’t pushing his thumb into the slit; mean but so good. ‘Tommy from upstairs?’
Steve closes his eyes and breathes quicker, speaks on an exhale. ‘No, Tommy Hagan, ya’ know, from high school?’
Jonathan’s hand stops, then quickly starts up again, like he’s trying to hide his reaction to Tommy’s name. He holds Steve faster, up and down, tighter than normal, and it’s really good, but it doesn’t distract Steve enough.
‘What is it?’ He glances over his neck, catching Jonathan’s concentrated stare, focussed on a cluster of freckles.
‘Nothing, it’s nothing.’ He moves faster, starts pressing against Steve’s lubed up ass, but not pushing in.
Then, trying to make it as good as it was before, and relying on that only slightly faded confidence he picked up over the years, he goes rough and needy when he whispers, ‘You still gonna fuck me?’
Jonathan, unfortunately, doesn’t fall for it. He never does, not really.
‘Can we do it like this, just this, tonight.’ He doesn’t say sorry, but Steve can feel his lips moving against the back of his neck after he stops talking, like he wants to tack on the word anyway.
‘Yeah, yeah, keep going,’ Steve says, letting it happen. He doesn’t know what he did wrong, but if this is easier, less embarrassing somehow, the condom left unused by their legs - even though it’s basically Jonathan humping his ass - then he won’t complain.
Jonathan goes faster, whimpers when Steve sighs and cums into his fist with a shudder. Steve bends his hands round to grab at Jonathan’s thigh, moving him in and out between his cheeks, the head of his dick just brushing over Steve’s rim. His dick makes a valiant jump at the motion, the desperate stick of skin against skin making him feel feverish, but he doesn’t try again, just lets his voice sound whiny when he tells Jonathan, ‘You feel so good.’
Jonathan cums, then quickly rolls Steve over, pulls him in with hands either side of his face, and shoves their mouths together in a sloppy kiss. He’s only gets messy after he’s cum, like a good orgasm makes him forget his reservations. Steve loves it, makes the kiss last, pouts when Jonathan eventually pulls away and grabs a tissue to wipe them down.
Steve’s thinking about connecting his music to the Bluetooth speaker, normally does before they have sex, but got too caught up this time. He wants to play this album Robin told him about, that he’s very hopeful Jonathan might like, or at least be interested in enough that he details all the reasons why he doesn’t like it - when Jonathan swings his legs over the edge of the bed, pats his hands on a dirty towel, starts picking up his clothes.
‘I’ve gotta go,’ he says, quietly, shoulders sunk down. It reminds Steve of that first time, when he dragged Jonathan from the common room; and Jonathan froze up near the end, like he was bracing himself for the punchline, even though there wasn't one then; but now, maybe, and it’s landing on Steve.
He starts getting dressed, and Steve does too, because he feels too vulnerable asking these questions without his socks on. ‘Was it the phone call thing? Like... that won’t happen again, so don’t worry.’
‘No. No, just, my little brother is visiting tomorrow. I need to tidy my room, need to meet him at the station,’ Jonathan says, staring at his bootlaces as he ties them. ‘His bus arrives pretty early.’
‘Oh. Cool.’ He's annoyed that Jonathan’s lying, because they don’t have much, but they don’t lie to each other, not normally. ‘I didn’t know you had a brother.’
Jonathan nods, does up his zipper and pulls on his suede jacket. Steve sits on the bed, sheets creased and pooling by his bare knees, feeling dumb and embarrassed, but stupidly, he’s not nervous about trying again. ‘You sure you’re okay? Like, with Tommy and everything?’
Jonathan sucks in his lips, like he’s making his expression as small as possible, trying to reveal as little as he can, which only does the opposite. Steve’s not a clever guy, but he can make a guess at an expression like that. He could say goodbye, give Jonathan an easy exit, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t push, but he waits for an answer, waits to hear why Jonathan doesn’t trust him. He isn’t normally difficult like this.
‘I didn’t know you were still friends with Tommy,’ Jonathan says, eventually, carefully cool.
Steve shrugs, lets his hands fall onto the bed. ‘I mean, yeah, we hung out all the time in school. We go to the gym together, and he’s like, the only other guy from Hawkins who goes here, so it’s not like I can ignore him.’
‘What? The only other guy from Hawkins?’ Jonathan says, eyes going steely. ‘What does that make me?’
‘You’re different,’ Steve says, instantly regrets it. ‘Like, you’re different from Tommy, but it’s also like, well, we never hung out in high school, ya’ know? You were always doing your own thing.’
‘My own thing,’ Jonathan repeats, without emotion. ‘That’s what you call it?’
Steve falters, scans over Jonathan’s body before talking next, seeing the way his hand is tightly grasped around the strap of his messenger bag, his nostrils slightly flared. Out of anyone he’s ever met, Jonathan is the hardest person to read. Makes everything strange and quiet. Steve works harder, looking at Jonathan.
He skips a couple steps, maybe, but he tries to say the right thing. ‘Look, you know I’m sorry about how we were in high school.’
Jonathan snorts, ugly, takes a step towards the door. ‘You said sorry.’
‘Yeah, I did, and I mean it dude, I promise.’
‘Yeah, I remember.’ Jonathan seethes, ‘You said sorry, not Tommy, and now you guys go to the gym together.’
Steve doesn’t like it, how Jonathan’s turning this into something it doesn’t have to be. Steve apologised, ages ago, a month after moving into dorms, and approximately a week prior to getting over the whole shame-of-liking-dicks conundrum. They bumped into each other at that party, and he got it all out, said everything he’d been rehearsing with Robin days before. He thought they were over this.
He’s not certain if he’s angry because; Jonathan isn’t over it, or because; Jonathan’s so hard to fucking read that he only just realised that Jonathan isn’t over it; whatever reason, he’s angry, and he doesn’t hide it.
‘I’m not Tommy’s fucking babysitter, I can’t make him say shit.’
‘Fuck. Fuck…’ Jonathan stutters, going pale, because he gets embarrassed when the stutter comes back. ‘I’m not saying that.’ He pauses, arms holding his sides. ‘I just thought… I thought you weren’t like that. Not like Tommy, anymore.’
‘He’s not that bad.’
‘He is, Steve, he used to be a fucking asshole.’
‘That was high school!’ Steve says, waves his arms, annoyed and pent up. ‘I thought you were over it. You might even like him nowadays if you tried to talk to him.’
Jonathan’s jaw tenses, white veins illuminated by the light from the small lamp. ‘I’m sorry, but if you expect me to ever talk to Tommy, then you’re even dumber than I thought.’
‘Fuck you,’ Steve says, not shouting, but doing a bad job at hiding the hurt. ‘Maybe I should hang out with Tommy more, then, if I’m so dumb.’
Jonathan shakes his head, looks down, moves an inch closer to the bed, ‘no I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-’ but Steve’s not letting him get away with that.
‘I mean it. We’re actually really similar, me and Tommy, like we listen to the same music, and he comes to my swim meets, and he even tries with Robin, more than you do,’ he says, hoping it stings. ‘I don’t, actually, have anything in common with you.’ He shrugs, makes a show of it.
Jonathan is at the door, tilting his head, looking at Steve like he’s shit on his shoe. ‘You’re right, we don’t have anything in common.’
‘Yeah, I’m right,’ Steve says, already losing conviction. ‘We’re not friends. We just have sex.’ And the belief disappears before he’s even finished saying it.
‘Right.’ Jonathan opens the door, looking like he’s about to say something else, doesn’t.
It takes Steve a while, after the door clicks shut, to move. He stares at the door, the grey plywood, the dumb poster of the sexy tennis girl pinned up in the centre (he tried to call it ironic, Robin told him better), and briefly considers running after Jonathan, taking him by the arm, saying something clever.
But he’s angry, and he’s never been clever, so he raises the sheets over his head, and tries to not think about the smell of ash and tea tree.
Saturday
Robin, famously some would say, has never made it to the dining hall’s Saturday mega-breakfast buffet, as she refuses to leave her bed before noon on the weekend unless capitalism requires her to do so (i.e. Scoops calls her in for an opening shift and Steve refuses to skip practice to fill in for her). So, Steve, wet and tired, because he stayed up all night worrying, and the college’s gym’s changing rooms still haven’t installed hairdryers despite his frequent slips in the suggestion box, turns up outside her door twenty minutes after swim practice, chlorine dripping onto his shoulders, with two lattes and some hashbrowns from the local diner tucked under his arm.
Vickie opens the door, wearing a stolen sleep shirt, looking concerned, her worry only soothed after there’s a tired shout from the lump of bed sheets behind her.
‘He does this all the time. You better have brought me oat milk.’
‘I did not,’ he says, walking in and perching at the end of her unmade bed. ‘Do you want her latte?’ He offers Vickie, who accepts it with a confused smile.
The lump of blankets and choppy hair unravels as Robin pushes herself up by the elbows. She makes grabby hands at the hashbrowns, bites into them and gets the crumbs everywhere.
‘Yousmell-like-swimmingpool-watswrong?’ She asks, chewing.
While Vickie is slowly moving into first position as girlfriend, she has not as yet learnt how to translate Robin’s sleepy, food-logged mumblings like Steve has, so he answers, while Vickie sits on the floor, bemused with the pair.
‘I think… I did something stupid.’
Robin swallows down her food, wipes away some sleep from her eyes, black dust at the corners where she forgot to take off her makeup last night. She smiles sympathetically, reaches over and pats his shoulder. ‘What did you do?’
Steve sighs, takes a sip of his coffee, and shuffles so he can rest his spine against the wall, his sneakers hanging off the edge of the mattress.
‘Oh no,’ she says, twisting her mouth, and, always too clever for her own good, she pulls no punches. ‘What did Jonathan do?’
He tells her, and she makes it funny, like she always does, and it helps, as do Vickie’s comments from their feet, little high-pitched questions that Steve can’t help but smile at, even when everything else feels bad.
‘What a fuckhead.’ Robin concludes, firmly.
‘It was my fault. I was the one to start it.’
‘He called you dumb,’ Robin says, ‘You’re not dumb, and it’s fucked he would try that.’
‘I’m a bit dumb. You call me dumb all the time.’
‘Yeah, but it’s with love,’ she says, glancing up at him with a twitching nose. ‘You know I’m joking, right? When I say that?’
Steve shrugs, and she tilts her head to rest on his shoulder, feeding him the last bite of hashbrown.
‘If you’re dumb, then I’m the dumbest,’ she lies, but it’s nice, so he laughs a little. ‘Like remember when I tried to buy weed for the first time? That was dumb. I would’ve been robbed blind if it wasn’t for you.’
‘Okay, yeah, that was dumb. I can’t believe that guy was trying to charge you a hundred for a half ounce.’
‘See!’ Robin squawks, forgetting any previous pride about the situation (‘I’m not a baby, Steve, I can roll my own doooobies’) and revelling in being proved correct.
‘You know a guy? Could you buy me some, babe?’ Vickie bats her eyelashes, with a touch of manipulation that Steve greatly respects.
Robin rolls her eyes, but promises to anyway, shares a quick glance with Steve, that says; you’ll help me? And Steve telepathically agrees to support the endeavour with a barely-there nod, making plans to message his usual guy.
Then, with a renewed confidence that Steve feels personally responsible for, she carries on needling.
‘You should have known this would happen, with Jonathan, I mean,’ Robin says, wiping her greasy hands on the sheets. (I’m washing them later, geez calm down.)
‘What do you mean, with Jonathan?’
‘You had that one sex dream about him, stormed into a friends-with-benefits sitch’, and now you’re surprised it’s getting complicated? It’s Jonathan.’
‘You guys share sex dreams?’ Vickie asks, with a curious smirk that only grows wider as Robin goes pink.
‘Not all of them.’
‘Most of them,’ Steve counters, because apparently, he likes embarrassing Robin just as much as Vickie does.
‘Not me, it’s all Steve,’ Robin snips, and Steve raises his eyebrows at Vickie, silently mouths ‘It’s all her.’ Which makes Vickie raise a hand to hide a giggle, so he counts it as a win.
Robin bats him on the shoulder, puffs out angry air from her nose. ‘Ha. Ha. All laugh at stupid me and my struggle to understand social boundaries. But, seriously, listen, this is Jonathan Byers, did you ever really think about the implications?’
‘Not really? I don’t know what you mean, like, obviously I know it’s weird because we never got on in high school, but I thought it was like, water under the sea.’
‘Do you mean under the bridge?’ Vickie asks, shimmying her butt over the rug and sitting between Robin’s ankles.
‘Yeah, that, sea under the bridge,’ Steve says, absentmindedly. ‘I thought we were past it.’
‘But dude, it’s Jonathan.’
‘Robin, what do you mean,’ Steve says, exasperated and still as utterly confused as he was when he walked into her dorm room.
‘It’s just-’ She flaps her arms, looks down at Vickie. ‘You know Jonathan, you get it?’
Vickie nods gently, frowns in a way that says she knows exactly what Robin’s talking about, but maybe doesn’t want to say it out loud.
‘Guys,’ Steve grumbles, beyond tired. ‘Please, just lay it out for me.’
‘Okay,’ Robin starts, ‘Jonathan is like, super delicate.’
‘Sensitive,’ Vickie suggests instead.
‘Sure, yeah, he’s sensitive. He’s also like, soo gloomy. He’s always, just, brooding.’
‘Introspective,’ Vickie throws in, ‘He’s introspective. He gets stuck in his own thoughts.’
‘Yeah, yeah! He’s sensitive and introspective.’
‘I can be sensitive and introspective,’ Steve says, on the defence, though he doesn’t know why.
‘Oh, you can be! You can be!’ Robin reassures, ‘Just… did you ever listen to his radio show? Like that was gloom town central. I never knew there were that many sad English morons singing about depressed Catholic saints until got I locked into the dining hall that Friday the tornado alert went out by accident, and they couldn’t turn off the speakers and it was just Morrissey and Robert Smith and Brett Anderson on constant repeat, with Jonathan’s sad little segways about his emotional responses to every single song, going on and on and on…’
‘Robin.’ Vickie interrupts with a warning tap on her shin.
‘Yeah, Robin,’ Steve says, ‘Plus, I listened to his radio show, like yesterday, and it was nothing like that. Argyle is a fucking hoot and a half, and it’s not just Morrissey, Jonathan plays cool music.’
At least, Steve thinks it’s cool, he would bet it’s cool, but all he’s ever heard since he’s arrived at college, is that his taste in his music is the main reason all the other students so quickly identified his apparent, deep lack of coolness, or whatever is it that makes someone cool at college, because it seems to be a completely different criteria to what he successfully followed in high school - so what does he know.
‘This was before he got that show with Argyle, he had this solo thing last year.’ Robin huffs, ‘But anyway, fine, I’ll get back on track.’ She composes herself, breathes in and out, lays her hands flat against her legs.
‘All I’m saying is… you chose the shyest, saddest, most complicated little emo boy on campus, and you thought hey, I know what’s a good idea-’ She knocks her head side to side with each word, mocking, using this low-pitched nasal tone to imitate him. ‘Let’s get into a fuckbuddy situation with him, and I’ll ignore how I’m desperate for monogamy, and Jonathan will pretend he didn’t have a humungous crush on me in high school, and we’ll never talk about our feelings, ever.’
‘I don’t sound like that.’
‘You so do.’
‘And I’m not desperate for monogamy.’ Whatever the fuck that means.
‘You so are.’
‘And Jonathan didn’t have a crush on me in high school. You have no idea, you weren’t even there. He hated me,' Steve says, then sags, deflating. ‘He hated me, and it was justified, because I was a Grade-A asshole.’
Vickie jolts, spins her head round and stops smiling. ‘You weren’t that bad. Surely, I mean... what did you do? Flush his head down the toilet?’
Robin laughs, pulls Vickie up by her arms into her lap, then reaches over to ruffle Steve’s hair, smiling sadly between the two. ‘He wasn’t like that,’ she says, poking him in the chin, like she’s trying to force a smile. ‘He was, wait- what did we decide to call it again?’
‘Bitchy,’ Steve says, honestly, but still ashamed. ‘I was just, a bitch. I said some bad shit.’
Vickie’s small knees jut into Steve’s thighs, and she turns to Robin with a guilty, secret smile, whispering something into her ear, making her laugh.
‘Guys.’ Steve pouts. ‘You’re not allowed to joke without me when I’m literally being depressed less than a foot away from you.’
Robin laughs again, nudges Vickie on the shoulder, like; go on, tell him.
‘All I said was, that you’re still a bitch.’ Then, a quick blush, an even quicker blink. ‘In a cool way, like, it’s funny, that you’re a bitch.’
Steve groans, loudly, throws his empty coffee cup across the room and slumps down, hiding in his hoodie. ‘This isn’t helping me.’
‘Sorry! Sorry!’ Vickie says, sounds genuine but doesn’t stop giggling with Robin. ‘Come on, we'll help you. What sorta stuff did you say to him? Back in high school?’
Steve stews in the silence for a second too long, more than embarrassed, feeling all the guilt surge back into him.
‘It was me and Tommy…’
‘Ew. Tommy,’ Vickie says, biting her lip after like she didn’t mean to say it, but Robin bobs her head in agreement, lets Vickie know that no one is doubting her aversion to the dude. Steve shrugs along to, too tired to disagree.
‘We used to act like dickheads, together, ya’ know? Used to call Jonathan loads of bad shit… made some jokes about him…’ Steve trails off, unsure what he wants to say.
‘We won’t tell anyone,’ Vickie says, ‘Everyone did stupid shit in high school, I know I did.’
Robin moves her head slightly, to look at Vickie easier, like she wasn’t expecting her to say that, but she nods too, looks over at Steve like she wants to encourage him. He’s told her most of this, the guiltiest parts, but it was drunk and stupid and she didn’t have very high expectations of him at the time, so this feels more revealing.
‘There was this thing... with my ex.’
‘Nancy?’ Robin adds, because she knows that part.
‘Oh. Nancy.’ Vickie repeats, shy, like she knows she shouldn't know.
‘Yeah. Nancy. She was kinda his friend. He did the photos for the yearbook when she was in charge so they would hang out, and then there was this lake trip… and he took some photos of her that I didn’t like.’
‘What photos?’ Vickie asks.
‘Like, Nancy in her bikini. I dunno. She shouted at him for it, but forgave him in the end, but... well, I didn’t. Started telling people he was a pervert, a creep. That kinda thing.’
‘Weird. That is weird, taking photos like that,’ Robin says, thinking for a second, drawing more of her mental image of Hawkins High, another story added. ‘I didn’t know he was friends with Nancy.’
She told Steve she nearly moved to Hawkins when she was little; when her dad got a job offer at the Department of Energy, but it fizzled out. Her family stayed in Indy, and she grew up being a scrappy inner-city kid. Steve used to imagine how different it would have been if she’d moved, if he’d met her before. But then, he wasn’t friends with girls like Robin in high school, maybe he wouldn’t have even noticed.
‘I don’t know if they were real friends,’ Steve says, ‘But she stood up for him. She was good like that.’ Too good for Steve, even as a stupidly repressed seventeen-year-old, he knew that.
‘Stood up for him?’ Vickie asks, then, more careful, ‘From you?’
‘Yeah, from me,’ Steve says, feeling like shit, but comfortable enough to admit it. ‘Everyone knew about him, about how he was with guys, and I was a dick about it.’ He sighs, ‘Used to call him queer.’
‘Ah.’ Vickie hums, not moving away from him, but not smiling either. ‘You said that kinda bad shit.’
‘Yeah, and worse.’ He wasn’t the only one, the Byers were an easy punching bag for the town. (Screw-ups, your whole family, man.)
‘And you apologised?’ Vickie asks, not hiding what Robin must have told her anymore. He’s not upset at the idea, but it keeps the shame simmering. He nods, pulls at the strings of his hoodie.
It feels too quiet, like no one knows who should speak next, so, predictably, Robin talks fast. Steve laughs at her for it, but he loves it too. Loves having a friend who never wants to leave him alone in the silence.
‘You could always apologise again? For high school, I mean, plus you really need to talk to Tommy, it’s not that your first apology wasn’t good, but from what you told me, you were really drunk, and Jonathan was really sober, and maybe- maybe-’
Maybe it wasn’t good enough, Steve realises, eyes widening. Robin sees it, jumps. ‘Not that it wasn’t good! I know you put the effort in, it’s just…’
‘What?’
‘It’s Jonathan,’ she says, with her bottom lip stuck out. ‘He’s fragile.’
‘Sensitive, Robin.’ Vickie corrects.
‘Yeah, sensitive.’ She agrees, ‘I know you’re gonna hate this, but maybe you just need to talk about your feelings, with him.’
He groans, sticks up his nose, gets a small laugh from Vickie, and the tension breaks. He knocks his head back against the wall. ‘I hate that; talking.’
Robin snorts. ‘Strong words for such a big mouth.’
‘You’re worse than me.’
‘Nu-uh. I ramble, you just love the sound of your own voice,’ she says, her lips curling. ‘Remember when you got caught trying to flirt with Stacy Thomson in the library?’ She turns to Vickie, letting her in on the gossip. ‘This dingus was so loud. The librarian made him leave, he nearly got banned.’
‘From the library?’ Vickie laughs, eyes wide in disbelief. ‘You nearly got barred, from the library?’
‘Fuck you.’ He mumbles, not nearly as offended as he’s pretending. ‘And it worked, didn’t it? I got a date with Stacy.’ Slept with her, didn’t get very far after that. She wasn’t looking for a thing. Because apparently no one is looking for a thing these days, at least not with Steve.
‘And how did Jonathan feel about that?’ Robin asks, not giving up. It gives Steve pause, reminds him of the parts he kept hidden, even now; but, he’s been humiliated enough, he can risk the shame boiling over.
‘He was fine with it. The dating stuff. He was the one who didn’t want us to be a thing.’
‘Really?’ Vickie says, sceptical, and not nearly as sympathetic as she should be. ‘Jonathan just really doesn’t seem like the type.’
‘Yes, well, obviously, he must be.’ Steve sulks. ‘Why’s that so hard to believe?’
Because Jonathan’s soft - or, sensitive and introspective - whatever, it doesn’t matter. He’s gentle. Doesn’t like getting angry, he likes holding Steve close, making him stay the night. Maybe that’s why Steve likes him, he thinks, embarrassed at the ordinary thought. Jonathan doesn’t want a relationship with Steve, but he would be a really good boyfriend, and Steve hates realising that, for the second, third, or hundredth time.
‘Oh my god, you boys have so much to talk about,’ Robin says, unhelpfully.
Steve doesn’t storm out, because he’s trying to not be childish like that, but he makes up some essay he needs to work on at the library, and in the process of lying, remembers there is actually, an essay he urgently needs to finish, at the library. So, he packs up, sets off, really hoping that the librarian who tried to ban him isn’t working behind the front desk, because there’s some fines he has no intention of paying back, and she didn’t seem very impressed when he tried to flirt his way out of the problem last time.
‘Let us know how it goes!’ Robin shouts as she pulls Vickie back under the covers, and like most things these days, Steve is confused, because he can’t tell if it’s kind encouragement, or a sarcastic threat.