Work Text:
“I should get going,” says Nancy, already standing from her chair, hands tucked into her pockets.
“Yeah, same,” says Robin, copying her. Nancy ducks her head with an amused smile.
Steve stares at them. “Really? It’s still so early.”
Robin comes over and hugs him, ignoring his protest. “You’re not the only one here that I have plans with, you know. I’m pretty popular these days.”
He scoffs and pushes himself back to look at her face. “Wait, seriously?”
“Dead serious.” She’s grinning.
Steve shakes his head. “Alright, weirdo. Go have fun with your plans.” He turns to Nancy, who’s already facing him. “What about you?”
“Um, me too,” she says, suddenly looking a bit flustered, “I have plans.”
It’s not like Nancy to hide anything from him, or the others, and he has half the mind to hit pause and make her spill whatever’s going on. But then Jonathan is standing, too, and Nancy turns to him, her entire expression softening.
He’s confident in the way he moves, the small gestures of his arms that welcome her into an embrace, which she falls into without question. Steve can’t help staring, cataloguing the way he smiles when pulling back, his eyes pinching into crescents.
“I guess now’s as good a time as any to head out,” he says, turning to address the others. “I, uh, promised my mom I’d be around to catch up tonight.”
Right. Everyone here has someone who misses them, someone who isn’t him, or even each other. It’s not like he has a monopoly on his friends’ time; he knows that, and letting them go should be easy.
Jonathan cocks his head at Steve. “What about you, man?”
Steve shakes away his thoughts. “What?”
“Do you have plans?”
He blinks. Isn’t it obvious? “No, not really.”
Robin tsks. “What about Kristen?”
He shrugs. “She’s got family stuff this weekend. Besides, we’re not, like, that serious.”
His friends are quiet, looking at him with scrutinizing expressions. He feels suddenly very uneasy, like they can see right through whatever flimsy walls he’s attempted to put up around his emotions. “What? It’s fine, I’m looking forward to a quiet night in.”
He ignores the way his chest tightens around the words, the sinking feeling in his stomach that only worsens when he thinks about being alone once again. His friends don’t need to know how desperately he misses them, or that he’s basically a dog, living in the same loop day-to-day, waiting for someone he loves to come home.
For the longest time, he’s hoped maybe that someone would be a girlfriend, maybe even someone like Kristen. She’s beautiful and open-minded. She’s kind in a way that most of his girlfriends haven’t been – at least not to him – and she’s patient. They met a few months ago at the Hideout, after one of Steve’s first coaching gigs. She’d approached him, smiling confidently when she’d asked for his name, and if he’d like to buy her a drink. Of course, he’d said yes.
She’s everything he should want. He wants to want her, and part of him really does, but there’s something missing. Something that has always been missing in his relationships, even with Nancy, but he hadn’t realized at the time, so caught up in raging teenage hormones and the pressure bestowed upon him to fit the mold of King Steve.
Here are the three people that Steve loves most – aside from Dustin, who is possibly the closest thing Steve thinks he’ll ever have to a brother. Robin, on the flip side, is the closest thing he’ll ever have to a sister. Nancy is one of his closest friends, and their history as lovers doesn’t detract from that, thankfully.
Jonathan is something else. He hasn’t quite figured it out, yet.
There’s no more animosity between them, but calling one another friends still feels off, somehow. Perhaps it’s the fact that they’ve never really had the time to bond in the way friends should — every memorable interaction charged in a way that Steve can’t really define. Maybe it’s the fact that Jonathan still seems uncomfortable when he stands too close, or the way he doesn’t ever seem to want to look at him for too long.
So, they’re friends. In a roundabout sort of way. And Steve wants very much to be real, good friends, because as much as he hates to admit it — even to himself — he can’t deny that he’s grown immensely fond of Jonathan in the time since Vecna’s defeat.
“I’m serious, you guys don’t need to worry about old Steve,” he says, flashing his most convincing smile.
Robin rolls her eyes. “No third person, gross.”
They say their goodbyes on the front steps of the Squawk, then Nancy and Robin leave together in Nancy’s car. Jonathan pats him on the back, lingering for a second before he goes down to his own car.
Steve waves them off, waiting until both cars disappear down the length of the road before turning around to go back inside.
He plops down onto the sofa and sighs. There’s an unopened can of beer on the table that he considers before reaching out to take.
The loneliness is familiar, fine. It’s not like he’s suffering in it, but sometimes his thoughts start to run a little wild, and he’s not very good at stopping them. Alcohol helps… when it doesn’t make his stomach hurt.
He takes a long swig from the can, grimacing at the starchy, bitter taste.
This is how he’s spent more than a handful of nights since his friends moved away.
Not exactly like this, actually, because even though he still knows his way around the Squawk, he’s technically trespassing and avoids frequenting it on nights when he knows there’s a possibility of being caught. The new hosts never bothered getting new keys made after Steve’s “disappeared” and so far they’re none the wiser. He’d like to keep it that way.
It’s nice, though, being somewhere familiar that isn’t his house. Living alone has its perks – like getting to walk naked in common spaces without anyone to tell him otherwise, and the freedom to decorate (or not decorate) however he pleases. He can watch TV at a booming volume or make a mess in the kitchen at 2 am because he can’t sleep, and there’s not a single soul around to tell him otherwise.
For about a week, it was exciting. Freedom from his parents, from anyone, was a thrill.
Sometimes he wishes someone would tell him to clean up his mess. He wishes that there was another person in the house, someone who would come into the kitchen when he’s up in the night and tell him to go to bed, or maybe even join him in his misery. He’d even like it if there was someone who wanted to play music too loud, or who insisted on color schemes for the walls.
Kristen doesn’t come over often. The last time was nearly a month ago, and she left the next morning without making the place feel any different. It’s his house, yes, but not his home.
He’s still waiting on that.
He squeezes the can, bending the tin to the shape of his fingers. The last drops slip past his lips, and he tosses it onto the ground, beside his feet. He falls back against the cushions and shuts his eyes.
The door opens.
He sits up as quickly as he can, which is admittedly slower than his usual response time. Jonathan Byers is standing in the doorway, looking just as surprised to see him.
“Uh, hey.”
Steve frowns, confused. “Hey? What are you doing here?”
Jonathan takes a step inside and shuts the door. “Forgot something. What are you doing here?”
“Squatter’s rights.”
Jonathan pins him with an even more puzzled expression. “You’re squatting here?”
“No, I’m kidding,” Steve laughs, “but I still have a key. Sometimes I hang around.”
“Right,” says Jonathan. He looks around the room, eyes landing on the crumpled can by Steve’s feet, and raises a brow. “Do you usually trash the place, too?”
Steve scoffs. “Okay, I was going to pick that up.”
“Right. Of course.”
Jonathan hovers by the door, still looking perplexed by the situation. He clears his throat just as Steve starts to speak, and then they both pause, and his eyes are on Steve, waiting.
“I, uh,” Steve says, floundering. It’s probably the alcohol, he tells himself distantly. “Damn, is it warm in here?”
Jonathan looks taken aback by this, as if expecting him to say something else. “Um, yeah, I guess. Did you turn off the AC?”
Steve shakes his head, no.
“Huh. Well, um, I think I left something on the roof, so I’m just gonna…” He gestures to the stairwell, swinging his arm awkwardly and looking away from Steve.
Steve sits up straighter. “Oh! I’ll come with.”
Jonathan glances at him. “Okay, sure.”
Jonathan finds what he’s looking for almost immediately and rushes ahead to stuff whatever it is into his pocket before Steve gets a very good look. It’s obvious enough, though, given the plastic baggie and the speed at which Jonathan seems eager to hide it.
“Dude,” Steve laughs, “You brought weed with you?”
Jonathan shoots him a glare. “It’s not–”
“Dude.”
He stops, standing up straighter. There’s a dim halo of the dusky sky framing him, his expression hard to read. “It helps me sleep.”
“Oh.”
Jonathan sighs. “I don’t do it all the time, it’s just something I like to have. Especially being home. Being here.”
Steve nods, slow understanding dawning on him. This is the first time Jonathan has been back to Hawkins since December, and things hadn’t been great for him then, either. Winter in Hawkins feels exactly like the memories that they’re all trying to move on from, but for Jonathan, it’s more than that. This place is a time capsule, filled with every bit of trauma he has ever endured, and for the first time in his life, he’s escaped it all. Coming back, Steve imagines, has to be immeasurably difficult.
To top it all off, he’s currently here, alone with Steve on the rooftop of the Squawk, when he clearly would rather be anywhere else.
“Sorry, man, I wasn’t trying to be a dick,” Steve says.
Jonathan looks apprehensive. “Isn’t that your natural state?”
He’s giving Steve an out – a self-deprecating out, but an out nonetheless. Steve’s lips curve upward. “You know it, Byers.”
It’s hard to tell, in the progressing darkness, but Jonathan smiles back. Neither of them moves to leave. Jonathan looks down at his pocket, hesitating, then looks back up at Steve.
“You smoke?”
It’s been a while since Steve’s been high. He thinks the last time was during the lockdown, shortly after Robin’s graduation. The two of them had snuck out into the woods just beyond the Squawk, after their last broadcast of the night ended, and smoked until he felt dizzy and far too high for his own good.
He doesn’t remember a lot of the details from that night, though he does remember feeling happy. Loose. Free. Robin had fallen over on top of him, laughing about nothing and everything all at once, and he had joined her despite not understanding what was so damn funny.
He remembers she had said, “Are you happy, Stevie?”
And he’d answered something like, “Only with you. Doofus.”
It had been silly at the time, but it was true. And it still is. He misses when things were simpler, when it was just the two of them doing stupid shit in the middle of the night, with the promise of seeing each other again in the morning.
He’ll see Robin again in a few months, maybe. Sooner, if they magically figure out a way to make her Philadelphia plan work out.
“Pass it,” Jonathan says, hand out in front of him. He remembers himself, then, and slowly shifts the blunt over to him.
Jonathan takes a long, deep drag, closing his eyes as the smoke consumes his lungs. He holds onto it for several seconds, before slowly letting it out.
Steve can’t make himself look away.
He opens his eyes, refocusing, and catches Steve’s stare. “Hm?”
“I didn’t say anything,” Steve says.
“Oh.” He hums and offers the blunt. Steve shakes his head.
“I need a minute.”
Jonathan shrugs. “Alright.”
They fall into silence, one only interrupted by the persistent sound of crickets that have come alive in the night. Steve leans back onto the cement, propped up on his elbows, and tips his head up to look at the sky.
“Do you ever think about how things could be different?” he asks, not entirely sure why the question slips out.
Beside him, Jonathan hums. “Different how?”
“I dunno.” Steve exhales, staring up at the sky. The stars look like pinpricks in a vast sheet of blackness, too far away to touch. “Just… different.”
Jonathan doesn’t answer right away. Steve hears the soft inhale, the faint crackle of burning paper, and he doesn’t bother looking over—too busy trying to find the Big Dipper. He can’t remember what Dustin told him about how to tell the North Star apart from the rest.
“Things are different,” Jonathan says eventually. “Life is different. I’m different.”
The words pull Steve back to the present. He turns his head, trying to catch Jonathan’s face, but Jonathan is looking away, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the edge of the roof. “You’re different?”
Jonathan nods, still not looking at him. “New York is pretty cool. The people there aren’t as close-minded as the ones here, you know?” His voice softens. “People don’t really get the chance to learn about themselves in a place like this. Not the way you do in the city.”
Steve frowns. “What does that mean?”
Jonathan sighs, the sound tired and heavy. “Have you ever wondered if you actually know yourself?” he asks. “Like, the real you.”
Steve thinks about it.
At the most basic level, he knows exactly who he is. He’s Steve Harrington. That part’s easy. He grew up in Hawkins, Indiana. He’s got two parents he barely speaks to and a handful of friends — most of them kids. He’s one of the few people alive who can say he’s almost been killed by interdimensional monsters. (More than once.)
He’s the kid who chased after Nancy Wheeler sophomore year because she was kind and pretty and made him feel seen for the first time in his life. He’s the kid who fought for a girl he never really wanted, who ended up bruised and bloody for insulting the boy he thought was his rival.
All of that feels true. And it’s not the right answer to Jonathan’s question.
“I know who I am,” he says.
Jonathan doesn’t look convinced. “And do you know what you want?”
“Of course.”
“Yeah?” Jonathan finally turns toward him. From this angle, Steve can see how glassy his eyes are, how something fragile flickers there. “What’s that?”
“I–” Steve starts, and then stops.
Because suddenly, he doesn’t know.
Right now, he kind of wants a cheeseburger loaded with extra grilled onions. Maybe a milkshake. Or a handful of potato chips. His mouth feels dry, like he’s been talking too much or not enough.
He wants to go home and crawl into bed. It’s been a long day, and his body feels heavy with it. His mind does, too. He wants to sprawl beneath the covers, mash his face into the pillow, and sleep until sunlight presses through the curtains and tells him it’s okay to wake up.
None of that feels like an answer.
“You’ve been thinking for a long time,” Jonathan says, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. “I think that’s a disqualification.”
Steve huffs in faux-annoyance. “Fine, your turn then.”
“My turn?”
“Yeah,” he says, shifting to sit up. “What do you want?”
Jonathan’s lips pinch together, like he’s waiting to say whatever first came to mind. His eyes dart around in the dark, the faraway look he gets when he’s thinking about something.
“I want a lot of things,” he says, finally. His voice is uncharacteristically soft in a way that makes Steve want to lean closer and give him all of his attention up close.
“Name one.”
“Well, I’d like to finish my movie, for starters,” he says, and Steve laughs.
“Your cannibal movie?”
Jonathan nods and smiles to himself. “Yeah. My cannibal movie. It’s actually going really well, but I’m worried about landing the ending.”
He’s twisting the remainder of the blunt between his fingers, tiny pieces of ash flicking up into the air.
“I don’t know anything about movies, or – or film, whatever you call it,” Steve says, “But I’m sure it’ll be great. You don’t do anything half-assed.”
Jonathan’s smile widens. “Thanks. That’s, uh… thanks.”
“Mhm,” Steve nods and looks away, swallowing the dryness in his throat. Is this what he’s heard Robin call cottonmouth? He can’t remember if he was ever this dried out smoking with her before.
“So, what’s another one?”
Jonathan hums. “Hm?”
“Um,” Steve coughs, “like, you said there’s lots of things. That you want. What’s another one?”
He looks up and finds that Jonathan is already looking back at him, amusement written into his expression. “You really wanna know?”
Steve blinks at him. “Yeah?”
“Okay,” he says, shuffling to snub out the blunt on the ground before he turns to fully face Steve. “There’s someone I’ve been thinking about for a while now.”
This catches Steve by surprise. The only person he’s ever known Jonathan to be interested in has been Nancy, and they’ve been broken up now for almost two years. He hasn’t said anything about meeting a new girl or having his eye on anyone in particular, at least, not to Steve.
His stomach tenses. Sometimes weed makes him nauseous, he thinks.
“Really?”
Jonathan doesn’t look away from him, but his eyes go a little distant. He’s thinking again. Steve, without thinking, reaches out to place a hand on his knee. It bounces under his touch, and suddenly his expression is entirely focused again.
“Yes,” he says slowly. “This person doesn’t know it, though. I don’t really know why I can’t get them out of my head. They’re kind of an idiot.”
Steve’s hand squeezes without thinking, something hot and ugly like jealousy thrumming in his bloodstream. He opens his mouth to answer, but then his mind freezes, catching on the vagueness in one particular part of his statement.
“They?”
Jonathan fixes him with a stony expression. “Mm.”
He remembers sitting like this, years ago, in a cramped bathroom stall with Robin. The way she’d chosen her words carefully, slowly, and looked at Steve like he was a child that she was waiting to break the bad news to.
It feels awfully familiar.
“Jonathan,” he says. He doesn’t really know what to say next.
“I’m bisexual,” says Jonathan. It’s so quick that Steve is sure he might have misheard, but then he clarifies, “I like guys. And girls– I think. I don’t really know. I definitely like guys.”
Steve stares at him. “Oh.”
Jonathan stares back, unblinking. “Is that a problem?”
“No,” Steve says, shaking his head so fast that he feels a bit dizzy. “No, not at all. I’m just… surprised. I never thought–”
Jonathan laughs nervously. “Uh, yeah. Surprise.”
Silence stretches between them, awkward and heavy, until Steve remembers his hand on Jonathan’s knee and pulls away.
“Sorry,” he says quickly.
Jonathan shakes his head. “Don’t be.”
Steve doesn’t know what to do with himself. His thoughts feel sluggish and tangled, sliding out of reach the moment he tries to grab onto one. All he knows is that something uncomfortable has lodged itself in his chest, sharp and persistent.
“So,” he says, because he can’t stand the quiet. “This person that you’ve been thinking about. It’s a guy?”
Jonathan’s mouth twitches. “Yeah.”
“What’s he like?” Steve asks, regretting it as soon as the question is out. He actually doesn’t think he wants to know the answer.
Jonathan studies him for a long moment. “He’s… kind of a mess,” he says finally.
Steve scoffs. “A mess?”
Jonathan hums in affirmation. “Kind of. He’s the kind of person to pretend he has everything figured out, even when things have gone to shit. Which is fine, except when it comes to facing reality.”
Steve swallows. “He sounds great,” he says weakly.
Jonathan huffs out a small laugh. “Yeah, a real catch.”
There’s another long stretch of silence. The crickets down below seem to multiply, their song carrying louder and clearer through the quiet of the night. Steve leans back, dragging a hand down his face.
He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get why the idea of Jonathan wanting someone else makes his chest feel tight, like something is being taken from him before he even knew it was his. He’s felt jealousy before – that sharp, possessive heat that starts in his chest and coils outward – but this is different. Softer, maybe. It feels a bit like grief for something he has no right to grieve at all.
It sends him on edge.
He tells himself that it’s the weed, and he’s just being paranoid. That’s a side effect Robin had warned him about, last time.
Jonathan is watching him, head tilted slightly. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he says, too fast. He leans back on his hands, forcing his shoulders loose. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Jonathan hums, unconvinced. His gaze drifts down, lingering where Steve’s hand had been on his knee before flicking back up to his face. “You got quiet.”
“I’m not quiet,” Steve says, defensive without meaning to be. “I’m just… thinking.”
Jonathan lets out a forceful laugh, catching him off guard. “Listen, if this is gonna be a problem–”
Steve stiffens. “What? No! No, Jonathan–” He exhales sharply. “I don’t care that you have, like, feelings for some random guy.”
“Some random guy,” Jonathan repeats, unamused. “Steve–”
“It’s great, dude, I’m glad you told me.”
Jonathan sighs and sits back, his mouth curving into a faint frown. “Mm. Okay.”
His tone, quiet and resigned, sets Steve on edge. “What, you don’t believe me?”
“Sure I do,” Jonathan says, light and faraway.
Steve groans, ruffling his hair. “No, you don’t. Listen, I’m sorry I was quiet. It’s not because of the gay part, man, it’s just…”
He searches for the right explanation, something to say that isn’t ‘I was jealous of someone I don’t even know’ and can’t seem to find the right words. Jonathan is staring at him, expectant.
“Just…?”
Steve sighs and shakes his head, like maybe that will make the perfect thoughts come right together. It doesn’t work, but he speaks anyway. “It’s just that I didn’t know there was someone else. Like, someone you hadn’t told any of us about.”
It comes out sounding ridiculously childish, but somehow still seems to be the right thing to say, because that closed-off expression on Jonathan’s face lightens. He shakes his head softly and lets his shoulders drop back to their relaxed position.
“I couldn’t exactly say anything,” he says, “since, well…”
“Right, yeah,” Steve says, the reality of Jonathan’s situation outside of their little bubble dawning on him. “Okay, I feel like an asshole.”
“Don’t,” Jonathan says, smiling. “I get it. You don’t have to worry, though.”
“Worry about what?” asks Steve.
Jonathan hesitates, clearly choosing his words with care. “About being replaced. That goes for Nancy and Robin, too.”
Steve laughs, a little too loud, sounding wrong even to himself. “I’m not worried.”
Jonathan raises an eyebrow.
“Okay,” Steve amends, heat creeping up his neck, “maybe I am a little weirded out – I mean, like I said, this is all new information. But it’s not like this guy ever fought demos by your side, like we did, so obviously he’s no competition.”
Jonathan snorts and covers his mouth to muffle the sound.
“Why’s that so funny?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. It’s not, I just remembered something else.”
Steve forgets what else he was going to say, lost in the moment that is Jonathan Byers looking at him with such a rare mix of exasperation and fondness. The relief Steve feels is immediate – and confusing. He’s never needed Jonathan’s approval so much as now, the way it settles everything in his overworked nervous system.
They sit like that for a moment, close but not touching, the space between them charged and fragile.
Jonathan breaks the silence first. “You know,” he says, eyes shining with amusement, “the guy I’m thinking about… he gets jealous pretty easily.”
Steve snorts, ignoring the pang of jealousy this time around. “Sounds annoying.”
Jonathan smiles, small and fond in a way that makes Steve’s stomach twist. “Yeah, kind of,” he says. “But also endearing.”
Steve swallows. He doesn’t know why that word sticks with him, why it feels like it’s meant to be weighed, measured against something he doesn’t yet have the language for.
Once again, he tells himself that it’s nothing.
Jonathan, meanwhile, keeps watching him – quiet, observant, already several steps ahead, and kind enough, for now, to let Steve lag behind.
Jonathan shifts beside him, casual, and adds, “He’s actually really good with kids, too. Naturally protective.”
Steve’s stomach plummets. He doesn’t know why this detail bothers him more than the rest.
“Oh,” he says, aiming for neutral and landing somewhere stiff. “I guess that’s a good trait to have.”
Jonathan stares at him. “I think so.”
“But, like—” Steve shrugs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Lots of people are good with kids.” I’m good with kids.
“Sure,” Jonathan says easily. “But not like him. He kind of just shows up, even when he doesn’t have to.”
Steve exhales through his nose. There’s a pressure building behind his ribs now, something restless and sharp. He has the urge to snap something biting and petulant, but instead just says, “It sounds like you’ve got him figured out.”
Jonathan smiles faintly. “Yeah, well. I’ve had plenty of time.”
That does it. Steve doesn’t know what it does, exactly, only that it feels like a door closing somewhere he didn’t realize he’d been standing in.
“So what,” Steve says, forcing a laugh, “Does he live in New York too?”
Jonathan pauses just long enough for Steve to notice. “No,” he says. “He’s still here.”
Steve’s heart stutters. “Here?”
“Yeah. Hawkins.” Jonathan watches his face carefully now, not even trying to hide it. “Guess that complicates things.”
Steve swallows. Hawkins suddenly feels very small. “Guess it does.”
Jonathan’s gaze lingers. “You seem bothered again.”
“I’m not,” Steve says automatically.
Jonathan hums. “Okay.”
There’s a smugness in that particular hum that makes Steve bristle. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like I just said something dumb.”
Jonathan tilts his head. “Did you?”
Steve opens his mouth, then closes it. His thoughts feel too loud, tripping over each other. “I just don’t get why you wouldn’t tell him,” he says instead. “If you like him that much.”
Jonathan glances away briefly. “It’s not that simple.”
Steve sighs, his shoulders sagging forward. “Yeah. I know.”
His torturous mind forces him to think about it. He pictures Jonathan standing close to someone tall and mysterious, probably stylish in the grungy way that Jonathan seems to like, trading words in low voices. Smiling.
He imagines how Jonathan’s voice might change, the distinct way his tone gets lighter and he tends to rush through words when he’s nervous. He’d have a hand in his own hair, messing with his bangs absentmindedly, just like he does when things get awkward in conversation. The thought makes his hands curl uselessly at his sides.
“Well,” Steve says, throat tight, “I hope someday he realizes how lucky he is.”
Jonathan watches him like he’s waiting for something. When it doesn’t come, he sighs, not necessarily disappointed, but definitely resigned.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Me too.”
They sit in silence again, closer now without having moved. Steve feels like he’s missing something obvious, like everyone else got a rulebook he never did. All he knows is that the idea of Jonathan wanting someone else – someone here, someone tangible – makes his chest ache in a way he doesn’t have a name for.
Jonathan exhales, slow and steady, like he’s bracing himself.
“Steve,” he says.
Steve looks over, immediately on edge. “Yeah?”
Jonathan studies his face like he’s memorizing something he’s about to lose. There’s a flicker of something like resolve there now, sharp and sudden, cutting through the hesitation that’s been clinging to him all night.
“What?” Steve barely gets the word out before Jonathan leans in.
It’s quick – all nerves and decision, a desperate press of Jonathan’s mouth against his, like he’s afraid if he doesn’t do it now he never will. Steve freezes, every thought in his head short-circuiting all at once.
Jonathan tastes like smoke and something sweet underneath it. His hand comes up, almost without permission, fingers curling into the front of Steve’s jacket like he needs the anchor.
The world tilts.
Steve makes a small, startled sound into the kiss and Jonathan pulls back suddenly. He retreats just enough to search Steve’s face, eyes wide now, waiting for impact.
“I’m sorry,” Jonathan says immediately. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Steve’s heart is trying to beat its way out of his chest. His mouth feels warm, tingling, like it’s been struck by lightning. “You–”
He stops, gears still turning.
“You just…” He swallows hard. “Why?”
Jonathan shrugs. “I guess because I wanted to,” he says. His voice is steady, but his hands are shaking. “And because I’m pretty sure you were going to drive yourself insane pretending you didn’t care.”
Steve laughs once, sharp and breathless. “I don’t–”
Jonathan cuts him off, softer now. “Steve. Can you look at me?”
He does it without question, despite wanting nothing more than to hide. To cover up what his face is probably giving away.
“Listen, I tried to hide for a really long time. When the end of the world stopped being a threat, though, I had to actually stop and think about my life. I started to remember all the stupid ways that I’ve hurt myself over the years by pretending to be someone that I’m not. And I just thought, y’know, why fake it anymore?” Jonathan says. “I know what I want.”
Steve stares at him, and everything clicks into place with a painful jolt. The hand on Jonathan’s knee. The tightness in his chest. The way that the idea of some other guy had made him feel sick.
Steve drags a hand through his hair, sucking in a breath. “Um, so, the guy you like. Were you talking about… me?”
Jonathan laughs tiredly. “Yeah.”
Steve’s head feels like it’s spinning. “I’m not–”
“I know,” Jonathan says quickly. “I know. You don’t have to be anything. You don’t have to feel the same way. Obviously.” He exhales. “But now you know.”
The silence that follows is electric, fragile as glass.
Steve looks at Jonathan and realizes his heart has been racing for a reason. That it always kind of has.
“Jonathan,” he says, longing tugging at his vocal chords. “I’m still figuring out what I want.”
Jonathan stares at him, waiting.
“But I think I might, um,” he takes a breath. “I want to try something new.”
For a moment he sits there, reeling, his own words echoing in his head, replaying and searching for something to criticize, and the next he’s being pulled forward, the distance between them closing again.
The kiss is different this time.
It’s soft, less frantic and rushed as the first. Jonathan hesitates for half a breath, like he’s checking for hesitation, and when Steve doesn’t pull back, when he presses closer instead, Jonathan melts into it with a quiet, broken sound that makes something in Steve’s chest crack wide open.
Jonathan’s hand slides from his jacket to his jaw, thumb warm against his skin. Steve feels it everywhere, like his nerves have been lit up one by one. He opens his mouth without thinking, lets Jonathan in, and it feels right in a way that makes his head spin.
Steve thinks, distantly, of all the things he’s told himself to want – what he thought he wanted – how none of it ever felt entirely right. He thinks of the way he couldn’t stand the idea of Jonathan wanting someone else, and all of it slots into place.
He wants this.
He’s been wanting this, maybe longer than he’s willing to admit.
Jonathan shifts closer, knee brushing his. Steve hums into the kiss and tightens his grip at Jonathan’s wrist, holding on like he’s afraid if he lets go the moment will disappear. His thoughts are loud and racing inside his head – this is Jonathan, this is wrong, this is perfect, don’t stop – but the only one that matters is the one that settles deep and steady in his chest:
I don’t want him to stop.
When they finally break apart, it’s only because they have to breathe. Steve keeps his forehead pressed to Jonathan’s, eyes closed, trying to get his bearings in a world that feels suddenly, terrifyingly clear.
“Oh,” he murmurs, breathless. The word feels different now, too.
Jonathan doesn’t say anything. He just stays there, close and careful, like he’s giving Steve time to catch up to something Jonathan’s already known.
Steve opens his eyes.
His heart is still racing. His mouth still tingles. And beneath the lingering shock, beneath the fear, there’s something solid and undeniable blooming in his chest.
Want.
He surges forward again, open-mouthed and urgent in the way he kisses. Jonathan makes a surprised sound against him, lips parting to meet the intensity. Steve swipes his tongue out and licks into his mouth, groaning when Jonathan’s grip tightens on him.
“Steve,” Jonathan gasps, pulling back between kisses.
“Yeah,” Steve breathes in return, shuffling closer until their shins press together awkwardly. Jonathan seems bothered enough by this to adjust, unfolding his legs without breaking the kiss and shifting forward to straddle Steve’s knees.
The new angle gives Jonathan room to push hard into Steve’s mouth, licking heatedly at whatever he can reach. His tongue slips between Steve’s parted lips, skimming the back of his incisors and drawing a long, startled sound from Steve’s throat that only seems to spur him on.
Steve’s hands slide to Jonathan’s waist, gripping tight enough to leave marks. Even through the thick fabric of his jacket, he can feel the way Jonathan’s muscles shift and clench beneath his fingers, and it makes him dizzy.
Distantly, he’s aware of how tight his slacks are becoming, especially at the front, but he can’t bring himself to push Jonathan away. It doesn’t really matter anyway, because from what he can feel pressed against his leg, Jonathan seems to be dealing with the same problem.
It’s so unlike any of the encounters Steve has ever had with girls before – namely because Jonathan is very much not a girl. He’s firm and solid where Steve is used to soft curves, the sounds from his throat deep and masculine and hot. Steve is surprised by how much he likes it, how much he wants more.
His hands drift lower, catching at the hem of Jonathan’s jacket and slipping underneath. He explores the warmth of Jonathan’s torso with nothing but a thin dress shirt between them, cataloguing the sensations below his fingertips. Jonathan leans back with a sharp inhale and shrugs the jacket off entirely.
“This okay?” Jonathan breathes as he leans back in. He hesitates before kissing him again, waiting.
Steve nods ferociously, chasing his mouth. “Yes.”
They keep kissing, movements falling more easily into place as they grow more confident, more comfortable with what’s happening. Jonathan slowly lowers his hips, settling fully into Steve’s lap, and when his erection brushes the inside of Steve’s thigh, they both moan.
One of Jonathan’s hands slides to Steve’s chest, fingers digging between the buttons and pushing until one pops open. His touch is hot and rough against Steve’s skin, pushing and pulling in tandem. His hips rock forward just once, testing.
Steve tightens his grip at Jonathan’s waist and pulls him closer, encouraging more. “Take it,” he murmurs. “Take what you want.”
It seems to be all the encouragement Jonathan needs. He starts to move – slow at first – rocking carefully as small, broken sounds slip out. Steve chases those noises instinctively, trying to lift his hips to give him more friction.
“Lay back,” Jonathan says suddenly, pressing a firm hand to Steve’s chest.
Steve doesn’t question it. He shifts until he’s flat on his back, legs still bent where Jonathan is seated above him.
“Still good?” Jonathan asks.
Steve nods, breathless.
Jonathan looks down at him with something dark and unfamiliar in his eyes – something sharp and full of intent. To Steve, he looks like a predator spotting its prey.
He looks hungry.
“Good,” Jonathan says. His voice is so deep that Steve doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s never really considered the possibility of another man turning him on like this.
Then Jonathan shifts in Steve’s lap, sliding up along his thighs until their clothed erections press together, and Steve throws his head back with a broken moan.
“Fuck, dude,” he pants, struggling to catch his breath. “Do that again.”
Jonathan does, pushing against him in a firm, deliberate thrust. This time Steve manages to bite his tongue, swallowing the sounds begging to spill out. Jonathan’s eyes have fallen shut now, brows drawn tight, mouth parted like he’s barely holding himself together.
“Shit, Steve,” Jonathan breathes, keeping up the slow roll of his hips. He reaches down between them, palming them both at once.
Steve moans, his back arching off the cold cement. His hands slide down to Jonathan’s thighs, fingers digging into the slick fabric of his slacks. He’s painfully hard now, right on the edge – close enough that it feels ridiculous, like a teenager about to come in his pants with the way Jonathan is moving.
It’s the most intensely turned-on that Steve has felt in his life, and they’re still wearing (almost) all of their clothes. He distantly wonders if he’s actually been gay and unaware of it all these years, thinking that the dull pleasure of being with a woman is what sex is supposed to feel like. Or maybe Jonathan is just something else entirely.
This is different in ways that Steve’s mind is unable to fully comprehend right now. Jonathan, perched on top of him like he belongs there, is so beautiful like this, Steve thinks he might actually cry if this goes on much longer. He feels like every part of him is at risk of bursting into flames at any moment.
“Jonathan, I–” he starts, unable to finish the thought, the rest of it dissolving into desperate, breathless noise.
Jonathan nods quickly, breath hitching. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, me too.”
Neither of them lasts much longer after that. Jonathan thrusts against him a handful more times before his whole body tightens up and freezes, and then he’s gasping and shuddering before collapsing forward on Steve’s chest.
Jonathan’s hand keeps moving over Steve’s crotch even as the rest of his body seems to melt against him, until Steve bites his lip and spills into the touch. His hips buck weakly beneath Jonathan’s weight before he follows his lead and goes boneless, limbs loose and useless.
They lie like that on the rooftop, spread out and tangled, panting for several long minutes. Eventually, when their breathing evens out, Jonathan pushes himself up just enough to look down at Steve’s face.
His hair is a mess, tousled in the back from where Steve’s hands just were. It makes his heart do a little flip.
“So,” he says.
Steve huffs a laugh. “So.”
Jonathan smiles and shakes his head, like he still can’t quite believe what just happened. “That was nice,” he says. “Too bad I rented this suit.”
Steve laughs louder, the sound bursting out of him until he’s shaking with it. “Jesus,” he says, “that was stupid.”
“Yeah,” Jonathan agrees, sitting up fully and carefully lifting off to settle beside him. “I kind of like being stupid, though.”
“Oh, definitely,” Steve says, propping himself up on his elbows. He nudges his head lightly against Jonathan’s arm and grins up at him.
They stay like that for a few quiet minutes, basking in the afterglow, until the discomfort of damp, wrinkled clothes starts to creep in. Jonathan shifts, tugging absently at the inside of his pant leg, pulling the fabric away from his skin with a faint grimace.
Steve takes the hint and sits up all the way, patting Jonathan’s shoulder. “We should probably go,” he says. “Get you back to your family.”
“Mm,” Jonathan hums in agreement.
He moves to stand, then pauses, caught by something Steve can’t quite read. Jonathan’s gaze drops, then lifts again, thoughtful, but not troubled. If anything, he looks steadier, like something’s finally fallen into place.
“Hey,” Steve says softly. “You okay?”
Jonathan nods. “Yeah.” He hesitates, then lets out a small, almost disbelieving laugh. “I just… didn’t expect tonight to go like this.”
Steve smiles, a little sheepish. “I can’t say I did, either.”
Jonathan looks at him then – really looks at him – and whatever he finds there seems to settle him. He reaches out, brief but intentional, brushing his fingers against Steve’s wrist.
“Just to be clear. I like you,” Jonathan says. There’s no pressure in it, just honesty. “A lot. This… this was fun, but it’s more than that, for me.”
Steve doesn’t have to think about it. He turns his hand so their fingers slot together easily, and it’s so natural that he wonders how he didn’t know he wanted this sooner. “I like you too,” he says. “God, that’s weird to say. Give me some time to get used to it.”
Jonathan laughs. “What, because I’m a guy?”
“Because you’re Jonathan!” Steve’s cheeks are tight and warm with laughter. “The gay part I can get on board with pretty quickly.” He pauses, giving Jonathan a dramatic once-over. “Actually, I think I’m already on board. Yeah.”
The smile he receives is slow and bright and sweeter than anything Steve deserves. Jonathan gives his hand a squeeze before letting go, standing and tossing one last look over his shoulder.
“Come on, man,” he says. “I’m gonna make sure you actually leave this time.”
Steve follows him toward the stairs, heart still steady and warm in his chest. For the first time in who knows how long, there’s an easiness of movement that washes over him, and the thought of going home doesn’t fill him with dread.
Tonight, after they part ways and Jonathan goes to be with his family, he’ll return to the quiet solitude of his empty house, but it won’t feel like forever. There’s some hope for what’s to come, even if he has to wait a little while.
He finally feels like he knows what he wants, and that’s enough for now.