( long before demogorgons and the mind flayer, jonathan was a nonparticipant in his own life.
he woke up, he made breakfast, and he filled in all the gaps in joyce and lonnie’s parenting — and it had been okay. okay because he loved his mom with all her intricacies and complications; midnight cigarettes on the porch even though she quit a year ago, nail-biting and pacing, sometimes hyper obsessive to the point of missing all else but also because she put in over-time for the food on the table, the electricity, the water, and the byers’ boys favorite presents under the tree and she never complained to them, about any of it. okay because he loved will with his too-wide eyes and his bravery, somehow not ruined by his status as an outsider because he made these amazing connections with kids like mike, lucas, and dustin. he was soft, allowed to be young, and yeah, maybe a little weird, but jonathan wouldn’t have him any other way. he would take will’s eccentries over a thousand boring nobodies that looked and thought exactly the same.
after the demogorgons and the mind flayer, he still has a tendency to withdraw and retreat to the security blanket of a camera lens. because after the exposure of blood and violence, of reacting on adrenaline and instinct—kill or be killed—he needs to burrow away and regather himself, figure out how to be himself again when people have witnessed him, vulnerable and raw. there’s nothing like a heaping shovelful of trauma to knock down the wooden beams and plaster of his walls, wallpaper and nails scattered on the floor. he feels like walking wreckage these days, trying to rebuild from scratch; a repeated starting point, one that’s never fully reconstructed before someone takes an axe to his progress.
the battle of starcourt resolves and jonathan doesn’t try to stuff seventeen years of his life into as few boxes and bags as possible ( what’s important when you’ve known real paralyzing loss? ) and joyce doesn’t sell the house, doesn’t uproot the byers from a quiet town in indiana to bustling california. hopper takes eleven home to what’s left of their cabin and then promptly moves in ( sorry, “stays over until he can find other accommodations” ) and the byers house is full, all the time. there are arguments, sure, fighting that doesn’t make jonathan take will to the fort behind their house ( that also had to be rebuilt ) because it’s also full of laughter.
more often than not, it’s still jonathan that’s a designated driver, captain of pick-ups and drop-offs. but there’s this thing ( this almost ), something he’s never put much stock into but that’s been there the whole time, running in the background like a song on repeat. steve coming back into his house and taking a bat to the demogorgon that would have killed him, steve kissing nancy in front of him at their lockers, looks that are too long to just be looks, and sideswiping billy out of the path of nancy and the station wagon. he should hate him. there are so many microaggressions and real agressions growing up that jonathan can conjure, yet somehow they aren’t overtaken by the good ones. a replaced camera, a hand on his sleeve, the twirl of a bat.
some days, jonathan sees steve more than he sees nancy, chronically buried in the paper, while they begrudgingly share cold, leftover pizza at family video or upstairs sitting on the kitchen counter, waiting for the biggest and longest game of dungeons and dragons to come to a pause. he comes in for vhs tapes that are returned already rewound, never having watched them, for a movie night that never existed. and when he gets a temporary job at some mom and pop-owned electronics store, steve stumbles in for batteries like he can’t pick them up at the nearest convenience store. jonathan asks him about movies that aren’t artsy enough for him to bother with and steve gets jonathan talking about the cutting edge in turntables, despite the fact that the harringtons have enough money to have twelve of them in their house. and probably do.
it’s weird, of course it’s weird, but as previously declared, all the best things are.
he can’t really explain why they’re sitting on the floor of the apartment he and nancy share, listening to a mixtape he may have made specifically for steve to try and give the poor sap some culture or why they’re there at all instead of at the byers place or the wheelers. but they’re like this, more often than not, with a walkie nearby and the phone line always clear ( just in case ), with nancy milling around, occasionally thrusting articles or ideas in their faces for their input. sometimes it’s legs draped on the couch, heads on shoulders, nancy and steve asleep at his sides while the credits roll but he’s determined not to disturb them.
but here on the floor, hot in the sticky summer with a fan blowing on them, steve gesturing wildly with wet lips and a piece of watermelon in his hand, jonathan isn't content with sitting on the sidelines. )
You have — ( a grin, yes, he's grinning ) The most abhorrent taste out of anyone I've ever met in my entire life.
( should be venomous but he's laughing, all malice mysteriously absent from his observation. the coffee table's pushed back, closer to the television set, steve with his back to the couch and jonathan with his to said table, bowl of watermelon slices behind him. in his animated excitement, their knees collide — a brush, really, no harder than a tap, but it feels loud like thunder. )
Edited (you don't see any typos ok) 2022-06-02 21:31 (UTC)
[ sometimes steve harrington has no idea who he is anymore.
and wow, alright, that was dramatic. over-dramatic, even. he can almost hear robin rolling her eyes at the very thought because steve sounds worse than some fainting lady in the new romcom they'd just gotten into the store a few weeks back. pathetic. dramatic. unnecessary. which she wouldn't be wrong - so he'll go back and rephrase.
steve harrington, the one of today, is so different from the steve harrington he'd been just a year or so ago, that it kind of makes his head spin.
especially right now, sitting on the floor of this apartment, with jonathan byers. sitting with his back to the couch, and jonathan facing him. there is music that steve is actually really enjoying playing over whatever stereo speaker jonathan's brought over. right now, in the middle of the summer heat, with the hum of the fan and steve in a tshirt and shorts, saying something about how the song that was playing reminded him of this one movie that came through the store that he and robin actually sat down to watch and oh my god, jonathan, you have no idea how bad- actually it wasn't that bad, i've seen worse, but the music-. steve is gesturing, too caught up in his story to realize that the juice from the watermelon was dripping down his own wrist, though not too caught up to take a bite every now and then before he picks up just where he'd left off. the music keeps playing, and it is good. of course it's good. jonathan's taste has always been good, though sometimes a bit too artsy.
it wasn't all that long ago that steve was calling the other boy a freak, that he was straight up bullying him in the hallways at school (something that even after their fight, even after showing up at jonathan's house to apologize, even after the replaced camera and this new place they both find themselves in, that steve still feels bad about. guilty about. something that eats him up inside.) it wasn't that long ago since he was spray painting the theater sign and driving around town like he owned the whole place, like he had everything figured out, like he knew what the world had in store for him.
and then there'd been the demogorgon. the baseball bat. the fight of his life alongside nancy wheeler and jonathan byers, and from that moment on, everything just kept changing. like picking up speed down the biggest hill in town, steve just held on. from his and nancy's official break up to now whatever this is supposed to be. to harcourt mall and the russians. to dustin becoming what was now one of the most important people in steve's life despite the fact that kid could be annoying as fuck, and somewhere alongside all of that, was jonathan.
jonathan, who steve had watched stand up straighter, inch by inch. who steve watched come into the video store over and over, for movie after movie, despite his hunch that they never left the box. joanathan, who steve definitely did not go out of his own way just to stop by the electronics store, for batteries. batteries. and jonathan, who didn't hesitate to grin on days like this, to a point where steve feels the urge to stare, just for a moment, as if he might never see it again. (he will, he knows he will) if steve's being honest, the only person who he feels hasn't changed all that much is nancy - nancy, who has always been a badass. nancy, who has always been too smart for her own good. nancy, who has her pistol tucked in next to her pumps in her and jonathan's closet and steve knows that. and nancy, who is supposed to be home any minute now but who has probably gotten held up down at the library during one of her research binders. not that steve minds - they're barely halfway through side a of this mix tape, and he doesn't have another shift until tomorrow evening. ]
Hey- [ their knees collide, just a brush, and jonathan is grinning so brightly at him that steve almost wonders if his heart is stuttering a bit at the sight of it. and then he intentionally hits jonathan's knee with his own again, though this time it's more of a push. a shove. because steve has always been an affectionate guy, and they're at that point here, aren't they? ] Rude. I have great taste- it's just not as...weird as yours. [ a beat, as steve eats the last bite of his slice of watermelon, rolling his eyes. ]
Sorry- artsy. [ it's not the first time this joke has come up, apparently. ]
( lining up all the facts in the row, there are other people in town with worse taste. they simply aren’t in jonathan’s scope. they’re nonfactors. steve used to be one of them, until he wasn’t. he hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but he co-starred in most of the photographs from the night of barb’s disappearance and if jonathan’s willing to look inward, which he isn’t always, it’s for a bigger reason than steve happened to be standing next to nancy. that party, creeping through the brush in the woods, feels like a memory from a lifetime ago. categorized as the lifestyle of the rich and privileged because they had the luxury of ignoring the reality of a missing sibling, they could go on, they could take it easy.
jonathan used to think that everything came easy to people like steve harrington and nancy wheeler — money, clothes that weren’t from a thrift store, cars that weren’t covered in rust, friends. because friends were for people that had time to be present, had time to do more than pick up extra shifts and show up ( sometimes ) in the same shirt as yesterday, as long as will went to school with breakfast in his stomach and his mom remembered to take toast and an apple with her.
and he hasn’t been able to decipher how it is that these two people that he once resented are somehow the most interesting people in his age group. will’s his best friend, always will be, but nancy and steve are people he can count on with his back against the wall and jonathan’s never had that security. joyce loves her sons with every piece of herself that she has to give, more than that even, but he didn’t grow up with an older brother to put band-aids on his skinned knees or someone to turn the music up. jonathan’s just had to figure out how to carry on, how to pick himself up, and how to be okay with not being okay on his own.
being alone has taught him to appreciate music and the anger in rock and roll, the glamorization of being an outcast and fighting a system that wasn’t built for people like him to flourish in. if he likes and recognizes the camera work of certain directors, it’s because he’s obsessed with these storytellers who put the truth on a screen, on film, because they too know the power of watching people and seeing how they unfold in a singular moment. he handpicks every song on the mixtape for steve, thinking that part of him that he’s hidden from the rest of the town for so long will get something out of it. some kind of absolution, something akin to being seen.
he sees him so certainly now that he’s not sure how he ever missed it before.
if nancy is an immovable object, then steve is an unstoppable force. and nancy has always been this breathtaking, relentless, beautiful person in pursuit of knowledge and truth. but steve? steve came out of left field so hard that jonathan is still internally screaming in the stands. he’s stupid in a manner of speaking, the kind of dumb that makes him courageous because he doesn’t see x, y, and z as a reason not to do something, he just does it. he’s ridiculous hairsprayed hair and casually unaffected by nearly everything. he’s also surprising in that whenever jonathan’s sure he has him nailed down, he busts out of some dystopian horror cocoon, emerging like a mutilated phoenix. his finest quality: he gets back up.
not only does steve acknowledge the bump of knees, he retaliates, leaving jonathan to defend himself. he catches steve’s knee in his hand, lest he get any ideas about nudging him again. a playful grab, the warning prelude that comes before roughhousing in a household of boys. ( funny, pinpointing that, when neither one of them is the shining example of masculinity. ) his palm outlives its welcome, should drag away instantly with the cautionary glance given in tandem, but jonathan keeps his hand there thoughtlessly. yes, absently, not having to overthink each move with the company involved. )
You wouldn’t know artsy if your life became an independent film in french.
( childishly, he reaches behind him with the hand that had been clutching at steve's knee to thump him in the chest with a wedge of fruit, square against his white t-shirt. and maybe he should have the good sense to run ( he does ) but he stays planted. just sort of arbitrarily pokes steve in the side with his sneaker. )
[ perhaps that is what is most insane about this - not the fact that they live in some nowhere down in central usa that has a monster problem. not the fact that there is some crazy world that works in opposite of this one that a bunch of kids have them all calling the upside down, and not that steve finds himself still here, even after graduation. in this town. living at his parents house. the king of hawkins high, turned...what? deadbeat? who didn't go to college and who doesn't really have a plan for his life going forward? it feels wrong, in some weird way, though. because steve doesn't feel stuck.
because for years, years, it had been all about finding his footing in the tiny world of hawkins. he had a leg up in a lot of ways, ways he can acknowledge now. he came from money, which automatically attracts friends. he's not bad looking and he learned how to actually dress and take care of his hair, which shifted his popularity with the girls as they all got older, too. add in his natural athleticism and general ability to talk and make jokes and ease situations, and you have the makings of a full-on douchebag who thought the entire world was contained within the borders of hawkins, indiana. and part of steve wishes he could say that all it took was learning about monsters and dark scary creepy opposite worlds for him to open his eyes to the truth of it all, but he knows that when it comes down to it, it was nancy. nancy wheeler - always searching for the truth, relentless and powerful and magical all in one stunning body - who looked at him and knew he was phoning it in. he'd gone to jonathan's that night to apologize because nancy had been who had opened his eyes, but the demogorgan had helped that along, too.
because steve hadn't even known jonathan byers before then, really. and maybe that goes to show just how similar he and jonathan were, without even realizing it. because in the same way that jonathan looked at most of the people in hawkins as nonfactors, because they didn't matter, they weren't part of his world, steve had done a lot of the same. circles occupying similar spaces, but encompassing different worlds. jonathan hadn't even been in his scope beyond that weird kid in the grade below him until will had disappeared. and then the weird kid who had taken those photos. and now?
now steve can't help but be drawn in by it, by him. the amount that jonathan knows about the world, about music, about art. the things he can recite about books and movies and world news. the way that he could do all of this, have his sights set out to something so much bigger than any of them, and could be here, too, in the same way. it's taken some time, perhaps. taken steve's new position as dustin's ride, extended conversations upstairs at the wheeler's house, taken specific decisions where steve could have just gone home but instead decided that maybe it was worth heading across town just to ask jonathan what he knew about this or that. but through that time, steve's realized he's getting bits and pieces of a person that very few others knew.
like just how tight knit his family really is. like how well he and will get along. like the record collection he keeps in his room and how his dad is an asshole who isn't really in the picture. and steve, without realizing what was happening, found himself pulled in by this life, by this force, by the way he felt being around jonathan and nancy and robin. like he could be himself, whatever that new version of himself was supposed to be. and they all kind of flourish in that space of having each other, of watching the younger kids grow tighter and tighter, of watching hopper and joyce pretend they're being subtle when they're around each other. steve's not entirely sure how he's gone from the most popular kid in hawkins to hanging out with outcasts and nerds and feeling like, for the first time, he's comfortable with the shoes he's standing in, but it's the truth.
for all that jonathan feels like he can see steve, it's the same in opposite. steve feels seen, like there's not some image he's trying to fill, like maybe if this is it, he can be pretty okay with that.
even if he knows that this can't go on forever - nancy and jonathan are going to college together, soon, and then they'll take on the world. dustin and his friends are going to age through high school. robin will find the love of her life and move off to new york like she's always dreamed. and maybe, just maybe, joyce and hop will finally get married. steve, too, at some point, will have to get a real job and move out himself. will have to grow up, get a life, move on. this won't last forever, but maybe it can be just like this for a little longer.
( steve doesn't like to think about it - about losing nancy and jonathan, about robin leaving him too. in every version he runs through, it's always him being left behind. of course it only happens now that he knows what he'll lose. )
for now, steve will take advantage - of the rock and roll and synth through the mix tape. of the smile on jonathan's face. on the smell of watermelon and whatever it was jonathan made for breakfast in the small, hot room.
he pushes back because it feels like he should, like he could, and jonathan retaliates back. steve's never had siblings, never known what it is to rough house like that, but he played sports. he's had enough friends. he knows that by catching steve's knee in his hand, jonathan is sending a silent message. a retaliation. a challenge. he recognizes that this could escalate, that roughhousing could come into play, or maybe something entirely different, but in the face of it steve simply laughs - it's light, it's bubbly, it's easy. ]
Yeah? And do you speak french, Byers?
[ it's childish in return, but steve doesn't try to be any more mature about it either. jonathan tosses the piece of fruit at him and it thumps against his chest and steve moves to sit up, grabbing the piece, but he's still laughing. ] Cheap shot! What the hell! [ this is happening now. steve immediately throws the piece right back to jonathan with a bit more force. ]
( these are the conversations that each of them shies away from, except for nancy ( seemingly unafraid of anything ), nancy who has had most of her life mapped out since she was a small girl. nevermind the disruption of monsters basically crawling off of a playing board from a campaign that mike wheeler thought up after a nightmare. that wasn’t a part of anyone’s plan. a hiccup from the devil’s wagon, if you’re the zealous type. the only prayers jonathan has succumbed to have been while down on his knees; praying for will to wake up and giving reverence to nancy in an entirely different context. so let’s say it like it is: jonathan doesn’t want to disrupt the peace they’ve found here. the kids, alive and okay, and then steve, nancy, robin and himself, attached like out-of-body appendages. it’s nice, you know? it’s so nice, watching the girls wax poetic about these futures they’ve constructed for themselves like empires. a big fan of not lying, not pretending ( friends don’t lie ), he tells white ones by agreeing with nancy over burgers and shared fries.
how he’s going to afford tuition like that? and if he could, say he does, on grades and on merit, how’s he supposed to make the kind of income required to keep himself afloat in a university town? what if something happens? what if will needs him? what if this is never really over? because if he’s speaking his truth, then he has to eventually voice that he wants to stay closer to home. she would never go for his option, which is city college. a perfectly reasonable solution to the economic cost of education, at least for a few years. he doesn’t intend to fall back on old habits, to hide in himself and keep his fears close to his chest, but he does.
a large part of it due to how wild it feels to be talking about college when the world’s already almost ended three times. they’re just. they’re supposed to move on, somehow? knowing that? like the upside down isn’t an entity that keeps reaching for eleven and by extension, the rest of them. living day-to-day hasn’t failed him yet. he knows that’s the avoidance of talking, the anxiety and the paranoia, but days turn to weeks turn to months, and they’re alive. nothing crazy has interrupted their lives. he wishes he could get out of it, except he’s been in survival mode much longer than the rest of them.
he embraces summer like it’s the last one, spending less time behind the lens and more time instigating in the lives of the friends around him. yeah, friends, not people. he thinks maybe they’ve earned that. )
I don’t need to. It’s called subtitles. You can read, right?
( after a retort like that, he’s deserving of having the watermelon volleyed back at him. steve’s aim smacks him in the jaw in a smushy wet slap that plummets to his lap. unbelievable, this assault he asked for. )
Augh! ( he cries out, not necessarily in pain so much as it’s already tacky, humid, and a little miserable in here without sticky fruit juice on his face. a sole watermelon seed sticks to his cheek. common sense doesn’t tell him to stop when it should. he picks up the fallen fruit in his lap, more green rind than hot pink fruit and hurls it in steve’s general direction. his aim is horrific and it splatters against the cushions. there’s only certain vengeance on his face where guilt ought to be. he scrambles up, to kneeling, scrabbling for fruit in each hand and then dashing for the kitchen. he stops though, lingers at the side of the couch long enough to try and pelt steve in the shoulder. )
Loser's stuck with clean-up duty, ( which is all he has to say before banking for cover behind the island. )
[ that could be the reason that more often than not it's been steve and jonathan. steve and jonathan, with the promise of nancy once she finishes this next spread. steve and jonathan, where nancy would meet up with them after she finishes talking to this one person. steve and jonathan, even now, who are talking about music and movies and anything and everything that doesn't have to do with future plans. granted, steve assumes that's because jonathan's got it worked out, because he's talked it out and made plans and knows what's already going to happen, because that's how they do. futures that steve knows he doesn't have a place in, not really, because the world he's constructed and the world he's so comfortable in is here, in hawkins, in a town that somehow ends up the center of their nightmares over and over again.
whether or not he's spoken it aloud, whether or not he's said the words to anyone else, he knows that is what will happen. that they will go and live their lives, and steve harrington will find an apartment, maybe a house. will be stuck here, in hawkins, forever. and maybe part of him believes it's because this is the best he can offer - to come in, bat swinging, whenever anything starts to go wrong. if he can't do anything else, he supposes he can always do this - be this, be here, dependable ole steve, who will hold down the fort and a job and be nothing more than an impression he left in high school that isn't even entirely true.
but jonathan's right - this summer, this could be their last. their last of this, of them, of this unit that steve wishes he had years to learn to depend on and be with. and, if this is going to be their last, it might as well be worth it. ]
I can read, asshole. I just don't know why you'd want to go to the movies to read. [ yes, steve agrees that jonathan deserves to have the watermelon thrown back at him for that. and then it is on - jonathan is throwing the piece back but steve dodges it easily, laughing at how terrible his aim had to be to miss when they are sitting right next to each other. steve laughs at it, a haha as he stumbles to his feet too, grabbing for the bowl though he's a half-second slower and jonathan's already got his pieces and making a dash to the kitchen. he's laughing, suddenly feeling inexplicably young, as he tries to dodge the second piece of watermelon and feels it bounce off his shirt all the same. ]
You mean loser's gonna have to explain this to Nance. [ steve crawls around the couch for better cover himself, taking the bowl with him. it's called strategy, at this point. there's a brief moment where steve just sits there, trying to hear where jonathan's headed, before he pops back out from behind the couch and fastballs a piece of watermelon right over the island. ]
Do I have to remind you that you live here? I could leave whenever I want! [ and then he throws two more pieces where he can just make out jonathan's shoulder. ]
It’s about the cinematic experience of another culture. The (THWACK! there goes watermelon streaking down the cabinet door. ) storytelling capabilities from the other side of the—
( yup, nope, okay. that one smacks him in the side of the neck and he has to crouch-crawl to the other side of the island, hurling his last piece and whatever chunks he’s scooped up from the floor back at the couch and where he hopes steve is hiding, popping his head out like a little whack-a-mole at the arcade. at this point, both of their shirts are going to be covered in off-pink splotches. )
Planet! ( he finishes stubbornly, resolute in finishing what he begins. it does mean that steve can track him easier via sound but someone has to defend independent films in a foreign language; the writing is solid, but absorbing it isn’t as mindless as an american-made movie. there’s no drilling appreciation into steve’s thick skull; jonathan suspects he barely likes movies more than with a casual interest in passing the time.
there’s an unfortunate dilemma he’s facing now, one that forces him to get creative in arming himself. he’s out of fruit. steve has the bowl in his arms. does that mean he’s snatching up errant kitchen supplies from a ceramic cup and flinging wooden spoons across the chasm between the kitchen and the living room? absolutely. no regrets in war. nancy will just have to understand the wreckage of their apartment is for a very worthwhile cause: annihilating the resistance. he gets hit by some stray watermelon pieces in the mean time, creeping around one side of the island to do a mad dash back to the opposing side of the couch, which he ducks behind as best he can. he’s not as invisible as he hopes. )
Oh, what, like you’re going to abandon me?
( steve hasn’t been the bailing type for months now. sorry, try again. he doesn’t believe it. jonathan reaches into the cup and flings a plastic spatula in steve’s general vicinity, then drops flat to the floor. time to crawl around the back of the furniture like an actual child. )
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S3-divergent??? up to date though. here is your tl;dr
he woke up, he made breakfast, and he filled in all the gaps in joyce and lonnie’s parenting — and it had been okay. okay because he loved his mom with all her intricacies and complications; midnight cigarettes on the porch even though she quit a year ago, nail-biting and pacing, sometimes hyper obsessive to the point of missing all else but also because she put in over-time for the food on the table, the electricity, the water, and the byers’ boys favorite presents under the tree and she never complained to them, about any of it. okay because he loved will with his too-wide eyes and his bravery, somehow not ruined by his status as an outsider because he made these amazing connections with kids like mike, lucas, and dustin. he was soft, allowed to be young, and yeah, maybe a little weird, but jonathan wouldn’t have him any other way. he would take will’s eccentries over a thousand boring nobodies that looked and thought exactly the same.
after the demogorgons and the mind flayer, he still has a tendency to withdraw and retreat to the security blanket of a camera lens. because after the exposure of blood and violence, of reacting on adrenaline and instinct—kill or be killed—he needs to burrow away and regather himself, figure out how to be himself again when people have witnessed him, vulnerable and raw. there’s nothing like a heaping shovelful of trauma to knock down the wooden beams and plaster of his walls, wallpaper and nails scattered on the floor. he feels like walking wreckage these days, trying to rebuild from scratch; a repeated starting point, one that’s never fully reconstructed before someone takes an axe to his progress.
the battle of starcourt resolves and jonathan doesn’t try to stuff seventeen years of his life into as few boxes and bags as possible ( what’s important when you’ve known real paralyzing loss? ) and joyce doesn’t sell the house, doesn’t uproot the byers from a quiet town in indiana to bustling california. hopper takes eleven home to what’s left of their cabin and then promptly moves in ( sorry, “stays over until he can find other accommodations” ) and the byers house is full, all the time. there are arguments, sure, fighting that doesn’t make jonathan take will to the fort behind their house ( that also had to be rebuilt ) because it’s also full of laughter.
more often than not, it’s still jonathan that’s a designated driver, captain of pick-ups and drop-offs. but there’s this thing ( this almost ), something he’s never put much stock into but that’s been there the whole time, running in the background like a song on repeat. steve coming back into his house and taking a bat to the demogorgon that would have killed him, steve kissing nancy in front of him at their lockers, looks that are too long to just be looks, and sideswiping billy out of the path of nancy and the station wagon. he should hate him. there are so many microaggressions and real agressions growing up that jonathan can conjure, yet somehow they aren’t overtaken by the good ones. a replaced camera, a hand on his sleeve, the twirl of a bat.
some days, jonathan sees steve more than he sees nancy, chronically buried in the paper, while they begrudgingly share cold, leftover pizza at family video or upstairs sitting on the kitchen counter, waiting for the biggest and longest game of dungeons and dragons to come to a pause. he comes in for vhs tapes that are returned already rewound, never having watched them, for a movie night that never existed. and when he gets a temporary job at some mom and pop-owned electronics store, steve stumbles in for batteries like he can’t pick them up at the nearest convenience store. jonathan asks him about movies that aren’t artsy enough for him to bother with and steve gets jonathan talking about the cutting edge in turntables, despite the fact that the harringtons have enough money to have twelve of them in their house. and probably do.
it’s weird, of course it’s weird, but as previously declared, all the best things are.
he can’t really explain why they’re sitting on the floor of the apartment he and nancy share, listening to a mixtape he may have made specifically for steve to try and give the poor sap some culture or why they’re there at all instead of at the byers place or the wheelers. but they’re like this, more often than not, with a walkie nearby and the phone line always clear ( just in case ), with nancy milling around, occasionally thrusting articles or ideas in their faces for their input. sometimes it’s legs draped on the couch, heads on shoulders, nancy and steve asleep at his sides while the credits roll but he’s determined not to disturb them.
but here on the floor, hot in the sticky summer with a fan blowing on them, steve gesturing wildly with wet lips and a piece of watermelon in his hand, jonathan isn't content with sitting on the sidelines. )
You have — ( a grin, yes, he's grinning ) The most abhorrent taste out of anyone I've ever met in my entire life.
( should be venomous but he's laughing, all malice mysteriously absent from his observation. the coffee table's pushed back, closer to the television set, steve with his back to the couch and jonathan with his to said table, bowl of watermelon slices behind him. in his animated excitement, their knees collide — a brush, really, no harder than a tap, but it feels loud like thunder. )
RUBS HANDS TOGETHER. god i missed our tl;dr ;A;
and wow, alright, that was dramatic. over-dramatic, even. he can almost hear robin rolling her eyes at the very thought because steve sounds worse than some fainting lady in the new romcom they'd just gotten into the store a few weeks back. pathetic. dramatic. unnecessary. which she wouldn't be wrong - so he'll go back and rephrase.
steve harrington, the one of today, is so different from the steve harrington he'd been just a year or so ago, that it kind of makes his head spin.
especially right now, sitting on the floor of this apartment, with jonathan byers. sitting with his back to the couch, and jonathan facing him. there is music that steve is actually really enjoying playing over whatever stereo speaker jonathan's brought over. right now, in the middle of the summer heat, with the hum of the fan and steve in a tshirt and shorts, saying something about how the song that was playing reminded him of this one movie that came through the store that he and robin actually sat down to watch and oh my god, jonathan, you have no idea how bad- actually it wasn't that bad, i've seen worse, but the music-. steve is gesturing, too caught up in his story to realize that the juice from the watermelon was dripping down his own wrist, though not too caught up to take a bite every now and then before he picks up just where he'd left off. the music keeps playing, and it is good. of course it's good. jonathan's taste has always been good, though sometimes a bit too artsy.
it wasn't all that long ago that steve was calling the other boy a freak, that he was straight up bullying him in the hallways at school (something that even after their fight, even after showing up at jonathan's house to apologize, even after the replaced camera and this new place they both find themselves in, that steve still feels bad about. guilty about. something that eats him up inside.) it wasn't that long ago since he was spray painting the theater sign and driving around town like he owned the whole place, like he had everything figured out, like he knew what the world had in store for him.
and then there'd been the demogorgon. the baseball bat. the fight of his life alongside nancy wheeler and jonathan byers, and from that moment on, everything just kept changing. like picking up speed down the biggest hill in town, steve just held on. from his and nancy's official break up to now whatever this is supposed to be. to harcourt mall and the russians. to dustin becoming what was now one of the most important people in steve's life despite the fact that kid could be annoying as fuck, and somewhere alongside all of that, was jonathan.
jonathan, who steve had watched stand up straighter, inch by inch. who steve watched come into the video store over and over, for movie after movie, despite his hunch that they never left the box. joanathan, who steve definitely did not go out of his own way just to stop by the electronics store, for batteries. batteries. and jonathan, who didn't hesitate to grin on days like this, to a point where steve feels the urge to stare, just for a moment, as if he might never see it again. (he will, he knows he will) if steve's being honest, the only person who he feels hasn't changed all that much is nancy - nancy, who has always been a badass. nancy, who has always been too smart for her own good. nancy, who has her pistol tucked in next to her pumps in her and jonathan's closet and steve knows that. and nancy, who is supposed to be home any minute now but who has probably gotten held up down at the library during one of her research binders. not that steve minds - they're barely halfway through side a of this mix tape, and he doesn't have another shift until tomorrow evening. ]
Hey- [ their knees collide, just a brush, and jonathan is grinning so brightly at him that steve almost wonders if his heart is stuttering a bit at the sight of it. and then he intentionally hits jonathan's knee with his own again, though this time it's more of a push. a shove. because steve has always been an affectionate guy, and they're at that point here, aren't they? ] Rude. I have great taste- it's just not as...weird as yours. [ a beat, as steve eats the last bite of his slice of watermelon, rolling his eyes. ]
Sorry- artsy. [ it's not the first time this joke has come up, apparently. ]
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jonathan used to think that everything came easy to people like steve harrington and nancy wheeler — money, clothes that weren’t from a thrift store, cars that weren’t covered in rust, friends. because friends were for people that had time to be present, had time to do more than pick up extra shifts and show up ( sometimes ) in the same shirt as yesterday, as long as will went to school with breakfast in his stomach and his mom remembered to take toast and an apple with her.
and he hasn’t been able to decipher how it is that these two people that he once resented are somehow the most interesting people in his age group. will’s his best friend, always will be, but nancy and steve are people he can count on with his back against the wall and jonathan’s never had that security. joyce loves her sons with every piece of herself that she has to give, more than that even, but he didn’t grow up with an older brother to put band-aids on his skinned knees or someone to turn the music up. jonathan’s just had to figure out how to carry on, how to pick himself up, and how to be okay with not being okay on his own.
being alone has taught him to appreciate music and the anger in rock and roll, the glamorization of being an outcast and fighting a system that wasn’t built for people like him to flourish in. if he likes and recognizes the camera work of certain directors, it’s because he’s obsessed with these storytellers who put the truth on a screen, on film, because they too know the power of watching people and seeing how they unfold in a singular moment. he handpicks every song on the mixtape for steve, thinking that part of him that he’s hidden from the rest of the town for so long will get something out of it. some kind of absolution, something akin to being seen.
he sees him so certainly now that he’s not sure how he ever missed it before.
if nancy is an immovable object, then steve is an unstoppable force. and nancy has always been this breathtaking, relentless, beautiful person in pursuit of knowledge and truth. but steve? steve came out of left field so hard that jonathan is still internally screaming in the stands. he’s stupid in a manner of speaking, the kind of dumb that makes him courageous because he doesn’t see x, y, and z as a reason not to do something, he just does it. he’s ridiculous hairsprayed hair and casually unaffected by nearly everything. he’s also surprising in that whenever jonathan’s sure he has him nailed down, he busts out of some dystopian horror cocoon, emerging like a mutilated phoenix. his finest quality: he gets back up.
not only does steve acknowledge the bump of knees, he retaliates, leaving jonathan to defend himself. he catches steve’s knee in his hand, lest he get any ideas about nudging him again. a playful grab, the warning prelude that comes before roughhousing in a household of boys. ( funny, pinpointing that, when neither one of them is the shining example of masculinity. ) his palm outlives its welcome, should drag away instantly with the cautionary glance given in tandem, but jonathan keeps his hand there thoughtlessly. yes, absently, not having to overthink each move with the company involved. )
You wouldn’t know artsy if your life became an independent film in french.
( childishly, he reaches behind him with the hand that had been clutching at steve's knee to thump him in the chest with a wedge of fruit, square against his white t-shirt. and maybe he should have the good sense to run ( he does ) but he stays planted. just sort of arbitrarily pokes steve in the side with his sneaker. )
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because for years, years, it had been all about finding his footing in the tiny world of hawkins. he had a leg up in a lot of ways, ways he can acknowledge now. he came from money, which automatically attracts friends. he's not bad looking and he learned how to actually dress and take care of his hair, which shifted his popularity with the girls as they all got older, too. add in his natural athleticism and general ability to talk and make jokes and ease situations, and you have the makings of a full-on douchebag who thought the entire world was contained within the borders of hawkins, indiana. and part of steve wishes he could say that all it took was learning about monsters and dark scary creepy opposite worlds for him to open his eyes to the truth of it all, but he knows that when it comes down to it, it was nancy. nancy wheeler - always searching for the truth, relentless and powerful and magical all in one stunning body - who looked at him and knew he was phoning it in. he'd gone to jonathan's that night to apologize because nancy had been who had opened his eyes, but the demogorgan had helped that along, too.
because steve hadn't even known jonathan byers before then, really. and maybe that goes to show just how similar he and jonathan were, without even realizing it. because in the same way that jonathan looked at most of the people in hawkins as nonfactors, because they didn't matter, they weren't part of his world, steve had done a lot of the same. circles occupying similar spaces, but encompassing different worlds. jonathan hadn't even been in his scope beyond that weird kid in the grade below him until will had disappeared. and then the weird kid who had taken those photos. and now?
now steve can't help but be drawn in by it, by him. the amount that jonathan knows about the world, about music, about art. the things he can recite about books and movies and world news. the way that he could do all of this, have his sights set out to something so much bigger than any of them, and could be here, too, in the same way. it's taken some time, perhaps. taken steve's new position as dustin's ride, extended conversations upstairs at the wheeler's house, taken specific decisions where steve could have just gone home but instead decided that maybe it was worth heading across town just to ask jonathan what he knew about this or that. but through that time, steve's realized he's getting bits and pieces of a person that very few others knew.
like just how tight knit his family really is. like how well he and will get along. like the record collection he keeps in his room and how his dad is an asshole who isn't really in the picture. and steve, without realizing what was happening, found himself pulled in by this life, by this force, by the way he felt being around jonathan and nancy and robin. like he could be himself, whatever that new version of himself was supposed to be. and they all kind of flourish in that space of having each other, of watching the younger kids grow tighter and tighter, of watching hopper and joyce pretend they're being subtle when they're around each other. steve's not entirely sure how he's gone from the most popular kid in hawkins to hanging out with outcasts and nerds and feeling like, for the first time, he's comfortable with the shoes he's standing in, but it's the truth.
for all that jonathan feels like he can see steve, it's the same in opposite. steve feels seen, like there's not some image he's trying to fill, like maybe if this is it, he can be pretty okay with that.
even if he knows that this can't go on forever - nancy and jonathan are going to college together, soon, and then they'll take on the world. dustin and his friends are going to age through high school. robin will find the love of her life and move off to new york like she's always dreamed. and maybe, just maybe, joyce and hop will finally get married. steve, too, at some point, will have to get a real job and move out himself. will have to grow up, get a life, move on. this won't last forever, but maybe it can be just like this for a little longer.
( steve doesn't like to think about it - about losing nancy and jonathan, about robin leaving him too. in every version he runs through, it's always him being left behind. of course it only happens now that he knows what he'll lose. )
for now, steve will take advantage - of the rock and roll and synth through the mix tape. of the smile on jonathan's face. on the smell of watermelon and whatever it was jonathan made for breakfast in the small, hot room.
he pushes back because it feels like he should, like he could, and jonathan retaliates back. steve's never had siblings, never known what it is to rough house like that, but he played sports. he's had enough friends. he knows that by catching steve's knee in his hand, jonathan is sending a silent message. a retaliation. a challenge. he recognizes that this could escalate, that roughhousing could come into play, or maybe something entirely different, but in the face of it steve simply laughs - it's light, it's bubbly, it's easy. ]
Yeah? And do you speak french, Byers?
[ it's childish in return, but steve doesn't try to be any more mature about it either. jonathan tosses the piece of fruit at him and it thumps against his chest and steve moves to sit up, grabbing the piece, but he's still laughing. ] Cheap shot! What the hell! [ this is happening now. steve immediately throws the piece right back to jonathan with a bit more force. ]
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how he’s going to afford tuition like that? and if he could, say he does, on grades and on merit, how’s he supposed to make the kind of income required to keep himself afloat in a university town? what if something happens? what if will needs him? what if this is never really over? because if he’s speaking his truth, then he has to eventually voice that he wants to stay closer to home. she would never go for his option, which is city college. a perfectly reasonable solution to the economic cost of education, at least for a few years. he doesn’t intend to fall back on old habits, to hide in himself and keep his fears close to his chest, but he does.
a large part of it due to how wild it feels to be talking about college when the world’s already almost ended three times. they’re just. they’re supposed to move on, somehow? knowing that? like the upside down isn’t an entity that keeps reaching for eleven and by extension, the rest of them. living day-to-day hasn’t failed him yet. he knows that’s the avoidance of talking, the anxiety and the paranoia, but days turn to weeks turn to months, and they’re alive. nothing crazy has interrupted their lives. he wishes he could get out of it, except he’s been in survival mode much longer than the rest of them.
he embraces summer like it’s the last one, spending less time behind the lens and more time instigating in the lives of the friends around him. yeah, friends, not people. he thinks maybe they’ve earned that. )
I don’t need to. It’s called subtitles. You can read, right?
( after a retort like that, he’s deserving of having the watermelon volleyed back at him. steve’s aim smacks him in the jaw in a smushy wet slap that plummets to his lap. unbelievable, this assault he asked for. )
Augh! ( he cries out, not necessarily in pain so much as it’s already tacky, humid, and a little miserable in here without sticky fruit juice on his face. a sole watermelon seed sticks to his cheek. common sense doesn’t tell him to stop when it should. he picks up the fallen fruit in his lap, more green rind than hot pink fruit and hurls it in steve’s general direction. his aim is horrific and it splatters against the cushions. there’s only certain vengeance on his face where guilt ought to be. he scrambles up, to kneeling, scrabbling for fruit in each hand and then dashing for the kitchen. he stops though, lingers at the side of the couch long enough to try and pelt steve in the shoulder. )
Loser's stuck with clean-up duty, ( which is all he has to say before banking for cover behind the island. )
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whether or not he's spoken it aloud, whether or not he's said the words to anyone else, he knows that is what will happen. that they will go and live their lives, and steve harrington will find an apartment, maybe a house. will be stuck here, in hawkins, forever. and maybe part of him believes it's because this is the best he can offer - to come in, bat swinging, whenever anything starts to go wrong. if he can't do anything else, he supposes he can always do this - be this, be here, dependable ole steve, who will hold down the fort and a job and be nothing more than an impression he left in high school that isn't even entirely true.
but jonathan's right - this summer, this could be their last. their last of this, of them, of this unit that steve wishes he had years to learn to depend on and be with. and, if this is going to be their last, it might as well be worth it. ]
I can read, asshole. I just don't know why you'd want to go to the movies to read. [ yes, steve agrees that jonathan deserves to have the watermelon thrown back at him for that. and then it is on - jonathan is throwing the piece back but steve dodges it easily, laughing at how terrible his aim had to be to miss when they are sitting right next to each other. steve laughs at it, a haha as he stumbles to his feet too, grabbing for the bowl though he's a half-second slower and jonathan's already got his pieces and making a dash to the kitchen. he's laughing, suddenly feeling inexplicably young, as he tries to dodge the second piece of watermelon and feels it bounce off his shirt all the same. ]
You mean loser's gonna have to explain this to Nance. [ steve crawls around the couch for better cover himself, taking the bowl with him. it's called strategy, at this point. there's a brief moment where steve just sits there, trying to hear where jonathan's headed, before he pops back out from behind the couch and fastballs a piece of watermelon right over the island. ]
Do I have to remind you that you live here? I could leave whenever I want! [ and then he throws two more pieces where he can just make out jonathan's shoulder. ]
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( yup, nope, okay. that one smacks him in the side of the neck and he has to crouch-crawl to the other side of the island, hurling his last piece and whatever chunks he’s scooped up from the floor back at the couch and where he hopes steve is hiding, popping his head out like a little whack-a-mole at the arcade. at this point, both of their shirts are going to be covered in off-pink splotches. )
Planet! ( he finishes stubbornly, resolute in finishing what he begins. it does mean that steve can track him easier via sound but someone has to defend independent films in a foreign language; the writing is solid, but absorbing it isn’t as mindless as an american-made movie. there’s no drilling appreciation into steve’s thick skull; jonathan suspects he barely likes movies more than with a casual interest in passing the time.
there’s an unfortunate dilemma he’s facing now, one that forces him to get creative in arming himself. he’s out of fruit. steve has the bowl in his arms. does that mean he’s snatching up errant kitchen supplies from a ceramic cup and flinging wooden spoons across the chasm between the kitchen and the living room? absolutely. no regrets in war. nancy will just have to understand the wreckage of their apartment is for a very worthwhile cause: annihilating the resistance. he gets hit by some stray watermelon pieces in the mean time, creeping around one side of the island to do a mad dash back to the opposing side of the couch, which he ducks behind as best he can. he’s not as invisible as he hopes. )
Oh, what, like you’re going to abandon me?
( steve hasn’t been the bailing type for months now. sorry, try again. he doesn’t believe it. jonathan reaches into the cup and flings a plastic spatula in steve’s general vicinity, then drops flat to the floor. time to crawl around the back of the furniture like an actual child. )