Chapter Text
The scent of fresh bacon and sizzling potatoes filled Jonathan Byer’s kitchen. It was early yet, hazy sunlight streaming into the room through one open window above the sink, flowing through lacy white curtains and casting delicate shadows across the walls. Jonathan wasn’t wearing a shirt and his loose pajama pants were slung low on his hips comfortably.
He plodded across the floor, retrieving two plates from a cabinet and arranging a serving upon each one with care.
“You making breakfast, babe? Smells nice,” a male voice sounded from the hallway leading to the kitchen. Jonathan glanced sidelong, making eye contact with Steve Harrington. He yawned as he approached, dressed in an old Hawkins High sweatshirt and a pair of baggy joggers. His hair was messy, his feet bare.
Jonathan smiled softly, continuing to fix their plates as Steve lazily draped his arms around Jonathan’s torso from behind, resting his head on his shoulder. His lips were close to Jonathan’s ear– so close he could feel Steve’s even breath.
“Thanks,” Jonathan replied, setting the spatula to the side and stepping forward to take the plates in each hand, away from Steve’s gentle grasp. Turning, Jonathan moved past Steve toward the kitchen table. Harrington followed, watching Jonathan arrange the plates silently.
When Jonathan pivoted, Steve was there, just tall enough to create the illusion he was gazing downward at him. His eyes were deep honey brown, sunlight softly shimmering there.
“Food looks good,” Steve rasped, his voice still sleepy, “You look better”. Jonathan couldn’t reply before Steve’s hands had fallen to his waist, tenderly tugging him closer.
“So beautiful,” Steve trailed a few fingers across Jonathan’s bare torso, the scars there. He was looking at Jonathan as if he were the most magnificent thing in the world, as if he were better. Although, maybe then, he was.
“Fuck!” Jonathan Byers hissed through gritted teeth, lurching forward as he came across the palm of his hand, thick and sticky. He grumbled under his breath, wiping the mess on a dirty t-shirt lying on his end table before chucking it beneath his bed. His dick twitched a few times before settling across his worn boxers. He sighed, closing his eyes before he could catch a glimpse of his sorry reflection in the mirror resting at the foot of the bed. He didn’t like to see himself this way, a horny loser getting off to stupid daydreams about a world where his old high school tormentor reciprocated his feelings. Each time Steve Harrington crossed Jonathan’s mind, a phenomenon which was tragically constant, he felt like more of a miserable freak than he already was.
The Summer following his graduation from Hawkins High School had begun a few weeks prior, and he knew it was time to move on from the guy. Time to figure himself out, get ready for college, find a girl to like– finally be normal. Although lately, he’d been finding the task easier said than done.
At least during high school, he’d had goals. There were assignments for his film class and deadlines for his woodshop projects. He had some things to care for, not to love, but to fill his days and offer some comforting sense of structure to his life. He’d even had a couple friends. There was Argyle, who sold Jonathan weed for cheap and smoked it with him after school. And there was Nancy, who interned alongside him at the Hawkins Post the Summer previous.
Yet, Argyle had moved back to his hometown in June and Nancy was off on the East Coast for some immersive Emerson journalism program before she began studying there in the Fall. So altogether, Jonathan was all alone. No– not completely, he had his brother Will and of course, his mom. They were probably the only two people in the entire world that Jonathan knew he wouldn’t lose.
“I’m leaving,” Will announced quietly, seated across from Jonathan at the kitchen table.
“Wh– what? What do you mean you’re leaving?” Jonathan sputtered, setting his spoon across his plate. Will glanced at his mother, seated at the head of the table. She nodded reassuringly as if urging Will to come forward with some deep truth. Jonathan glanced between his mom Joyce and his brother.
“It’s just for the Summer. Dustin wants me and Mike and Lucas to go to his camp, the one up in Michigan,” Will explained, his voice frustratingly even.
“For the whole Summer?” Jonathan frowned, chewing at his bottom lip. Will’s gaze dropped to the tabletop.
“Well, just until August”.
“That’s the whole Summer”.
“Jonathan, honey, it’s a camp for gifted kids. It’s gonna be really good for Will,” Joyce reached across the table, lightly resting a palm against Jonathan’s clenched hand.
“Mom, it’s fine,” he mumbled. He didn’t like that she was acting as if Will going away was going to ruin Jonathan, like he was reliant on him. Rather, he didn’t like how glaringly obvious it was that his best friend had become his 15 year old kid brother.
“Seriously. That sounds awesome, dude. I hope you have fun,” Jonathan forced a grin across his face. Joyce exhaled, smiling.
“Thanks,” Will replied, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards. He began to eat, picking at the hamburger helper in front of him. Jonathan was glad his false joy had appeased his family, even though it felt like his world was slowly crumbling around him.
That night, Jonathan succumbed to his imagination– the single numbing force which could relieve his tension, if only for a short while. He laid in his unmade bed, remembering hazy days spent building Fort Byers with his brother and putting together Will’s Ghostbusters Halloween costume with his mom.
Lately, Joyce had been out of the house often. Sometimes she was picking up an extra shift at Melvald’s General Store, but other times Jonathan didn’t know where she was. Will was going away the following week. Without him, Jonathan was going to be alone. Alone in an empty house without friends, or plans. He was going to be more miserable than he already was.
Worse yet, when he couldn’t bear reliving his family’s past any longer, he reminisced about high school– about Steve. Jonathan had never realized how much the stupid jock influenced his school life, until school ended.
Steve had always been an asshole. He liked to pick on the weaker guys; the more quiet or incompetent you were in PE class the better. Hence, Jonathan became a perfect target from elementary school onward. Steve made fun of his mousy hair, his secondhand clothes, the bags beneath his eyes. If it were anybody else, Jonathan would have avoided them completely or reported them to a teacher. But not with Steve, never with Steve.
From the moment Jonathan laid eyes on Harrington, in what was probably second or third grade, he became infatuated. Maybe it was the way sunlight turned Steve’s hair a lustrous golden hue when it touched at just the right angle, or maybe it was the way he walked with his shoulders back, confident and unopposed.
Jonathan began to schedule his day around one-sided encounters with the jock. In middle school, he would wait outside the stairwell each morning, carefully hidden by a book simply to catch a glimpse of Steve when he sauntered upstairs alongside his obnoxious friends. In more recent years, Jonnathan waited in the darkroom after school with the door ajar, just enough to watch Steve as he passed on the way to the locker room. Each intersection lasted mere seconds yet they fueled Jonathan for hours. As kids, Jonathan’s fantasies about Steve were innocent enough– running a hand through Steve’s hair or earning a compliment from the boy. Over time, his cravings had become more lustful. He wanted Steve to fuck him. It didn’t matter where or how, soft and slow or angry and fast. He just desired Steve’s body against his, Steve’s discerning touch, Steve’s exuberant laughter. Jonathan had never longed for anything more nor had he understood more definitively that his wishes would never become true.
Days later, Jonathan found himself cleaning his bedroom. It had been months since the carpet had been vacuumed or the windows washed and Joyce had grown sick of it. In fact, she was forcing both of the Byers boys to tidy their rooms. For Will, the job needed to be done before he’d be allowed to go play Dungeons and Dragons in his friend’s basement. For Jonathan, it was simply a dull task.
He had picked his things off the floor, dusted, and made his bed, leaving the space beneath. Crouching down and lifting the embroidered bedskirt to peer under, Jonathan sighed. He was met with a heap of old clothes, storage boxes, and empty soda cans.
“Need help?” Will asked, standing in the doorway.
“Don’t worry about it, man. Go play your nerd game,” Jonathan turned, cracking a smile. Will laughed, stepping inside and plopping down crosslegged beside his brother.
“No, I don’t mind,” he replied contently. This was why Jonathan loved Will so much; he was truly selfless.
“Okay… but you’re not gonna like it,” Jonathan removed the bedskirt completely, revealing the mess. Will crinkled his nose, frowning.
“See? I told you. Last chance– go to Mike’s house or tackle the beast”.
“It’s not… that bad. We can do it,” Will mumbled, analyzing the junk before reaching in and grabbing the t-shirt Jonathan had cum across days prior. Jonathan’s eyes widened before he snatched the shirt from Will’s grasp and tossed it in the direction of his hamper.
“What’s wrong?” Will asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Nothing! Just uh– just don’t like that shirt,” he excused, ignoring his brother’s baffled expression and beginning to remove some snack wrappers from the disarray.
“What’s this?” His brother asked, a moment later, taking a bulky cardboard box into his lap. Jonathan’s gaze darted to the container, recognizing it nearly immediately. He hadn’t looked at the box in years yet its contents were engraved into his mind.
“Don’t– don’t touch that,” Jonathan replied, quickly taking the box from Will and tossing it to the side.
“You’re being weird. Is there anything under here that I can touch?” Jonathan, still shaken, glanced at the mess again.
“You know what, dude? Don’t even worry about it, seriously. I’ll just deal with this later. Mom totally won’t check,” he feigned laughter.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive”.
“Well okay! See you later,” Will smiled, standing up and leaving the room, pulling the door closed behind him. Once he was alone, Jonathan breathed a deep sigh of relief. He hadn’t realized how many things lingered in his bedroom that couldn’t be shared.
Taking the forbidden cardboard box into his hands, Jonathan examined it for a moment. He wasn’t sure if it was right to call the box his. After all, he thought as he slipped the lid off, it was dedicated to Steve. Once the top was removed, Jonathan was greeted with his own obsession. There were stacks of developed photographs, each one featuring Harrington. Some Jonathan had taken himself, through the darkroom door or crouched behind his beat-up car. Others he’d collected from outside sources– school yearbook photos, images of the Hawkins High basketball team. There were mementos too, small items Jonathan had collected and compiled over the years.
He ran his fingers across the frayed broken end of a shoelace. Steve had cussed aloud when it broke during PE class, abandoning it on the gymnasium floor. There was a silvery baseball card which had fallen from Steve’s backpack, a Bazooka gum wrapper he’d tossed in the trash after lunch, one broken end of the pencil Steve had snapped in two when he failed an algebra test.
Worse yet, there were piles of sketches. All different but all Steve. Jonathan hadn’t added anything to the box since his sophomore year. He’d still watched Steve in school, still imagined Steve at night, but he was really, really trying to be less of a weird creep. The contents of the box made him feel guilty. It was bizarre and invasive and he knew it. He knew he needed to move on, to leave this fucked up part of himself in the past.
Jonathan set the lid back onto the box, pressing his hands against the cool cardboard as if he could wish the items inside away through sheer will. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, listening to the faint hum of the fan on his nightstand and the distant creak of the house settling. The photographs and trinkets would stay there, tucked away, unsaid and unseen, reminders of a fixation he wasn’t ready to completely abandon. Maybe one day he would throw it all away, forget about the infatuation completely. For now, he let himself sit in the quiet, letting the longing linger where it belonged—safe, private, and quietly hopeful.