Archive of Our Own ^beta

Steve doesn't have a lot of experience with moving. Sure, when he was 11 he might have helped his grandparents pack up some things before they moved, but that was years ago.

People leaving? That was something he was more familiar with. Friends from school that never stuck around, and eventually his family. His parents, of course, were the worst offenders when it came to this. Daniel Harrington with his ever revolving rounds of women and business meetings and the ineffectual Marissa Harrington have rarely been in his life. With the exception of a couple days in a row every year where they return to Hawkins to ridicule and control Steve, he didn't really grow up with them.

Joyce Byers was more of a mother to him than anyone else, but that was based on her kindness and being a wholly decent person. But now she was leaving, and taking her kids with her.

Steve had been distracting himself for the last week with Robin and job applications. Spending time with the Byers but ignoring the fast approaching move-away date.

Steve… wasn't doing well.

Healing from his concussion in the aftermath of Starcourt and effectively living with Jonathan for a week or two suited him just fine. He was over at his boyfriends house more often than not, especially in the last couple years, and Joyce and Will weren't confused by his and Jonathan's friendship anymore.

Then came the beginning of August, and Jonathan calling him in the middle of the night to tell him the news. The Byers were moving to California.

They didn't know where or when they were, but Joyce was set on it. According to Jonathan, Joyce wanted to give the kids a fresh start. El was still reeling from Hopper's death, and Will has had too many things happen to him courtesy of Hawkins. He imagines it is much of the same for Jonathan, but he never mentions his hurt. Not when—in Jonathan's mind—his pain was inconsequential to El and Will's. Jonathan was leaving.

The fight that had came in the next week was ugly. Steve wanted to be selfish and ask Jonathan to stay—he did, even, in the middle of an argument—but what he got in return was frustrated dismissal. Jonathan wasn't going to abandon his family, but he would leave Steve.

If you asked Steve, the week they spent a part was great. No Jonathan to tell him what he was good for, and it was proof that Steve didn't need him to survive. He was doing just fine. Everything Jonathan said he was (insecure, childish, and insensitive? No!) was being disproven in real time. He was doing just fine, thank you.

If you asked Robin, the week Jonathan and Steve didn't talk was horrible. After, Robin had told him that she had never seen Steve so quiet, so angry. And, sure, they haven't known each other for that long (just a summer) but it was nerve wracking to watch, she said. Steve knows that she was there after Starcourt, knows that she saw Jonathan and Steve reunite there and hold each other like they were afraid they'd disappear, but that was only one facet of their relationship. Steve insisted that he and Jonathan were like this sometimes, that they got on each other's nerves until they couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm not saying you aren't like that, Steve." Robin had put her hand on his shoulder. "I'm saying that you're scared that you won't get that time back. Not this time."

He was certain that if Robin was anyone else, he would ignore them and continue brooding (no, Robin, he wasn't fucking brooding—) because it was his relationship. Jonathan and Steve were unique cases in that they knew each other and fell in love when they were young. Steve knows Jonathan like the back of his hand, and Jonathan knows him better than anyone. That was how he knew that this wouldn't ruin them.

In fact, that is exactly what he told Robin. But, Robin had frowned, and called him stupid for letting this go on for so long.

Being forced to actually consider what Robin was saying terrified him. Self-sabotage, she had said, because he was afraid that Jonathan would break up with him. The Byers were getting out and away from Hawkins, but that included Steve. He knew Jonathan was going to support his family, but what if leaving Steve behind was a nice bonus for him?

That realization was like ice water down his spine. But how could he talk to Jonathan without his boyfriend walking away? Steve used to think that how long they have known each other was a sensible ward against fights like this. They have been dating for almost four years, and have been friends for longer; it was naive to think their experience with each other guarded them from conflict when he wouldn't get out of his ass and actually talk to Jonathan.

Steve wakes up on the day before their anniversary (August 16—tomorrow would be four whole years—) and climbs into his car. He didn't need to drive to Jonathan's house, not when the forest has always been his preferred pathway. But driving gave him something to do with his hands, and more time to think when getting out of Loch Nora and to the Byers was a longer route.

Apparently, it gave him too much to think about, because he doesn't realize he drives over something sharp until his one of his front tires blow out and he spins uncontrollably for a second. The feeling was too similar to how he spun out the "Toddfather" in the Starcourt parking lot; so he is forced to take several minutes to breathe and calm down. Eventually, he is able to wrench himself out of his beemer and survey the damage. His fucked up front left tire isn't a sight he is fond of, and the board of wood with nails sticking out of it plain confused him.

Standing, he had leaned against the car door, recounting his shit luck—getting as far as the time he almost outed himself to his parents—before life hit him with another unfortunate stroke of luck.

"You never drive to my house."

Steve startles hard enough that he jams his elbow into the rear-view mirror, and as he is shaking out his arm, Jonathan is getting out of his own car from where he pulled over on the side of the road. It looks like he was coming back from an errand in town, driving back to his own house. He silently herded Steve into his car and let Steve use his landline to call a tow truck; because even if they were in one of the worst fights they have ever been in, Jonathan was still taking care of him.

He hung up the phone and felt sick, watching Jonathan gather ingredients for lunch. Steve really was being stupid.

"I'm sorry." Jonathan didn't look at him immediately, but his frame had tensed so aggressively that Steve had a ridiculous urge to jump backward.

That night had been full of more apologies and tears than Steve would like to admit. Confirming that—no—Jonathan wasn't going to just be dropping Steve the moment he landed on Californian soil; and that—no—Steve wasn't giving up on Jonathan just because he scared himself.

12:00 AM, August 17th, 1985 marked four years together. Steve had held Jonathan all night and whispered all about the stupid things happening in his head, and Jonathan hadn't interrupted him once (well, maybe just to kiss him, but it was his right).

…

And now they were here.

Steve was doing better, but not great. Not that he felt bad about anything within their relationship, Jonathan had been checking in with him and vice versa since he got his head out of his ass, but Jonathan was still leaving. His boyfriend would be around 1,900 miles away when Steve had always used to be able to walk into his back yard and stumble into Jonathan's, climbing through the window and falling into his arms.

The idea that he couldn't do that anymore crushed him.

Steve came around the Byers house after his and Robin's job interview, Joyce welcoming him inside and pointing out each room where Will's friends were helping pack. She had walked away, and Will caught his attention.

"Oh, hey Steve." Will was holding a cardboard box full of things, one of which was an old Polaroid camera that Steve nabbed at a thrift store when he was 13.

It was one of his first gifts to Jonathan, even though it didn't work that well. The film was finicky and Jonathan liked the control of the camera (the one that Steve bought him) he had now better. Basically, it was trash.

He gestured at it anyway, "Hey there Will. Can I?"

The kid looks at him strangely, but shrugs, "Sure." Steve picks it up and pulls out the panel that let him see the film inside. He finds a thin layer of grime and dust, but the box of film still looked a third full (likely after Jonathan had his fun and gave up on how splotchy it was). "Jonathan didn't say you were coming to help."

It wasn't a question, but Steve could hear the accusation, "Came by to say, uh, goodbye. Y'know Jonathan and I… friends. But I figured your mom wouldn't mind another set of hands."

Almost on cue, Dustin and Lucas come barreling through the hallway, obnoxious and yelling about an old set of figures. Will is immediately distracted by them, and Steve backs away with his hands up.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nancy waves him over, and Steve goes easily. "Was wondering when you were going to show up."

Steve sighs, a little guilty, "I would have come earlier but Robin and I finally found a place that took both of us. He is here, right? Not out grabbing more boxes or anything?"

Nancy was one of two people, the other being Robin (of course), who knew about Jonathan and Steve.

She smiles thinly, amused. "If I didn't know how long you've been together, I'd say you were nervous to talk to him."

"Who says I'm not?" It was meant to be a joke, a light way to wave away concern, but it falls extremely flat.

Nancy takes pity on him (for once) and nods to Jonathan's bedroom doorway, "He's getting some of the last things in there."

Steve gives her a nod, not trusting his voice, and heads inside.

Jonathan was sitting at the center of the room surrounded by boxes, his back to the door. Most of the furniture was already gone, including his bed and desk, but the bookshelf was still in here as the items it held were getting sorted into boxes. As he walked inside, he catches a glimpse of an old photo album that Steve remembers filling one summer (the year they got together, maybe).

He knocks on the doorframe, and Jonathan turns, taking off the headphones to his Walkman. The smile that spreads over his face when he sees Steve makes him choke a little; he never knew how to truly deal with the idea of someone happy to just see him. And with Jonathan, he knew it wasn't because of anything he had to offer, just that he arrived was enough (but Steve would always give him more, even if Jonathan didn't ask for it; because he deserved that, at the very least).

"Hey, stranger." Steve smiles at his boyfriend.

Jonathan scoffs, standing and waving him inside. He peers around the door behind Steve and kisses him when he is sure there isn't anyone that could see them. Steve kisses back gratefully. He left early this morning to make sure Joyce wouldn't see him, but their night had been full of soft kisses and tender words. There was always more to say, and more to do, though. Steve was going to take every opportunity he could get to stay in contact with Jonathan. So when Jonathan pulls away, he grabs a hold of his hand.

Thankfully, Jonathan doesn't bring attention to it other than squeezing his palm firmly in response. "What do you have?"

Steve remembers what he took from Will, and holds up his prize. "Remember?"

"Yeah?" Jonathan is smiling at him, the one that says he is calling Steve a dork in his head, but he doesn't care. "It's been broken for years—or since you got it—whichever came first."

He shakes the Polaroid camera in his boyfriend's face, "Wouldn't hurt to try it out one last time."

"There is no way it works at all. Even if the camera was fixed, that film is ancient."

Steve shrugs, "And?"

Jonathan scoffs and shakes his head. "Okay, smartass, what do you want to take a picture of?"

He takes a minute to consider the room around him—all for show, because he already knows—and actually takes in the condition Jonathan's room has been left in.

Yes, the room was mostly bare at this point. But Steve could still see the small affects of Jonathan's life here with ease. The small scuff where his headboard would hit the wall, a line of green crayon near the baseboard (Will's doing, likely), a nail in the wall where an old picture of Jonathan and Chester hung, a dent in the wall near the window where Steve had slipped and banged his fist into it, and several scuffs from his shoes on the windowsill. Steve wondered if Jonathan was going to fix the faulty lock on the window, now that he wasn't going to be climbing through it anymore.

Before he could prematurely get emotional, he turns back to the Polaroid camera in his hand. Making sure the back panel was in place, he lifts it in one swift motion and aims it at Jonathan, finding his boyfriend in the small viewfinder and clicking.

Jonathan sputters out a protest that is too late, and Steve laughs. The camera cranks out a small panel of film, the photo a blank rectangle. So far, so good.

"Ugh," Jonathan snatches the camera out of his hands, "I knew you were going to do that."

Steve snorts when Jonathan gives him a taste of his own medicine and snaps a photo of him holding the Polaroid. The printing this time around takes a little longer than what was expected, but it eventually spits out another developing photo.

Waiting for them to develop—or not—Steve looks back to the pile of things that Jonathan was looking at before he came in. The photo album Jonathan had earlier was exactly what Steve thought it was: the album they filled messing around Hawkins in the Summer of 81'. Even though the album was relatively thin, and wasn't hard to fill, Steve remembers being shocked at how liberal Jonathan had been with the film that summer. Usually he saved it for shots he knew would be up to snuff, but he had been almost carefree. (Jonathan told him, much much later that he got trigger-happy with the shutter button that summer because he had realized his attraction to Steve, and was dealing with it in the only way he knew how. Steve had teased Jonathan about being his muse, but had to stop himself from getting too emotional about it in public. It didn't surprise him that was the summer they confessed to each other).

He goes to sit down by the pile, and Jonathan follows suit. Steve gestures at the room, "It's so… empty."

"Yeah…" Jonathan looks at his hands, setting down the developing Polaroid on a nearby box. "The last time it was like this, I was 5? Maybe 6. I don't know. Will was still a baby and Mom's parents gave them enough to start out here. I kind of remember her crying about having her own house… but, at that time I was just excited to have a bigger room."

Steve chuckles, and picks up the 81' photo album. Flipping through it, some he remembered taking, and he recognized most places that had been photographed. The further you got, the more Steve appeared in them, until that was most of what they were.

"I never showed anyone the back half of it." Jonathan breathes next to him.

"Really?" Steve asks, but he isn't that surprised. Jonathan has always been private about his work, especially when it came to him. "Not even your Mom?"

Jonathan shrugged, "Lonnie might have been gone by then but he was still getting to me." He gestures nonsensically, "being queer was still terrifying to me. Even if I had figured myself out by the time I was taking pictures for this album." Jonathan's fingers trailed against a close up of Steve's face, entirely unflattering and the lighting off, but he was laughing in it.

"You think you'd show anyone now?"

"Maybe." Jonathan worries his lip. "Will, maybe. I don't know. You know that he barely remembered you? He looked at me like I was crazy when you started coming around more often after 83'. At first I thought it was just because you were, y'know, how you were in highschool. But it turns out he didn't connect you back to the person I was with all the time. That short-haired, gangly boy that would watch movies with us for hours until Mom got back, and all that." He pauses, looking to other photo albums he had already packed away. Ones with older dates that no doubt had a couple photos of Steve in them, but not as much as this one did. "Sometimes I think everything would be a little different if he knew about… these."

Jonathan takes the album from Steve's hands gently, looking over it with a quiet reverence before placing it in the an open box. "Jonathan?" His boyfriend turns to him, and Steve takes his hand, rubbing the scarred palm as he says, "If you get the opportunity in California—" He chokes a little on the word, "—you can tell him. About me, you, us, everything. I'm okay with it."

"Okay." Jonathan's voice shakes a little, and Steve can feel a bit more of his control slipping, so he clears his throat and grabs the developed Polaroid. Jonathan huffs out a wet laugh when Steve shows him. "Y'know, they aren't horrible."

The Polaroids are a little fucked up. The colors are devastatingly wrong, making both Jonathan and Steve a little too teal, and there are spots where the development gave up on. There is a strange line through Jonathan's photo of Steve, assumably where it struggled to spit out the picture, and Steve's photo of Jonathan is very blurry; but he loves them.

He takes the photo he took of Jonathan and stuffs it in his pocket. When his boyfriend looks at him weirdly, he shrugs, "I don't really have any pictures of you, Jon. You're not usually a willing model."

"I wouldn't say I was willing there, either." Jonathan retorts, but he gets a thoughtful look on his face.

"Jon?"

"Hold on." Jonathan twists his body around, grabbing the Polaroid camera where he left it. Then he reaches a little farther and pushes his door, not closing it, but making sure they couldn't be easily seen by passersby. Only then does he turn back to Steve and lift the camera so the shutter is facing the both of them.

Steve giggles, "You sure we are both in the frame?"

Jonathan grumbles. "This is why I hate this fucking thing—"

"That was a gift, Jonathan!"

"Shut up." Jonathan takes matters into his own hands and plants a kiss on Steve himself. Before the shutter goes off, Steve reaches up to caress Jonathan's jaw; maybe moving them a bit too far out of frame, but not caring enough because Jonathan was kissing him with fervor. Even after Jonathan puts down the camera, Steve presses their torsos together. Jonathan hums, gathering him in closer, grabbing a hold of Steve's waist. He wants to whine into Jonathan's mouth, because that always drove his boyfriend crazy, but he remembers where they are and who could be outside the door. Jonathan must also remember too, because he pulls away next.

They still touch, because Steve can't stomach letting go yet. Jonathan buries his face into Steve's neck; maybe not platonic but inherently romantic. They sit there for a moment in silence, Steve looking down to pluck the Polaroid from the camera. He turns it around to watch it struggle to develop.

Anyone could clearly see it was two people kissing, a bit aggressively, he might add. But half of Jonathan's face was hidden by Steve's head or was covered by Steve's hand. If you didn't know that Steve was even friends with Jonathan, you wouldn't be able to guess who it was. (That, and it had similar color and printing defects that made it look a little silly, but even then.)

Steve couldn't tell if he enjoyed that others wouldn't be able to tell who Steve was kissing, but he would take what he could get. And that was, preferably, no harassment on his or Jonathan's part.

Steve presses a kiss to Jonathan's hair, "I don't want you to go."

It wasn't the same hurt demand he blurted out in one of their arguments, but something raw that Steve has been trying to tamp down for almost two months.

Jonathan sighs, and pulls away to meet Steve's eyes, "If you start crying, neither of us are making it out of here calm and collected." That startles a laugh out of him, and Jonathan gets that fragile smile of his. "I mean, I still need to get all this stuff in the truck."

Steve sucks in a large breath, sniffling and rubbing at his face before he stands, "I'll help, c'mon."

Boxing the rest of Jonathan's things didn't feel as daunting like he thought it would. Taping them and labeling was a nice distraction, but it ended all too soon. Jonathan had asked him what he was going to do with the Polaroid Camera—because, really, it was garbage—so Steve takes it to stash in his room alongside his photo of Jonathan and their kiss.

Placing the last of the Byers' things in the moving truck and Jonathan closing it's rolling door feels horribly final in a way that Steve can already feel crawling up his throat. Jonathan sees the look on his face, assumably, and turns to his Mom, "I'm going to double-check my room real quick."

"Okay, sweetie."

Steve turns on his heel and heads back inside before Jonathan could lead him in. They walk side-by-side until they reach Jonathan's room, shutting the door.

There is a long, insufferable pause as Steve traces the walls and carpet with his eyes again, for maybe the 20th time today. Rationalizing this empty block with Jonathan's lived-in room was almost impossible. Steve needs to hold on to something, because he doesn't know if he can stand upright in here much longer.

Jonathan, because he knew Steve better than anyone, grabs Steve's hand right then. Squeezing as they took in the empty space together. Steve wasn't a liar, but he was good at fooling himself when it mattered. He doesn't know how he is going to adjust to having Jonathan whenever he wanted to not at all. His guess? Badly. But the moving truck was already outside and full with the Byers' things, and Steve had no control over it.

After they had made up, Jonathan had confided in him that there wasn't much in Hawkins for him to stick around for. Not if Will and the rest of his family were following him to California. Except for the people, Jonathan had said, except for you. I would stay for you, if I could. That terrified Steve out of being angry about the move so fast it gave him whiplash; the only thing worse than Jonathan leaving him—breaking his heart, and leaving him—would be Jonathan staying with him because Steve wasn't willing to compromise. So, no, Steve wasn't happy about the move, but it would just have to be another step. Another obstacle in their path along the road to loving each other.

"I don't really know what to say." Jonathan swallows audibly. "Besides my entire life getting packed up in one day? That's… but anything that comes to mind sounds stupid or, I don't know…"

"Like air supply?" Steve finally looks at him.

Jonathan chuckles, "Yeah."

"Um…" Steve wasn't that great with words, he knew. It was how most fights broke out and why he was prone to concussions, but actions? Those he was good at. He slides his hands up Jonathan's arms, feeling just because he could, and stops when he reaches the collar of Jonathan's shirt. His boyfriend might be a little smaller than he was, but that didn't make him dainty or fragile. He knew first hand the amount of power that is behind Jonathan's frame, and how much love he holds down to his very being. Steve doesn't know how he'll cope with missing out on being held by him as he falls asleep.

He lets his thumbs glance along the worn collar of Jonathan's shirt, the fabric a little pilled but well-loved. (He was glad he stashed away some of his clothes already; he had already been sleeping in Jonathan's favorite The Clash shirt to bed). Even if Jonathan ran colder than he did, warmth of Jonathan's body bled into his when he steps closer. His hands cradle the smooth jaw and cup the back of Jonathan's neck. There he looks to Jonathan's face, the kind brown eyes he was so familiar with (not quite dark, with flecks of green and gold, and they always seemed to warm him on the coldest nights); Jonathan returned his gaze without hesitating, leaning in just far enough for their noses to touch for a moment before they gave in completely into a kiss.

Their kiss this time around was different. Different from the one they had just hours prior and maybe from anything else they had experienced. This time around, Jonathan's hands weren't scrambling to meld their bodies together, and Steve wasn't begging Jonathan's mouth to open with his teeth. They weren't overly soft, either, but firm and comforting. It wasn't see you later or goodbye, but something else entirely. It wasn't ever truly goodbye for them, Steve knows. After his breakdown, he knows he needs to keep telling himself that, because Jonathan said he was with him for the long haul; and, generally, Jonathan's word was a hysterical and loving promise.

Still, when they part, Steve breathes against Jonathan's lips as their foreheads rest against each other, "I love you."

Jonathan bites his bottom lip, smiling, "I love you, too."

"Hey." Steve breathlessly laughs when Jonathan starts crying. "You said no crying."

Jonathan wipes away Steve's own tears, "I just wanted a head-start."

"Asshole."

"Shithead."

Steve's body shakes with humor, and when Jonathan kisses him again (not 'goodbye'—never that—), he responds in kind. They press together before Joyce can come looking for them to take Jonathan away; one long gesture that says I love you, I miss you already.