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Jonathan Byers doesn't like alcohol.
There are several reasons for that, really,
The most obvious being he hates the somewhat fruity smell that oozes off the wine bottles that he has only touched to throw away. It's also the fact that whiskey's difficult to clean if it spills on the floor.
He remembers the way it would take more than two wipes to clean off a bad stain on the floor that always made him nauseous. The way he would constantly pray for things to change.
Jonathan fidgets with the keys in his hand, his mind debating over a text he has received just three minutes and twenty something seconds ago.
steve (the most goodlooking guy in hawkins)
The name saved makes Jonathan smile nonetheless, reminiscing the way Steve had practically taken his phone to save the number himself, dramatically gesturing about how true it is and Jonathan had rolled his eyes, telling him to “Stop being so egoistic, Harrington."
But he doesn't have the desire to change the name, it suits Steve's personality more than the dry ‘Steve Harrington’ that he planned initially.
He has realised lately that there are a plethora of things he only lets Steve do around him. Most of them started after they started this thing between them, but he can name a few that were always existing.
“You are insane! We are not doing this.” Jonathan groaned at the sight of Steve who was standing in the doorway with a pack of firecrackers in his hand.
“Come on, man. It's your birthday!” Steve held his hands up and Jonathan sighed for the millionth time.
“It's a birthday, not a festival, you know that, right?”
“Same thing to me.”
Jonathan had grumbled and glared as Steve lit up the stack one by one yet when the firecrackers were shining above his head, he couldn't help but see the too perfect grin on the asshole he liked and as he bought out his camera, he knew he was in too deep.
It didn't help that his chest felt like a hundred emotions passing through and for once, he couldn't pinpoint a single bad one.
Jonathan tears his eyes and redirects them to the car parked outside. Then again, looking at the text that is making him think too hard.
please come, i’ll bribe you with fries :)
Jonathan sighs, cursing the universe as he gets in the car finally. Knowing Steve is probably drunk by now. A part of him—and shamefully, it's a huge part—doesn’t want to go. It's not Steve, it's the alcohol.
He likes Steve, likes the way he feels when Steve is around, and likes him enough to know that Steve's a party guy. He even has heard stories including that part, mostly from Steve himself.
But he's never seen it and he has no idea what he would be facing. He has zero experience with a drunk Steve but he has too much experience with drunk people.
It's one of the reasons he hates this particular substance enough to stay away from it and from the people who use it regularly.
The car engine comes to a start with a loud halting noise and Jonathan opens the windows up to feel the cold night air hit his face. His bangs are messy with the wind around but he cares more about the fact he needs air to push out all the bad memories he unintentionally links with drinking.
It's fine. It's Steve. If anything's bad, he can leave. He can do that now.
The drive is rather short, and Jonathan knows the path to Robin's place in the back of his head; he has been there countless times. Sometimes with Steve and Nancy, or even with the kids who wanted to tag along to the party.
When he pulls up to the front of the pavement, the first he registers is the same fruity fragrance going around in the air. The second though, is the one that gives him the displeasure of being stuck in his mind. A girl crying leaning against the pavement with a guy around trying to make her anywhere near okay.
The memory floods back like a road forgotten but never gone away fully. Buzzing in his mind like the way a blurry picture he took stays on the kitchen counter for days before he throws it out.
“It's just, I'm trying so hard, Jon.” Joyce sniffed and Jonathan crouched, a hand on her back and the booze in the air.
Joyce never really drank much, except on bad days like these, and even if Jonathan hated drunk people, hated the way his scars itched as he took the vodka away from her grip, he knew his mom enough to know she will fall asleep soon.
“I know, and it's working, mom.” He got the stuck hair out of her face as he pointed towards the bedroom. “Let's get you to bed, okay?”
“Is it working? It doesn't feel like it.” She was kind of pouting now and it would be funny if it wasn't sad and if Jonathan didn't feel like throwing up any second now.
He could tell by the smells of alcohol by now, that which is which. Second hand experience, he joked with Will once.
But nothing really changed the fact that he got up early the next morning and collected the empty and filled bottles to give them away even before Joyce woke up for work.
Jonathan gets in the house with an unsure stance, suddenly greeted by Robin who looks like she's seen way too many things for tonight. “Jonathan! I can't believe you came here!”
Her voice is kind of slurry and he would be worried if Nancy wasn't accompanying the tall girl everywhere. “Steve misses you.” Nancy says, and she's smirking but it doesn't fall through as Robin stumbles and Nancy scolds her, holding her hand to get out of the house.
He nods towards the pair one last time before making his way to the living room.
Surrounded mostly by high people, leaning against the wooden furniture that Robin's in love with lately, sits Steve on the abandoned couch, a beer still in his hands.
Jonathan takes in the sight in front of him, once again hit by just how perfect Steve looks always. Perfect in a way that his hair falls sideways, only one strand greeting his face, and his face adorned with redness that Jonathan only ever has seen in fragments.
Steve spots him almost immediately and before the man can yell, Jonathan himself makes his way towards him. Expecting nothing and everything.
And he waits.
For something he can't describe except the feeling he knows he'll get, the drop of his stomach or the freefall of his thoughts on a painful pinned ground.
Steve leans towards him, still sitting on the couch and the small pendant he always has on dangles towards Jonathan as he stands across the edge of the couch, unsure of what to do with anything, but mostly his hands.
“Jonathan, my man.” Steve grins, it's lopsided and kind of too genuine and big, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle softly. “You are here.”
Jonathan blinks.
And blinks again. Staring straight at a still grinning and happy Steve's face and trying to make some sense of it.
Steve isn't suffering through the same thoughts as it seems, he just smiles and his hands move towards Jonathan.
Logically, Jonathan knows he's going in for a half hug, will loop his hands around Jonathan's lower half in a loose grip. Logically, he knows it's normal.
But he's never been granted the possibility to think logically and he physically flinches back.
The sound of Lonnie Byers fidgeting with the belt hook filled the environment quickly as Jonathan signalled Will to go to his room.
Will, always obedient and eager to help Jonathan in any way, went away with small steps. No noise except the crisp slurred and sharp words around him. Jonathan swallowed.
He pulled his sleeves down again, the scars from tomorrow were still fresh and he knew it was going to sting again now anytime. It wasn't fair. He needed to get out, run to Joyce again, take Will with him—
“What you thinkin’ of, my sweet, sweet Jonathan?”
He flinched back. The affection always ended in hurt and he closed his eyes momentarily. He wondered where it would leave another mark.
He thought about it really. He didn't want his wrist to ache, it definitely messed with the small camera angle and the camera Joyce bought him on a whim was already kind of rough. Maybe if Lonnie was kind enough, his wrist wouldn't be targeted. Even if something else will be.
Maybe.
“Jonathan.”
Steve's voice brings him back to reality and he looks down at Steve who is now a little away, just a few meters away, snuggled against the couch now. His eyes look up to Jonathan who is standing with a scrunch of his eyebrows.
“Can you sit with me?” Steve scoots away, leaving enough space for at least two more people and Jonathan's heart does a cartwheel at the question. However, he is still so terribly confused.
“No, we should go home. Come on.” Jonathan says it gently, slowly, not sure if he's doing this right and he probably isn't. He expects complaining, anything harsh or a command really, anything familiar for him to know and handle this.
“‘kay.” Steve sighs softly, getting up or making an effort to get up but he sways halfway through it and Jonathan's eyes widen as he quickly offers his hand to Steve.
Steve stares at it, then at him. Before holding his sleeve, rather than his wrist, Jonathan thinks he may be in an alternate dimension. Anywhere where this would be the usual response to offering a hand.
“You don't like people holding your wrist, Byers.” Steve tugs at his sleeves, trying to keep his posture but he slouches and closes his eyes before opening them up properly as if the act takes effort.
Jonathan thinks he might be the one who is drunk. He doesn't have time to delve on it though, not when the guy is so casually swaying, he leans in enough for Steve to put half his body weight on Jonathan and Steve is way too careful doing it.
He leads Steve to the car and it's surprisingly easy.
Only at one point, just across the pavement, someone bumps into an already stumbling Steve, resulting in him leaning against Jonathan fully as his hands curl in the sleeve he's still holding.
Jonathan isn't shocked at the act, but what comes after scares him, not in a bad way, though, he supposes.
Steve pulls away slowly. Looking kind of devastated over a small act, “I can't walk.” He's frowning, staring at his own two feet as if they offended him enough finally and a small chuckle escapes Jonathan.
The taller man looks at him as he's chuckling, a small shake of his shoulders that contradicts the earlier too strict posture and Jonathan raises his brow after a second. “What?”
“So pretty.” Steve tilts his head too fast.
And oh.
Jonathan feels heat rushing to his cheeks as he clears his throat. “Let's just go to the car.”
Steve complies and it's too quick that Jonathan realises that Steve's just doing whatever Jonathan's telling him to without any question or argument or complaining.
When they reach the car, Jonathan double checks Steve's seat belt, as he starts the car. The smell of beer and whiskey fill the small vehicle immediately, and Jonathan forces himself to not show a reaction.
Steve doesn't get the memo.
“‘tried to drink less.” Steve slouches against the leather seat and Jonathan looks at him.
“Yeah?”
“Hm.” Steve hums and it's a recent habit that he has picked from Jonathan. “For you.”
“For me?” Jonathan frowns.
“‘don’t like the smell. You.” Steve is almost pouting now it's nothing short of endearing and Jonathan thinks he won't survive the night if it goes like this.
“You're really drunk, Steve.” Jonathan mumbles, focusing on the road instead, car slow enough so that Steve doesn't feel nauseous.
“It's very true, Jonathan.” Steve shakes his head, only to wince afterwards. “Hurts.”
“Yeah. It's okay. You can sleep when we get home.”
Steve nods solemnly, “I won't, won't, bother you.”
Jonathan tries so hard to not look at Steve because he knows the earnest expression will ruin him from inside. It's just so unfamiliar, almost weird to hear that.
“You never bother me.” Jonathan grumbles, and he knows Steve won't remember it in the morning. But it makes his heart flutter anyway.
It's a strange feeling. To have his heart trying to enjoy this moment while shying away instead of hiding behind numerous it's fine and I deserve it.
He's still not sure what's happening here, or if he's been given a fake manual on how to handle drunk people—which basically just had to keep quiet and not die written in bold letters. The one with Steve is probably mocking all of that as Steve sighs contently when the car comes to a stop.
“Jonathan.”
“Yes?” He says as they get out of the car and he rushes to Steve's side before Steve can fall head first at the porch.
“You are so sweet.”
Jonathan freezes.
Sweet.
He remembers that word in the back of his mind, said condescendingly again and again and again until he falls asleep miserably some nights.
Even though Steve's tone isn't condescending at all, it's half mumbled and half earnest as he doesn't take it back. Letting it linger in the air but all Jonathan has ever known that can come after that work is spite. Spite and anger that makes his spine made of glass break in pieces as he waits for his father to leave so he can pick them up and somehow stitch them up together again.
But glass can never be stitched and his stomach still drops as his mouth goes dry looking at Steve and foolishly waiting for the other shoe to drop.
And Steve, God Steve, he doesn't even bat an eye as they keep walking slowly until they reach the couch of the house.
Jonathan stays on the edge as he brings a small glass of water to Steve, offering it quietly. An unprecedented memory of a desperate Jonathan trying to get Lonnie to drink water so he can stop invades his mind. Much like the aftermath of literal glass pieces he used to put in the trash can—
“Your face is kind of symmetrical.”
Jonathan blinks out of his daze. “What?”
“Like, you know, cinematic. ‘is so ironic because you love your camera.” Steve huffs. “Do you think you like it more than me?”
If Jonathan's disbelief is showing clearly on his face, it's explicitly Steve's fault. Who is waiting for an answer seriously.
It's the last thing Jonathan expects from Harrington. And somewhere in the mind, it registers just how much different this is.
Because the only questions he is used to from high on substance people are either way getting him in trouble. But here, the question is this and Steve looks so determined to hear Jonathan's answer.
Jonathan smiles, it's inevitable with the way warmth slowly takes over the dread in his mind step by step, “Maybe. I'll tell you when you're sober.”
Steve grins at him, like he's seeing stars or galaxies in the brown eyes. “‘kay. And I mean it. Your face is, like, out of the world.”
Jonathan's aware he's probably smiling too big by now as he bends down softly to take Steve's shoes out. Before gently pushing his legs up the orange couch. “Sleep now.”
“You stayin’?”
Jonathan looks at Steve's face, the way his eyes are dropped low but crinkled and trying to focus on Jonathan instead of random objects around. And, it's usually a given that Jonathan can never stay around the lingering beer in the air, he doesn't ever risk it or trust anyone for that matter.
And yet—
—Yet—
Steve's looking up to him with nothing but hopefulness and his lips are doing that thing when Jonathan wants nothing but to keep them like this, happy, all day.
“Yeah.” Jonathan brings a blanket overhead Steve who blinks and smiles and makes a dramatic weak gesture with both hands, a small clap.
“You are really…” Steve pauses, as if finding words are hard and debating by his concentration they probably are, “good. Yeah, yeah, good, Jonathan Byers. I like you.”
Jonathan takes a seat on the squared soft chair beside the couch where Steve's tucked in, “I like you too, now, sleep.”
Steve does exactly that as Jonathan makes himself comfortable on the chair, it's large enough that he can fall asleep in it, and Steve falls asleep like a baby near him.
Soft sighs evening out and his face still while capturing his heart wrecking expression.
It's weird, Jonathan supposes. That he's in the same space with someone drunk but it's so quiet and he doesn't feel cold and out of his skin scared. He just feels present. Present and wanted.
And warm.
Because Steve hadn't done anything out of line. Hell, he barely even did things in the line.
He had held Jonathan's sleeve like it's something precious and not a burden or weird thing to do, he had called Jonathan sweet and there was no repercussion afterwards. All the while clinging to Jonathan like it's where he belongs and Jonathan will never argue that.
Jonathan still doesn't like alcohol, will maybe even tell Steve to drink less tomorrow, but he stays anyway.
Because tonight, the drinks didn't break his mind, they didn't make Steve mean or unpredictable. They didn't make Steve look at him like he's disappointed. Quite the opposite.
Maybe it's about the person, then.
Jonathan will take time to understand that though, he knows it, but it's basically dismantling his years of knowledge shoved under the young corner of his mind of what to do and what not to do.
But, for now, Steve reaches out his hand in his sleep, seeking Jonathan and Jonathan doesn't even hesitate to give out his hand.
Remembering the words said by Steve that were too different from what he was unintentionally seeking so it would make sense.
“I like you."
Maybe it's just Steve.
Steve's never mean to him, never, unless playfully. Then too Jonathan knows him enough that he could frown genuinely and Steve would stop.
It's different but it's good.
Something he used to crave is given freely to him now.
He falls asleep to some slurred words again but this time they're not cruel or harsh, they're rather sweet, and said by someone who sleeps carelessly besides him.
—
Jonathan wakes up to a soft stepping sound around him, and the first thing he registers is the fragrance of fresh soap and shampoo that Steve infamously uses.
He opens his eyes slowly, there's no mess besides him, the covers of the sofa Steve was sleeping in folded somewhat neatly but he knows by the style that Steve did it.
“‘Morning.”
He turns around to the voice, only to find Steve roaming around the room with wet hair and a navy blue sweatshirt that's kind of wet because of his hair on it.
“Morning. You're already awake.” Jonathan frowns.
That's not normal, right? Steve should be hungover and waking up late, minding the fact Steve's always late, drunk or not.
“Don't look that confused. I just wanted to make sure you don't wake up to the smell you hate around you. And I needed coffee.” Steve shrugs, gesturing to the two cups he brings in while walking slowly.
“How's your head?”
“Fine. It will probably hurt later. But right now, it's kind of cool.” Steve grins, taking a sip of his coffee.
There's no noise or yelling or anything around them really and Jonathan loves that and would probably delve into that if he wasn't too busy wrapping his head around the fact that Steve woke up early just to shower so Jonathan won't wince from the smell.
It's ridiculous and overboard and too Steve and Jonathan's stomach does a funny thing that he ignores.
“But, you know…” Steve draws on and Jonathan focuses on him. “....might be better if you kiss me.”
Jonathan rolls his eyes and Steve chuckles, it feels too comfortable doing whatever this is and Jonathan, for the first time ever, hopes the morning after someone drinking doesn't end quickly.
“After I drink coffee. I need to function properly.” Jonathan takes the cup in his hand ignoring the way Steve plops down the couch dramatically while making a heartbreak gesture that makes Jonathan laugh.
“I didn't bother you much, did I?” Steve asks, it's casual, almost, but Jonathan could sense the curiosity and something else in his voice.
“You didn't.” Jonathan pauses. “You were—”
He debates saying different but it's too heavy for the morning, and he knows Steve releases a sigh at the you didn't. “—You told me my face is symmetrical.”
Steve's eyes widen cartoonishly and Jonathan holds back a laugh. “I said what?”
"And that I was cinematic.”
“No—"
“You asked me if I loved you more than the camera.” Jonathan says it seriously, contradicting the expression on Steve's face.
“Okay, that one might be true. Do you?”
“Obviously not.”
“You know what, fuck you, Byers.” Steve throws the nearby pillow at Jonathan which he catches with one hand while laughing.
“I'm never drinking again.” Steve grumbles.
“Yeah.” Jonathan nods at that, but then, hesitatingly, “I wouldn't mind if you do though.”
Steve blinks up to him, taken aback by that, but something in his face fractures as he leans forward to kiss Jonathan softly. “Okay.”
Jonathan doesn't have a lot of good memories when it comes to this aspect of his life. Only Steve is kind of determined on building that.
Jonathan doesn't mind, not when every corner of the bad memory is being replaced by the good ones slowly.
For once, he doesn't feel the need to leave or hide. He only needs to stay and he does.
Talking and making burnt toast with Steve while reminiscing about everything that happened last night. None of it makes Jonathan nauseous, it only makes him smile as Steve slides on the counter, talking nonstop about how the party went.
Jonathan doesn't have to survive this version of someone—Steve—he just has to stay.
And when staying feels this good, he hopes it never changes.