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Steve Harrington is not an observer.
He is the type of person one would stop to observe, to look at or figure him out, but he has never been the one to stop and stare.
That is, until Jonathan Byers comes into the picture.
Now, Steve knows a plethora of things about the person he would like to spend his life with, and it is a known fact that Jonathan does not like to voice his opinions much. So everything Steve knows is by mere observing and hovering around the man.
In the past days though, only one thing has stuck with him. Stuck like an old mint in between his teeth, only it isn't unbearable, he's rather curious.
The only person who can clarify or put this topic to rest is the one Steve's hell bent on proving wrong. He takes no responsibility for that feeling, by the way—
—it is all his perfect boyfriend's fault.
{1}
The movie shines on the television, the credits rolling with the song echoing around the air. Filling the surroundings of their living room with a melancholic tune that no one can focus on among the soft sniffles and tears.
Steve lays in Jonathan's lap, feeling the soft hands’ ruffling his hair habitually. Steve hides his face in Jonathan's waist as he rubs his eyes, making the man adjust his grip with a chuckle.
Just as long as you stand, stand by me.
The song is one of those which Steve is familiar with, he remembers dancing around the kitchen with Jonathan as the vinyl plays.
Only this time, it is less romantic as the flashes of the movie, Stand by me, linger in his mind.
I won't cry, I won't cry, No, I won't shed a tear,
just as long as you stand, stand by me.
And darling, darling…..
Steve sits up slowly, groaning as he looks at Nancy and Robin tangled up with Robin sobbing dramatically and Nancy’s glassy eyes that are going to shed anytime.
He has come to love their movie nights, but he really isn't letting Nancy near the movie choices ever again.
“Next time, I'll choose what we watch.” Steve grumbles, “This is pathetic."
“Says the one who is crying!” Nancy rolls her eyes, a sad tear lining up her face. “And it really is a good movie. Jonathan agrees.”
Steve scoffs at her words, pushing Robin towards Nancy impossibly closer as an act of rebellion but Robin grins, laughing and pulling Nancy with her.
Meanwhile, Steve tears his gaze from the duo, looping his arms around the man beside him as he looks into the brown eyes that get prettier every growing second.
His own teary eyes widen as Jonathan raises his brows at the look Steve's giving freely. “Why aren't you crying, Byers?”
“What?”
“It's universal to cry to Stand by me, that is what the main purpose of this movie is. You have to show emotions.” Steve gestures to the screen which goes black the second he points on it. Jonathan rolls his eyes, a small laugh gracing his plump lips.
“The theme was actually friendship, not crying.” Jonathan leans in close to Steve's chest, reflexively like that's normal—it is—and Steve momentarily forgets his words before speaking again, ignoring the argument happening between the girls on what to watch next.
“Geez, Byers. Am I dating a robot?”
“Beep.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
The laugh that comes as a response is the one Steve wishes he could record, or at least capture, but he debates whether Jonathan would mind having yet another one of his pics adorning the fridge.
{2}
Steve thinks.
(“Rare things happening.” Jonathan always said when Steve voiced that he was having revelations. Steve would roll his eyes, coming up with a clever insult that only sounds good in his head and inevitably end up with them going back and forth. It always concluded in a kiss or a hug or something more and Steve would be reminded just how good his life is.)
He tries to remember the last time he saw Jonathan cry.
The answer is never. Even in the strange fiasco of Upside down, he never really saw Jonathan cry. The closest was his eyes glassy when Will came back, that too was a short moment and it ended before Steve could blink.
It's not that Steve wants his boyfriend to cry, he does not, but he is just wondering what could technically make the closed off guy actually affected enough to show it.
The sad movie thing doesn't work, obviously, not after the movie night that's still fresh in his mind. Neither movies nor songs.
Then what could possibly—hypothetically—
“Ow.”
Steve sits up in his—their—bed. His feet automatically move towards the kitchen from where the small, almost negligible hiss comes.
“What are you—woah.” Steve rushes towards Byers, who is holding his own bleeding finger under the water. “How did you even—oh my god, how bad is this?”
Because the blood isn't stopping, gushing out like warning and Jonathan stands around the sink as Steve stands right behind him. Steve fetches the bandages and medical tape as he turns the water off to assess the damage.
“Calm down, Harrington.” Jonathan blinks, and Steve almost, almost, yells from frustration. He would if he wasn't busy differentiating the bandages, using all his knowledge of wounds that he got from their past trauma.
“Calm down?” He repeats, “Jonathan, you're bleeding!”
“From my finger, you know.” The brunette puts up his fucking still bleeding—how much blood is he losing?—to make a gesture, only to be cut off by Steve holding his hand and pushing it down again.
Steve brings out the clean antiseptic wipes as he sits them down on the worn out couch. He cleans the cut precisely, carefully, familiar with these types of cuts but not on Jonathan.
“How did you let this happen? Aren't you supposed to be, I don't know, careful while you're in the kitchen?” Steve huffs, it comes out weak when he takes out the bandage. Looking to Jonathan for a split second who looked confused but on board.
“It's a small cut and my first one in a long time.”
“Well, you don't need that kind of firsts.” Steve mutters, angry at everything other than Jonathan. But all of it simmers down as he opens the bandage. “This will hurt. You can cry.”
“I, no we, have had worse injuries.” Jonathan shrugs, offering his finger that is still laced up with a drop of blood that Steve cleans again.
“Not helpful.”
Steve gently covers the wound with the bandage, his hands still hovering over Jonathan as he takes in the sight in front of him.
Jonathan sits ideally still, his eyes locked on Steve instead of his hand. As if he is memorising Steve instead of feeling his pain, which is an out of world fact for Steve because the cut isn't small by any angle.
And although they have good pain tolerance now, this still probably—unfortunately—hurts like hell. But there's no sign of it visible in the brown eyes fixated on him.
Once Steve is sure that Byers’ reckless injury is alright, he stares at the man like a deer caught in headlights.
“Wow. You really don't cry, do you?”
Jonathan looks at him weirdly, making a grimace over this instead of his pain, “You're still on that?”
“Of course, I am. When have I ever moved on from something?”
“Touché.”
“Wait, that wasn't an answer.”
{3}
The next day, Steve makes a plan.
Which should have been the first red flag, or the error, in this sequence of events. He rarely ever uses his perfect brain to make big plans, mind you, let alone for something like this.
But it will work. It has to.
He holds the tray in his hands carefully, moving towards the living room where Jonathan's seated and playing around with his camera. Working too. Same thing.
The two strides from the kitchen to the couch are his favourite area of this house, he can faintly smell Jonathan's shampoo, lavender, around him and it feels familiar and steady. Something he could keep. Something he will keep.
He places the tray on the adjacent table with a loud thud. Dramatic enough that Jonathan strays his gaze to Steve who is comfortably settling beside him.
“What are you doing?” Jonathan frowns.
It's adorable and unfair and if Steve wasn't so engrossed in this little mission he would've kissed his boyfriend right there and then but he's nothing if not competitive.
Steve peels the onion slowly, taking every layer apart with his hands. “Helping you cook.”
“By peeling onions?”
Steve holds the knife against the rough onion skin, cutting them into huge pieces first then smaller ones deliberately. His own eyes start watering up but Jonathan lets out an amused chuckle. That sounds horrifically like a smug giggle.
Steve coughs beside him, his hands slowing down as he glares at his infuriating and beautiful, infuriatingly beautiful he decides, partner who doesn't even bother asking about it as his laugh decorates Steve's ears.
“You know, I've been cooking since ages. I don't cry at onions. That's just funny.” Jonathan tries very hard to keep his tone neutral and Steve can see it. But it doesn't work, much like Steve's foolish plan.
Steve glares at him, keeping the tray aside, “You're sleeping on the couch tonight.” He folds his arms, Jonathan smiles at him, endlessly amused at his endeavour.
Jonathan stands up, taking the tray back to the kitchen, “Am I?”
“No. But I hate you.” Steve sighs. Jonathan grins, kissing the top of Steve's hair as he moves out of sight.
Steve would like to remove his memory of the past fifteen minutes, except the laughs he was rewarded with, and the kiss, make it seem very hard for him to frown instead of smile without his will.
Jonathan just has this effect. Naturally. Jonathan has everything, except maybe the ability to cry, Steve's starting to believe.
{4}
It doesn't matter.
It shouldn't matter. And it really hasn't up until now.
Steve stands uselessly as he watches Jonathan stand across him, hugging Will who is crying furiously alongside Joyce. But his eyes are only stuck on the elder Byers who looks slightly disturbed instead of sobbing like he should be.
Just to let it all out, so Steve knows his feelings aren't bottled up and unsafe and forcefully hidden.
The night started with just a normal dinner between the Byers and him, but he knew and could see Will was bothered way more than usual. Soon, the conversation had changed lanes as he saw Jonathan nudging Will to open up about whatever's bothering him.
It was about Mike, not unexplainable but suddenly it had drifted to heavier topics.
Heavy enough that when Joyce pulled Steve into a hug as a loving gesture he had almost torn up. Maybe he had, maybe he is tearing up but he can't focus on that.
Not when Jonathan looks away from his piercing gaze to look at Will, rubbing comforting circles on his little brother's back.
The silent conversation in his head with his boyfriend isn't as devastating as seeing Jonathan shake his head to shake his emotions so they don't show. His jaw tightens impossibly, the emotions threatening to fall but they just don't.
It shouldn't matter, but now it really does.
He wants Jonathan to feel free enough to cry. Enough to tell Steve—seek him out—instead of being in his head. But, he reminds himself, at the end of the day, it's Jonathan's choice.
Whenever he feels like it, Steve will stay right here with open arms and a stupid grin that makes Jonathan roll his eyes every time in fondness and exasperation.
{5}
“It's just, you never, like, show any….things.” Steve closes his eyes as he empties the dishes in the sinks. He finds a dry towel to clean his hands as he turns to Jonathan who looks rather bewildered.
“Things?” Jonathan's frowning, but seriously. Steve steps back, just to gesture at nothingness but the gesture makes Jonathan's lips turn downturn.
“Like emotions, man.”
“But I'm happy with you.”
“Yeah, but you don't cry.” Steve runs a hand through his hair, his voice frustratingly increasing.
Jonathan raises his brows, taken aback, “This is what this is about! You want me to cry, Harrington.”
“No, I don't. I want you to feel like you can.” Steve shakes his head, trying to get his point across but it isn't working and he knows he needs to stop. It isn't even an issue, he knows Jonathan in and out.
In all the ways Jonathan has allowed him to be, and that list is excruciatingly long and Steve cherishes every point like he cherishes Jonathan's eyes.
The same ones that look shaky right now, a clear sign to put this conversation aside—
“I know that you're saying it for me, but just because I don't cry does not mean I need to hide anything from you, Steve.” Jonathan's voice is desperate in a way Steve hasn't heard since forever and it perices through Steve's ears’ the way a yell is heard in an empty room.
“Then why the hell does it feel like it?” It isn't meant to come like an angry yell but it does exactly that and more.
The mistake here is evident in a way that Steve's yell makes Jonathan's shoulders’ curl inwards, his eyes blinking rapidly and he immediately steps back. Steve feels the shift in the air like realising a nightmare is coming true around him and he scarmbles forward.
But Jonathan steps backwards, his jaw tightening and his eyes—Steve swallows—those pretty brown eyes Steve never gets tired of glassy.
Like the moisture is lying underneath the physical actions, Jonathan looks away but the damage to Steve's heart is done because in that moment he knows, knows, that he can't survive, he can't even look longer at Jonathan's eyes genuinely watering.
It isn't a sight that should exist and Steve wants to lock it down somewhere far if that means Jonathan won't look sad.
“Nevermind.” Jonathan turns around on unsteady feet, and Steve notices his hands fidgeting.
His own previously nonchalant eyes blink hard as he steps forward, “Wait—” He doesn't complete his sentence, doesn't have the time or will to as he opens his arms instead, standing just behind his boyfriend.
He loops his arms around Jonathan's waist from behind, making the shorter man freeze, mid walkout.
“You're right.” Steve holds him tightly, not letting go anymore. Not now, not ever. “Sorry. I'm sorry.” He rests his head on Jonathan's chin, his hair brushing the man's neck as he knows his voice is sincere and pleading.
Jonathan turns around in his hold and Steve adjusts his hold instead of letting go. “You're an asshole.” Jonathan glares and Steve nods.
“Yeah. Your asshole though.” Steve murmurs as he kisses Jonathan's head.
Jonathan lets out a broken chuckle, “I hate you.”
“I love you too.”
After that night, Steve decides he will not be able to see Jonathan cry and still live afterwards. He lets that thought go, knowing he won't be able to bear the result.
If one look of Jonathan holding back can destroy—
—he doesn't want to find out anything more.
{+1}
There have been countless fights in Steve Harrington's life.
Literally.
As in he can't count them all in his ten fingers, as in he thinks he doesn't remember half of them, the details of the unimportant ones or which scar he attained from it. He doesn't even care now. Not when he has all the kids calling him relentlessly every now and then, not when he got everything as a result of doing that.
Fights were just fights, the conclusion mattered.
Except for this one.
He leans on Robin who is half glaring, half concerned and seconds away from rambling. He thinks she's holding herself back because he might or might not risk a concussion soon.
“Sometimes I wonder why I stick around with you.” She scoffs, but she tightens her hold on his shirt as she drags him out of the car and towards the house.
“Because you love me and I'm charming.” Steve gloats, it's only somewhat funny when she winces and dramatically gags and he makes a groaning sound at her gestures.
“You had no reason to get in a fight in the middle of the street.” She shakes her head and he huffs.
He tries to step back to make a point, to use his hands that are now red and swollen but the punch to his rib he didn't manage to dodge before is really acting up right now.
“Did you see his face? It was begging to be punched, Robin, keep up.”
It was the truth, one he didn't know how he was going to tell Jonathan.
God, Jonathan will be pissed, at the very least. Steve would've been too if Jonathan was ever out picking fights with his asshole father.
But he stands his ground, Lonnie Byers is someone that deserves to be hit after all the shit Steve has heard.
Even for half of the things he has put Jonathan through, Steve would like to kill him one day, where people aren't gasping around and Robin isn't pulling back with a surprised voice. But with that too, Steve had gotten more than a few good punches and Lonnie had limped as he went back and it still wasn't satisfactory enough. Wasn't even balanced a bit.
Now, if only he knows how to say that to his boyfriend.
When they enter through the door, Steve looks at Robin with a small pout that's evidently childish but between his bruises and the girl's hold, he doesn't care, “You will leave me like this, Buckley?”
“Yes!” Robin exclaims, smiling now mischievously, “You deserve everything for getting into a fight in the light of a day for no reason—”
“—I had my reasons—”
“—and I would pay good money to see Byers mad at you, but I have a date.” She winks and he makes a sound of disbelief at the betrayal of his own best friend.
Before he can make a good comeback, and mind you he's expert at that, they get distracted by footsteps heading towards them. Robin lets go of Steve's body as she takes a single step back, her expression now pitiful.
When Jonathan comes into the sight, Steve's first thought isn't how he will tell this story, his first thought is Jonathan rubbing his eyes as he squints, trying to focus on the sight in front of him.
Jesus, Jonathan was sleeping. He is walking around looking like that after he just woke up. Steve thinks half his words have zero chance of getting out when the man he will be talking to is adorably staring and blinking and trying to catch up to reality as he stands across him with his soft cardigan on. Fuck, Steve needs to hold him—
“What the fuck is happening?”
Right. Blood on him.
“He got into a fight with Lonnie.” Robin sighs, before her steps drift further, “Patch him up before he dies of stupidity.”
“Hey!” Steve whines, the sound not stopping as his head kind of feels heavy. Not unconscious or unaware, just heavy. Robin shuts the door with a soft thud as Steve hears her car engine start.
Steve looks nervously at Jonathan, trying to figure out what's going in the guy's head but before he can stare too long or ramble off on actual true excuses Jonathan moves towards the drawer and gets the first aid kit.
“Jonathan—”
“Sit on the couch.” Jonathan shakes his head, and his voice is low, lower than ever Steve has heard, as if he talks normally then it would give him away.
Steve sits on the couch with a wince, his knuckles are bleeding and he has a swollen lip alongside probably a fist shaped scar on his ribs. But nothing matters more than Jonathan Byers.
His gaze never leaves the brunette as Jonathan sorts out the bandages and stitches and everything Steve will require with steel focus.
Steve notices just how familiar and routine it looks on Jonathan, his eyes trailing over the hands that are organising things like it's not even a second thought. How Jonathan knows exactly what Steve will need, what his bruised knuckles will need and what the scar might need.
He's collecting supplies like he has done it many times and he probably has.
A sudden urge rises in Steve's stomach, that he should have been crueler in the fighter. Crueler and meaner and unforgiving.
Jonathan comes back near Steve with his soft hands full of medications and things and a glass of water that he gives Steve with some meds in his hand. “For your potential concussion and pain.”
Steve takes them without looking, swallowing them down with a small sip of water and flinching through it as it rubs softly against the angry lip.
“I didn't start it, you know.” Steve starts, “He was just—he is just—he was passing by and saying shitty things.”
Jonathan doesn't reply, he kneels down parallel to Steve as he sits on the floor taking out the antiseptic and cotton.
“You can sit on the couch, Byers. I'm fine.”
There's silence in the air and the only noise that Steve can hear and cut off is the weather turning outside. Jonathan cleans his knuckles carefully, one by one with cotton and makes sure the blood is not constant when he wraps them up.
Steve doesn't spare his hands or anything else, even a glance, he just looks at the top of Jonathan's head as Jonathan moves to the other hand.
“I know you're mad at me. I shouldn't have gotten into a fight.” Steve continues again, desperate for a reaction, anything, yelling about him being careless, yelling or glaring, or anything, “But I'm fine and he won't be in town or anywhere nearby from now on. I was clear about—”
What stops Steve isn't the antiseptic burning through injured knuckles, nor is it the way his ribs are aching.
Steve's breath is caught regardless and he almost chokes on his feelings.
His bruised knuckles have a single drop of water—no, tear—lining up alongside the bruise and Steve thinks it hurts more than anything else.
He crouches down, ignoring his screaming ribs as he sits himself on the floor beside Jonathan who doesn't lift his gaze even when Steve uncharacterisedly sits on the floor.
“Hey. Hey?” Steve uses his wrapped up hand to make Jonathan look at him and he wishes he should've walked away the moment the fight started.
Because the sight in front of is devastating in a way no injury can ever be.
Jonathan's gaze is soft and melancholic, not angry enough and there are several tears filling his eyes. His lips are downturned completely and he looks so out of his element. But Steve can't look at anything other than his teary eyes that look broken.
“Fuck.” Steve curses, leaning in to touch his forehead with Jonathan's who isn't saying anything still. “No. Don't cry. Come on.”
Never in his life has Steve ever wanted to take his own words back this badly.
“Don't cry. Please don't cry, Jonathan. Byers. It's fine. I'm fine.” Steve sloppily lifts his hand to remove the tears from his boyfriend's face.
"You can't pick fights with him.” Jonathan's voice cracks as he looks above to meet Steve's concerned ones. Injuries long forgotten. “You can't go near him.”
“I won't.” Steve swears, “Promise. I have better things to do than that. I got so angry today.”
Steve pulls Jonathan in to him as Jonathan hides his face in the crook of Steve's neck. Soft wetness transferring on his shirt but he wraps his hands' around Jonathan.
“I don't want you anywhere near him. It doesn't—It never ends well.”
Steve hears the underlying meaning as he kisses Jonathan's jaw, just up to what he can reach and Jonathan pulls back softly, his face still wet, tears slow but there as he kisses Steve softly, avoiding the swollen area.
“I won't do anything you don't want me to do.” Steve affirms as Jonathan's hands go back to his medical box and he starts wrapping the other knuckles carefully.
“Good.” Jonathan swallows. “Because I love you, idiot.”
“I love you too.” Steve returns the sentiment eagerly, leaning in to kiss Jonathan's cheek that turns red when Jonathan pushes him away.
“Stop it. Let me do this first.” He gestures to the bruises and Steve chuckles. It's always nice to be cared for by Jonathan even if it delays the inevitable tangled up on couch time together.
“You are so boring, Byers.” Steve says, but there's no bite in his voice, only affection. “But, you broke your record of not crying, you know—ow!”
Steve hisses as Jonathan wraps the bandage, pressing on it tightly once deliberately. “Sorry. Misstep.” Jonathan blinks innocently and Steve sighs.
“You're crazy.”
“And?”
“And I love it.”
Jonathan smiles, his expression having some dried tears lingering but everything overshadowed by his smile.
As it turns out, Jonathan Byers does cry, but Steve would also rather give up his life then experience it again.