Chapter Text
Steve Harrington was a jock, a player, and an asshole.
These were the labels that defined him. The labels that kept his high status at school and kept any meaningful relationships at an arm's length. He was both admired and hated, celebrated and loathed.
Steve could handle all of that. It was his place, it was almost his birthright as a Harrington. God knows the shit his father still got up to, despite his old age and steady job. Steve had carefully crafted this narrative, because the moment someone broke beyond his sturdily built walls, the facade was quite transparent. He couldn't risk anyone getting that close. And so far he had succeeded.
Then Jonathan Byers showed up.
Yes, okay, he had always been there. In actuality, it was Steve who only moved to Hawkins his freshman year of high school. But nevertheless, Jonathan had never stood out to him. Well, more like Steve never thought him any different than the other students he avoided. Don't let anyone get too close, don't let them see you, just make it through high school and get the hell out of this small town.
Where Steve played the part of having many friends and girlfriends, he was a loner in reality. Jonathan played the part of a loner, but in reality he was surrounded by at least a loving family, if not friends. Like recognizes like and opposites attract and all that bullshit combined with Steve's 'friends' becoming less and less recognizable by the minute made a nasty concoction that all led to Steve fucking the social heiarchy.
It went like this.
The Harringtons were hardly ever home. So, they hardly ever cared, nor even thought of the fact that their son was a freak of nature. It was a blessing, really. The downside was when they were home and Steve happened to be home at the same time, they started to remember and started to care.
"Stephanie!" Steve heard his father yell from downstairs.
Steve rubbed his hands down his face. He used to tell himself not to answer to that name. To stick it to them, he had already told them who he was and their refusal to acknowledge it was not his problem. Steve had learned the hard way that was not going to work in this household.
Steve exited his bedroom cautiously. "Yes?"
"The house is a fucking mess. What did you even do while we were gone?"
Stayed as far away from this empty house as much as possible. Steve sighed. "I'll clean up."
"Come here."
Fuck. Steve took a deep breath and made his way down to the kitchen where his father was waiting for him in front of a sink full of dirty dishes. They weren't even Steve's, he had hardly had a meal in this house in weeks. He just hadn't bothered to clean up after his parents like they expected him to.
His father crossed his arms, staring Steve up and down. "Has your voice gotten deeper?"
Oh great, we were going there today. Steve shrugged jerkily and mumbled, "Probably."
"You sound awful. And look at that patchy stubble…" Steve grit his teeth as he allowed his father to roughly grab his chin. "You're disgusting, you know that?"
Steve just looked at the wall past his father's head and waited for him to be done.
"Look at me when I speak to you."
Steve slid his eyes to his father's. There was a rage there that almost couldn't be described. Something red hot with revulsion.
"You are disgusting."
Steve couldn't help himself. A heat rose in his chest that flooded his mouth with indignation. It was too much. "Yeah, I get it. You tell me that all the time. I'm almost out of your hair for good, can't you just leave me-"
Steve's head snapped to the side as a hot pain flashed across his cheek then down to his neck with whiplash. Steve wished he could be surprised, but he knew the feeling of his father's backhand well.
"Go shave, faggot."
Instead, Steve stumbled back to his room, threw some clothes in a bag, and got the fuck out of there.
It was almost funny, Steve mused as he drove, how his father seemed unable to pick a side with his insults. He shuffled between slurs like playing cards, trying to find the one that would hurt the most at any given moment. It was unfortunately a bit hilarious to Steve how affirming being called a faggot was by his father. It made him chuckle to himself, alone in his car, where no one could judge him or tell him he was wrong. His cheek and jaw ached, he was unsure where he was driving to, and he was even more unsure of if he had a house to go back to once his father calmed down. And yet he laughed to himself as the quiet din of some random radio station played one trash pop song after another.
Steve was a fucking mess, but at least he knew who he was. At least he wasn't going around trying to tell others how to live their lives. At least he didn't hit teenagers.
He parked his car and looked up to find himself at the lake. Of course. Because that's where you go when you have no friends or family and need to get out of the house. A beautiful place with absolutely no food or shelter to be found, just views and vibes. Very smart decision indeed.
Steve sighed and turned off the car. He grabbed his pack of cigarettes, shook it once to check if the lighter was still tucked inside the almost empty carton, then climbed out and onto the hood. He smoked his last two cigarettes as he watched the sun set over the lake and after a moment's hesitation, smoked the last thing in the pack, which was a hand rolled joint he had kept for a special occasion. Sure, this was special enough.
When Steve was down to the last couple puffs he could get, another car pulled up a little ways down from where Steve was. He glanced curiously over, a bit too high to care at first who it was joining him. His mind was like a puffy cloud bouncing around inside of his head instead of a brain. Light and carefree and easy to lose track of.
When Jonathan Byers stepped out of the vehicle, camera hanging around his neck and black jacket hanging from broad shoulders, Steve froze.
Jonathan froze too, as if not expecting to see anyone there. Or perhaps not expecting to see Steve, seeing as he had to have known someone was there due to the entire car parked there. Imagine if the car had just driven itself there. That would be fucking hilarous. Then people came up, expecting to see someone in it, and it's just empty. What if that's what Jonathan thought?
Steve shook his head a little. He may have had a bit too much. He stubbed the joint out on the hood right as Jonathan approached him.
"...Hey," Jonathan said hesitantly, standing to Steve's left, but keeping an arm's length of distance between them. It wasn't like Jonathan was afraid of him, given how easily Jonathan had beat the shit out of him a couple years ago. Maybe it was for Steve's benefit.
Steve gave his best straight-cis-bro upward chin jerk that worked as both a nod, a greeting, and a signal of superiority in the manosphere. Or so Steve had so far observed.
"Are you…Uh. Okay?"
This confused Steve. Couldn't a guy smoke a joint while overlooking a lake without looking out of place or seeming 'not okay'? Who was Jonathan to judge him? They barely knew each other. "Yeah, why?"
"You're, uhm…" Jonathan tilted his head slightly to the right, eyes tracing over Steve's face in a way that made Steve's stomach tighten. Steve wasn't sure what he felt, but it was not the time to delve into it. Especially not high. "You're crying."
Was he? Steve quickly put a hand to his cheek, accidentally pressing a bit too hard at the still forming bruise and wincing. Indeed his cheeks were wet, and the source seemed to be coming from his eyes. Well, shit.
Steve wiped his face clean roughly. "Oh, that? It's just the weed, don't worry about it."
"Is that dark red mark on your face from the weed too?"
Steve scoffed, the noise instinctual and rude. He couldn't think of a smart reply though, so he stayed silent. Jonathan would get bored and fuck off eventually.
For a moment Jonathan stood there awkwardly, as if debating his next move. Steve stared stubbornly out at the water. Ignoring his problems had for the most part always worked out for him.
Then the car underneath him shook as Jonathan climbed up beside him on the hood.
"Dude! You're gonna dent my fucking car!" But Steve slid over subconsciously to make room.
Jonathan was already digging around in his pocket for something. "Yeah, yeah. You can afford to get it fixed."
Yeah, his father could afford to get it fixed. Which he wouldn't. Steve didn't have a penny to his name if he was on his father's bad side. Which ever since high school he had been on constantly just from existing.
Steve opened his mouth to retort when Jonathan produced his own joint, more tightly and neatly wrapped than Steve's had been, speaking to a bit more experienced user. He lit it, taking a couple small hits to get it burning. Steve watched as the smoke left Jonathan's lips, billowing out into the rapidly darkening evening.
Steve wordlessly held out his hand. Jonathan raised an incredulous eyebrow at him.
"Hey, you're sitting on my car, man. You have to pay the weed tax," Steve insisted. Now Jonathan would certainly leave him alone, Steve was good at annoying people away if all else failed.
But Jonathan just huffed out what almost sounded like a laugh and passed it over. Steve tried to hide his surprise and took a long draw of it. He tried to hide his cough too, as he exhaled the considerably stronger marijuana Jonathan had just supplied to him, but he failed miserably at that.
"Shit," Steve wheezed embarrassingly, pounding a fist on his chest as if that would help.
Jonathan took the joint back from him and now he definitely was laughing. It was a quiet and contained sound, but it was undoubtedly a laugh.
"Are you trying to poison me, Byers?" Steve glared at him, but there was a cautious grin spreading on his face at Jonathan's laugh. He must be really high.
"Trying? I've clearly already succeeded."
"You won't get away with this, my family will avenge my death!"
"Sure they will…If they can escape their confinement."
"You bastard!"
Now Steve was laughing like an idiot as he punched Jonathan's shoulder, Jonathan smiling and shaking his head, averting his eyes from Steve's to look back at the lake. It was hard to see it too well at this point, most of the light coming from the moon and the cherry at the end of the joint. Jonathan took another hit and Steve lost his train of thought as he watched Jonathan's lips wrap around it.
Eventually they both went quiet as they stared into the darkness in front of them, the sounds of frogs and insects and the occasional car on the road far behind them cutting through the soft sounds of their breath.
"Alright," Jonathan slapped his knee with one hand as he put out the joint with the other. Steve almost jumped at the noise, having started to drift away into the comfortable blankness of his mind. "Let me drive you home."
"What?" The immediate confusion transformed into panic as Steve thought of going home. His wide eyes seemed to throw Jonathan for a loop as well.
"Well, it's almost pitch black outside, you're high out of your mind, and I can handle my weed a bit better," Jonathan was already climbing off of the hood. "I'll drive you home and you can pick up your car tomorrow."
There was no way in hell Jonathan was driving him home, no matter how handsome he looked and no matter how droopy Steve's eyelids felt. "I'm fine, man, I'm not leaving my car here."
"You really think someone's going to steal your car? In Hawkins?"
"Shit happens, dude. Hawkins isn't as perfect and quiet as everyone makes it out to be," Steve surprised himself with the amount of bitterness that slipped into his voice at that.
Jonathan paused at that. It was hard to fully make out his facial expression in this little light, but his eyebrows were definitely all furrowed. Scrunched together like he knew exactly what Steve meant by that. But he couldn't. Jonathan responded quietly, "I know. Let me take you home."
"I'm not going home," Steve leaned back on the hood until he was half laying down. He shut his eyes, crossed his arms behind his head, and resigned himself to just sleeping here for the night. Maybe he should get inside his car at least. Well…He'd wait for Jonathan to leave first. He needed to leave a cool impression at least before huddling inside his car for the night.
"Then let me drop you at your friend's house," Jonathan nudged at Steve's shoulder and Steve opened one eye to peek at him. He really wasn't giving up, was he?
"I don't have any," Steve mumbled so quietly he hoped Jonathan missed it. The words slipped out before he could catch them, drugs making his tongue loose and his inhibitions looser still. He squeezed his eyes shut again as if that would make Jonathan disappear.
It was silent for so long that Steve thought Jonathan had finally left. Then he felt someone grab his hand and tug him upwards. Steve's head spun at the sudden movement. "The fuck-?"
"C'mon, get up," Jonathan helped him off the car and Steve's feet planted not-so-firmly on the grass below. Steve swayed dangerously once he was standing upright and it was made abundantly clear to him just how fucking stoned he was. As much as he would like to think he could drive under such circumstances, Jonathan was probably right. That didn't mean he had to make it easy for him.
Steve didn't have to fake how unsteady on his feet he was, but he might have played it up a bit. It led to Jonathan's arm around his waist, which wasn't an unpleasant side effect. He was warm and sturdy. Strong. Who the fuck says someone is sturdy? It didn't matter. If Jonathan thought he was high out of his mind, he wouldn't judge him as much and Steve could pretend like he didn't remember tonight at all. Maybe he could salvage his reputation yet.
As he sunk into the soft, worn leather of Jonathan's passenger seat, his eyes drifted shut and the world faded away around him.