7:42 PM, THE BYERS HOUSE, SATURDAY, HAWKINS, INDIANA

The two men sat on Jonathan’s bed, talking about school and shit for shits and giggles. Jonathan and you had become friends after you both ditched Nancy after figuring out she had a secret girlfriend she told nobody about. It was the fucked up betrayal that bonded you guys, the late-night calls that suddenly stopped, the feeling of being left out of a secret that didn’t even belong to you. It wasn’t even that she was with someone else—it was that she didn’t think you’d understand. But you did. Or at least Jonathan did. And that was enough.

You were ranting now, just talking, letting your mouth run like it always did when you were trying too hard to sound casual about something that wasn’t. You gestured with your hands, waving your arms dramatically like it would distract from the words themselves.

“I mean, look, it’s not weird or anything, I’m just saying—like, there’s this guy in my math class, right? And he walks in with his sleeves rolled up and he just… looks like a goddamn Greek statue or something. Like, how does someone’s jawline even do that? I don’t want to, like, date him or anything, I just think about him sometimes. Like, his arms. Or his hands. Or his—whatever, it’s not gay, it’s not homosexual, I’m just observant, okay?” You spoke.

Jonathan didn’t say anything right away. He sat there, elbows on his knees, picking at a loose thread on his jeans. He was quiet in the way people are when they’re letting you hang yourself with your own sentence. You kept talking, trying to fill the space.

“I mean, if a guy looks good, you can say that, right? That doesn’t make it a thing. It’s not like I’m writing love letters or planning a wedding in my head or something. It’s just like… appreciation, you know? For… aesthetics.” You spoke again.

Jonathan looked up. Calm. Direct. No teasing in his voice. A big smile plastered on his face.

“You like boys, Steve.”

The words hit the air like a cold draft. You froze. You were sitting cross-legged on the bed, one hand mid-gesture, and it just… hung there. You stared at him. He stared back.