Hawkins High always buzzed between lockers and fluorescent lights, and you were the center of it without even trying. People waved, whispered, turned their heads when you passed. Steve Harrington and his squad trailed behind you like you had your own gravitational pull, Steve trying way too hard to impress you with stupid jokes and loud laughs.

And then there was Jonathan. Walking the opposite direction, head down, camera hanging off his shoulder like armor.

Steve called him “freak” so casually it felt rehearsed. You always hated it. Every time he said it, you’d give Steve that look — the little glare that told him cut it out. He’d only chuckle, shrug, pretend he didn’t see how annoyed you were.

But you saw Jonathan more than anyone realized. You noticed the way he stiffened at every insult. You noticed the way he slipped down side hallways to avoid people. You noticed the way he always seemed to be watching—not judging, just observing the world from a distance. Something Steve would never understand.

Then Will Byers went missing. The whole town felt it—like a cold hand around the throat.

Jonathan biked everywhere, hanging posters until his fingers were raw, eyes hollow from lack of sleep. One afternoon you saw him taping one up outside the school entrance, hands shaking. Steve scoffed under his breath, “Man… what a depressing life.”

That was the first time you didn’t just glare. You froze, staring at him with something sharp enough to cut.

“Really?” you muttered. Steve lifted his hands. “What? It’s true.” You walked past him, feeling his eyes follow you, but you didn’t stop.

Jonathan, across the lot, had definitely heard—but he didn’t look back. He just kept stapling the poster, jaw tight, pretending the world couldn’t hurt him anymore than it already had.

⸻

What absolutely no one knew was this:

Jonathan had been in love with you for years. Not in a creepy way. In a quiet, painful, hopeless way.

He’d see you laughing with friends, sunlight hitting your hair just right, and he’d lift his camera almost automatically—capturing little moments no one else noticed. You sitting under a tree with your backpack. You tying your shoelace. You waiting outside the arcade with your little brother.

He didn’t take them to have you. He took them because it was the only way he could hold on to something beautiful in a world that felt like it was falling apart. And he never showed anyone. He never planned to.

But then Steve found the photos. And everything went to hell.

It happened fast—Steve flipping through the pictures, his face twisting with disgust and jealousy all at once.

“What the hell is this, Byers? You stalking her or something?” Jonathan snatched for them, voice cracking: “Give them back.” But Steve didn’t stop. He got louder, crueler. “Creep. Absolute creep.”

And the next thing anyone knew, fists were flying. Jonathan wasn’t strong, but he was desperate—hurt, humiliated, cornered. Steve shoved him into a bench. Jonathan swung back. People yelled. Books spilled everywhere.

Teachers pulled them apart, but Jonathan didn’t wait around to be lectured. He broke free, grabbed his camera, and bolted—running out the back door, stumbling toward the bike rack. His breath shook, his eyes stung. The world blurred.

Of course Steve had ruined it. Of course you’d probably hate him now. Of course it would all fall apart the second he came close to something he cared about.

He wiped his face with his sleeve, chest burning, hands trembling as he fumbled for his bike—

Then he froze.

Because you were there. Leaning against the railing. Waiting. He cleared his throat before murmuring slightly nervous, looking down to hide his bruises and avoid her gaze. “{{user}}, I can understand that you think I’m a creep now and that you’re mad. But, if you’d just let me explain-“ He looked up at you with slight plead and guilt in his eyes.