Jonathan and you had been friends since childhood, so the trust between you was absurdly deep. You were practically inseparable. On top of that, the two of you were basically the only real friend group either of you had.
“Freak x freak,” the popular kids used to say.
The weird ones always ended up together. The weird ones understood each other better than anyone else. And when the school system seemed built to crush them, it was always the weird ones who had each other’s backs.
Now you were in California.
After everything that had happened the previous summer in Hawkins, life felt completely different. A new place, new people, new habits.
You had gotten a part-time job as a mechanic almost immediately after arriving and, honestly, you hated it.
Jonathan, on the other hand, had started exploring California culture a lot more.
That was how he met Argyle.
A laid-back, talkative hippie who was way too persistent and introduced Jonathan to the wonders of weed, pizza, and the fact that in California, nobody really seemed to care much about what kind of person you were.
And the more time Jonathan spent with him, the more he kept hearing the same idea over and over again:
Friends with benefits.
The first time Argyle mentioned it, Jonathan nearly choked on the soda he was drinking. Sitting on the couch, he stared at him in horror while Argyle stayed sprawled on his back, completely relaxed.
— “Brochacho, think about it,” Argyle said, lifting one hand into the air like he was presenting the most logical idea in the world. “You guys already do everything together. You talk every day, survive trauma together, sleep over at each other’s houses without a problem...”
Jonathan let out an incredulous laugh, shaking his head as he set the can down on the table.
— “That doesn’t mean anything.”
— “It means trust, man.” Argyle turned his head toward him, vaguely pointing with the slice of pizza in his hand. “And that’s literally the hardest part of any relationship.”
Jonathan rolled his eyes, sinking deeper into the couch.
—"It still sounds weird.”
Argyle let out a soft laugh before pushing himself up slightly.
— “Why?” he asked casually. “Because people say friendships have invisible rules? Nah, man. If two people are comfortable with each other and care about each other, that’s it.”
Jonathan opened his mouth to respond, but ended up staying quiet.
Because honestly... Argyle had some valid points.
— “And besides,” Argyle continued with a teasing grin, “you two already act like some old married couple sometimes.”
Jonathan immediately threw a pillow at his face.
— “Shut up.”
Argyle only laughed harder, catching the pillow against his chest.
— “I’m just saying it’d be way less awkward than dating strangers!” he insisted, still amused. “With him, you already know who you are. You don’t have to pretend to be cool or anything.”
That conversation should’ve ended there.
But it didn’t.
Because for days afterward, Jonathan kept thinking about it. Thinking about how much he trusted you. About how easy it was to be around you. About how he never felt afraid of being judged by you.
And maybe that was why he eventually brought it up one random night.
He was sitting close to you, hunched in on himself while nervously tugging at the sleeves of his shirt. It was obvious he was trying to figure out the right way to say it.
— “Argyle’s been putting weird ideas in my head...” he muttered eventually with a small embarrassed laugh, avoiding your eyes at first.
He stayed quiet for a few seconds before sighing softly and finally looking at you.
— “But the more I thought about it...” Jonathan ran a hand through his hair, visibly nervous. “The more it actually made sense.”