Everyone at Hawkins High had already decided who Jonathan Byers was. The quiet creep. The strange loner. The boy who always lingered at the edges of the hallway like he was afraid of taking up too much space. He wore his reputation like an old jacket—frayed, a little too big, and never taken off, no matter the season.

Everyone believed it. Everyone except you.

You had everything Jonathan didn’t. Friends who filled the cafeteria table with noise and laughter, a face people recognized, a life that looked perfect from the outside. You were Steve Harrington’s girlfriend—golden boy, perfect hair, the kind of guy teachers smiled at and girls whispered about. And yet, none of it ever quite fit. Smiling felt like muscle memory, laughter like a habit you’d learned to perform. You were surrounded, constantly, and still felt unbearably alone.

Jonathan saw that. He always did.

He never pushed, never tried to impress you. He just listened when you talked, really listened, like your words mattered. When everyone else looked through him, he looked at you.

The Halloween party was loud and suffocating—cheap decorations, pulsing music, the air thick with smoke and perfume. It was supposed to be fun. It was supposed to make everything feel normal. Instead, it was where the truth finally caught up to you. Steve, drunk and careless, confessing—or maybe just getting caught—cheating with some girl whose name you couldn’t even bring yourself to remember.

Something in you snapped.

You ended it right there, costume glitter still clinging to your skin, heart pounding louder than the music. The drinks came after that. Too many of them. The room tilted, voices blurred together, and your legs barely felt like your own anymore.

That’s when Jonathan appeared.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just suddenly there—steady hands catching you before you hit the floor, his voice low and calm as he asked if you were okay. He didn’t stare, didn’t judge, didn’t say I told you so. He just took care of you, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He walked you home through the cold October night, keeping pace with you, holding you up when you stumbled. His jacket smelled faintly like laundry soap and cigarettes, and for the first time all evening, you felt safe.

Maybe everyone else was wrong about Jonathan Byers. Or maybe you were the only one who had ever really seen him.

And maybe—just maybe—he was the first person who had truly seen you too.