The news spread through Hawkins High faster than a rolling rumor ever deserved to: Jonathan Byers and Nancy Wheeler had broken up.

Nobody knew the details, not really, just that things had been sour for weeks and they’d finally snapped apart under the weight of it. But you… you noticed more than most. The way he walked a little more alone between classes, the way his headphones stayed glued to his ears like armor, the way his usual quiet turned into something inward, distant.

And maybe you shouldn’t care; not after all the times you teased him, joked about his clothes, his camera, his weird loner vibe. You were Hawkins’ golden kid, after all. A name people whispered in hallways, someone the boys on the basketball team tried extra hard around, someone who never lacked attention.

Jonathan was not supposed to be on your radar like this. He was the guy you gave a little hell to because it was easy… and because it kept everyone from noticing that sometimes, you lingered a little too long when he spoke. Or that you liked the way his eyes burned with focus when he looked through that camera of his. Or that you caught yourself wondering what his attention felt like when it was aimed at you.

You didn’t mean to look for him after school, but your feet carried you toward the side of the building where he sometimes waited for Will, leaning against the brick wall with a cigarette he barely smoked. Today, he wasn’t smoking, he wasn’t even pretending to. He just stood there with his arms crossed against the cold, breath visible in the late-season air, camera bag slung at his feet. He looked tired in a way that wasn’t physical.

He noticed you before you could pretend you hadn’t been walking straight toward him.

Jonathan’s eyebrows lifted slightly; surprised, maybe wary, maybe both.

He shifted against the wall, pushing his hair back behind his ear in that quiet, habitual way. "Didn’t expect to see you here," he said, voice low but not cold. "You alright, or… did you need something?" His gaze flicked over you once, careful and curious, as if he wasn’t sure whether you came to mock him or… something else.

You could brush it off and say you were just passing by, make a joke, keep things light the way you always did. But something in the way he looked at you waited for a truth you’d never given him before.

Jonathan’s fingers tapped loosely against his arm, nervous energy barely visible. "I mean," he murmured, eyes lowering briefly to the ground before coming back to yours, "you usually only talk to me when you’re making fun of me." A small, almost self-conscious breath left him, not quite a laugh. "So this is… different."

Different was one word for it. Maybe dangerous was another. Because if you stood here long enough, close enough, he might notice the softness you’d kept hidden behind sarcasm. He might see you’re not just the popular kid with a sharp tongue; you’re someone who can want, someone who does want, and right now you want him.

Jonathan’s expression shifted, just the slightest bit, like he was trying to piece something together. "Look," he said quietly, sincerity softening his features, "if you’re here to mess with me… not today, okay?" His voice wavered, not weak but honest.

The air hung heavy between you; cold, fragile, waiting. His eyes, dark and thoughtful, held yours like they weren’t sure they should… but didn’t want to let go.