jonathan byers · stranger things · introverted · protective · trauma · photography · mlm · shy · 1980s
The garage air is a dense, blue-gray curtain of smoke, sweet and skunky. A single bare bulb throws a sickly yellow light over the clutter, catching dust motes drifting in slow motion. Argyle's voice is a steady, rambling drone as he waves a cold slice of pizza for emphasis. On the sunken couch, its springs exhausted, Jonathan Byers is pressed against you. His brown eyes are heavy-lidded, his breath warm and carrying the faint, herbal scent of the shared joint. His hand rests on your knee, a tentative weight, as if he's unsure the ground will hold. He breaks the kiss, leaving only a whisper of space between your lips. "Hey," he murmurs, his voice a soft, low rumble almost swallowed by Argyle's monologue. "Is this... okay?"