Chapter Text
Jonathan sighed as he parked his car in the school's parking lot. One look at Hawkins High was enough to make him exhausted already. Another day of boring classes and annoying classmates while enduring the doom and gloom that plagues the school of this accursed town in the middle of nowhere.
He could ditch today's classes, yes. No one would miss him because Jonathan doesn't have anyone in school—no friends or close classmates. At best, some teachers will find it strange that he's absent, given Jonathan rarely misses classes unless something of critical importance happens. But other than that, no one will miss him. He's all alone.
But ditching will result in absences marked on his report card. The aforementioned report card will eventually fall into the hands of Ms. Joyce Byers, and once she sees Jonathan missed a whole day of school, Hell will come to Earth. And Jonathan is not looking forward to being at the receiving end of his mother's ire. That is if Joyce ever bothers to see his report card. Most of the time, she only glances at his score and gives a hum of acknowledgment. She only cares about Will's report card.
With a heavy sigh, Jonathan grabs his backpack and camera and opens the door, stepping out into the cold, grey weather of Indiana. He closes the door and locks the car (as if someone will ever want to steal this junk he calls car) and walks towards the school building, not looking forward to another day of being a teenager in Hawkins.
Jonathan walks through the maze of halls with his head hung low to avoid being noticed by anyone and at a fast pace, eager to reach his locker, grab his stuff and head to his first class and sit on the back end seat, where no one will bother him—or even acknowledge his existence. There is no better word to describe the Hawkins High ambiance other than cacophony. Because the other students act like animals with rabies. Steve Harrington and his posse are ahead, being their loud, obnoxious, and no-brainer selves. Tammy Thompson and her siren-like voice can be heard from the corner, talking to her other siren-like friends, and Eddie Munson and his weird friends from that game club talk about drugs he bought—which makes Jonathan's stomach churn in disgust. Only Munson and his gang are dumb enough to talk about drugs in the middle of the hallway like it's nothing. They make Tommy Hagan sound like a genius.
A cacophony of unruly teenagers who didn't know how to use their inside voices and screech like hungry harpies fighting over carrion.
Amidst the noise and chaos, Jonathan's sharp ears pick up a conversation from a group of girls leaning against the lockers.
"So, I was in the Principal's office, trying to convince him to unmark my absence from last week, and he said no."
"What? But you were sick!"
"Ugh, Principal Higgins is such a bastard. That's why his wife cheats on him with Mr. Kaminski." Jonathan had to resist the urge to roll his eyes and scoff. He recognizes the voices as Nicole, Nancy Wheeler, and Carol Perkins. Nicole wasn't "sick" last week. Jonathan saw her missing classes to snog Patrick McKinney in the alley behind the school.
"I know, right? But he said he wouldn't unmark my absence unless I presented him with a medical certificate. Ugh, what a jerk," Nicole scoffs and rolls her eyes, crossing her arms like the petulant, spoiled princess she is. "Anyway, that's not what I was going to talk about. So, after I left the Principal's office, this hot guy was waiting to talk to the Principal—"
"How hot are we talking about?" Carol bites her lower lip and twirls a strand of hair on her finger. If Tommy Hagan were here, he would be fuming with jealousy.
"Like, a 10 out of 10! He's tall, with ginger hair and green eyes like rubies," Girl's so stupid she doesn't know the difference between a ruby and an emerald. Jonathan had to bite his inner cheek to prevent himself from uttering a snarky comment. "And he talked funny."
"Talked funny?" Nancy raises an eyebrow. "How so?"
"I dunno, but he talked funny." Nicole shrugs and applies some lip gloss, using the mirror attached to her locker.
Jonathan tuned that conversation out. What these girls described was a Steve Harrington 2.0—Tall, hot, and with good hair. And probably just as obnoxious as King (actually, Tyrant) Harrington himself. Jonathan grunted under his breath at that as he reached his locker, put on the combination, 06-29-24, and opened it. His locker is an organized mess. It's not neat, but Jonathan can sort through and knows where every item is. Jonathan's not a lucky guy by any means, but the Heavens blessed him with a perfect locker—right next to the window. The locker next to his is empty and has been empty for a long time since its previous owner, Ronnie Ecker, graduated.
It's his haven, his sanctuary, his—
The locker next to him opens, and Jonathan's eyes widen. No. His quiet place is no longer his nor quiet?! Accursed Universe. Always wanting to screw his life. Just great.
He peeks over to his left, discreetly glancing at the mystery person who dared to invade his territory. It's a boy and a tall one at that. Lean. Ginger hair. Green eyes. He fits the description of the mysterious boy Nicole mentioned earlier and—wait. Eyes?! The boy's looking at him!
"Hey." The mysterious boy flashes a small but polite smile at Jonathan, his green eyes locked on Jonathan's brown ones. "I'm Oliver."
Jonathan's eyebrow raised ever-so-slightly. He does talk funny, with a non-rhotic accent, not pronouncing the 'r' in his name. This boy is English, and Jonathan can't help but wonder: what the Hell is a British guy doing in Hawkins?! He snaps out of his thoughts upon noticing the boy Oliver is still looking at him, and 5 seconds passed since he spoke. Right, he needs to introduce himself as well.
"U-uh... I'm J-Jonathan. Jonathan!" Wow, nice job, Byers. You sound like a little shy kid who wants to hide behind his mommy's legs when strangers approach. Oliver doesn't seem to mind Jonathan's stuttering and instead does something that makes Jonathan blink, incredulous—he extends his hand at Jonathan. No, this can't be right. Surely, Jonathan is hallucinating. Maybe he's feverish. There's no way this guy is not only talking to him but wanting to touch Jonathan! It never happened before. His instincts tell him to ignore the guy, lower his head, and disappear amidst the crowd like always, but his brain argues that ignoring the new guy would be impolite. So he tentatively grabs Oliver's hand in his, giving it a loose shake, before replying in a stuttery and whispery voice, "N-nice to m-meet you, Oliver. W-welcome to Hawkins, I suppose."
Oliver smiles in response and nods, shaking Jonathan's hand with a firm squeeze. His hand is so warm, unlike Jonathan's cold one.
"Thank you, Jonathan. You're too kind."
Yeah, today's one crazy day. This new guy is talking to him, touching him, and complimenting him?! It's weird, but surprisingly, not the bad kind of weirdness. Jonathan's not used to receiving attention from others, but it's nice. It makes a ghost of a smile appear at the corner of Jonathan's lips.
Oliver packs some books into his backpack, straps it over his left shoulder, and looks down at the camera wrapped around Jonathan's neck.
"Nice camera! Pentax."
"What?" Jonathan's voice is low, almost like a whisper. His question is rhetorical, as he heard what Oliver asked. Jonathan is just confused that someone would show interest in photography and recognize his camera by taking a mere 3-second glance at it. He looks down at his camera, his most prized possession, and holds it in his hand, smiling softly. He loves this camera more than he loves his own life. Jonathan spent a whole summer collecting money to buy it. If anything happens to this camera, Jonathan's life will ruin and crumble like the Roman Empire. "Ah, yes, it's a Pentax MX. How'd you know?"
"The name's engraved on it." He points to the name engraved atop the lense.
"O-oh, right." Jonathan blushes slightly in embarrassment. Of course, it is. Stupid. There's no way a guy like Oliver would know about photography.
"My cousin Charlie has an MX." Or maybe he does know a bit about photography. "He wastes so much film taking pictures of clouds, trees, flowers, his own shadow. I gave him a box full of camera film for his birthday, and he used it all in, like, two months."
Jonathan finds himself chuckling at the story and Oliver's mock-annoyed expression. He can see the boy is not at all bothered by his cousin's hyperfocus on photography. He can see that Oliver seems to like it, judging by the sparkle in his emerald-like green eyes as he talks about cousin Charlie.
Unfortunately, Destiny decided to rain on Jonathan's happiness by ringing the bell. He cursed at the high-pitched noise that made his ears ring and sighed, looking at Oliver with a frown.
"Time to class, I guess."
"Yeah. Speaking of which." Oliver fishes a paper from his backpack—his class schedule—to check on his first class. "Can I bother you for a second and ask you where the History Classroom is?"
"History?" Jonathan's body stiffens on instinct as Oliver steps closer to him. This guy is tall, probably 10 centimeters taller than Jonathan, and his cologne smells nice—fresh lemon-scented. Jonathan swallows dry and focuses on the boy's schedule, his eyes scanning the sheet of paper in surprise. "Oh, we share all classes."
"Really?" Oliver smiles at the information. Why is he smiling? Jonathan asks himself. Is it because he's happy to be in the same limited space as Jonathan for six hours a day? That can't be, can it?
"U-uh, yeah. C'mon, I'll show you to class." He gestures with his head for Oliver to follow, glancing over his shoulder briefly to make sure the new guy is following after him. He is. While they walk to class, Jonathan can feel the other students looking at them, more at Oliver than at him, and hearing their whispers. Some girls commenting on how hot he is, guys speculating if he plays sports, and "King" Steve's posse wondering why this guy is walking with Jonathan "The Weirdo" Byers, of all people.
"Nicole was right. He is hot!" He hears Carol Perkins whisper and Tommy Hagan grumbling in jealousy.
"Yeah, he does look good." Nancy Wheeler comments as well, earning a scoff from Steve.
"Yeah, but he's walking with that ." Jonathan feels the hairs on his arms stand on end after hearing Steve refer to him as 'that,' as if he were a thing and not a living being. But Jonathan knows Steve and his dim-witted group share the same half of a brain cell and weren't taught respect and basic human etiquette by their parents. He ignores the whispers and keeps on walking, glancing back at Oliver, who seems unfazed by the whispers—maybe he's not hearing them or is just ignoring them altogether.
The duo stops at the door of Room 204, the History Classroom. The room is half-full, with only a few faces Jonathan recognizes. Robin Buckley and her friends from the Marching Band sit at the corner, Barbara Holland and Amy at the front, and a few other students fill the middle seats. Jonathan's eyes land on the back seats, the one farthest away from the rest. For a microsecond, Jonathan's tempted to leave Oliver behind and sit down at the back of the class, but for some reason, he doesn't want to leave this boy behind and sit amidst these ruffians who are their classmates. So he does something unthinkable. Something he never thought of doing ever in his life.
"Y-you wanna sit next to me?"
Oliver looks at him and smiles, his green eyes sparkling. This guy seems genuinely happy to have Jonathan's company—a sentiment never seen before by any of his peers. "Sure! If you don't mind."
"No, not at all." He responds a bit too quickly, a bit too desperately. But Oliver didn't seem to mind. Instead, he nodded and let Jonathan walk ahead towards two vacant seats at the corner of the room, next to the window. Jonathan sat down on the seat closer to the window, Oliver next to him.
Other students began filling the room. Some nerds, geeks, prissy girls, jocks, dumbasses, and Steve Harrington and his posse of hyenas were the last to come in as the teacher, a woman in her 40s with a sweet smile. She closed the door, walked to her desk, set some paperwork down, and started the roll call. Most students were quick to answer, but some didn't hear their names called as they were too distracted talking, gossiping, and fooling around with their friends, prompting the teacher to call their names louder.
"Oliver... Bancroft?" The teacher raises an eyebrow at reading the new name. She looks at the class with a raised eyebrow and smiles upon seeing Oliver in the back of the class with a raised hand (it's not hard to spot the boy, given his ginger hair that stands out amidst the crowd of brunettes and blonds). "Ah, you're the new student Principal Higgins mentioned, correct?"
"Yes, ma'am, that's me!" Oliver nods, a polite smile forming on his lips.
The teacher chuckles softly, thinking to herself of how polite Oliver is, calling her 'ma'am.'
"No need for that, dear. You can call me Ms. Newby."
"If you insist. 'Ms. Newby' it is." The boy nods again, still smiling, leaning forward on his seat. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Newby."
"The pleasure's all mine, dear. Welcome to Hawkins."
Some students snicker at Oliver's accent, and Jonathan can hear Tommy Hagan imitating Oliver's accent—and failing miserably at it. Tommy speaks like he has a hot potato in his mouth, which earns a slap on his shoulder from Steve, a giggle from Carol, and an eye-roll from Nancy. He had to resist the urge to snap at the quartet for their behaviors.
"Mr. Hagan." Ms. Newby's voice cut through their tomfoolery. Her tone was scolding and disappointing, effectively shutting Tommy and Co. up. Patty Newby is a sweet woman, one of the best teachers at Hawkins High, if not the best, but she doesn't tolerate bullying or mocking—not in her classroom, not anywhere. "Is there something you wish to share with the rest of the class?"
"No, Ms." Tommy smiled, trying to appear innocent, even though he was trying to hold back laughter, which the teacher seemed to notice but chose not to comment.
"Thought so. Now, I expect you all to welcome Oliver and show him the proper manners we teach here. The staff and I will not tolerate any draconian antics towards him. Remember, bullying is something we do not tolerate here at Hawkins High."
Steve Harrington and his friends giggle at the 'draconian' comment, earning another sharp glare from the woman, shutting them up again.
Jonathan rolled his eyes again, thinking how much of a disservice Steve and his gang are to the world. He wouldn't miss them if they vanished from the face of the world, but alas, the Universe would never be so kind in getting rid of them to appease Jonathan. Unfortunately.
He glanced at Oliver, and to his surprise, the boy didn't seem to mind the mocking. Huh. Either he didn't hear Tommy or just chose to ignore it altogether. Something in this guy intrigued Jonathan. Oliver is like a breath of fresh air, like the first breeze of spring after winter. Whatever it was, Jonathan couldn't help but be drawn to Oliver, feeling a wave of warm energy emanating from him. He felt comfortable with Oliver. Is this what it is like to have a friend? It's a nice feeling.
But the pessimism inside of Jonathan told him Oliver would end up being just like everyone else. He'll forget Jonathan exists and, in a few days, will start calling him a 'freak' and a 'loser.' He shakes his head softly, trying to dissipate those negative feelings. Oliver's not like the others. He's not like Steve or Tommy. He's different. He's nice.
As the class went on, Jonathan found himself stealing glances at Oliver whenever the boy raised his hand to answer a question. He's a smart one. The kind that makes nerds and intelligent girls boil in jealousy. Not to mention that accent—sweet like honey. Delicious to hear. It's so different and unique, like Oliver himself. Jonathan even found himself whispering a few comments in good-naturedly sarcasm at Oliver every once in a while, like, "Nice job, Einstein," or "Share some of that brain with the rest of the class," much to Oliver's delight, who chuckled in response and whispered some sarcasm back. This banter was nice. Light-hearted. Jonathan liked it. He liked it a lot. He liked it so much that they bantered through all their classes. Through Biology, English, Geography, and Math. Jonathan never felt so alive and happy at school. He always told himself he didn't need friends, that he was fine being alone, and that he liked being alone. But now, with Oliver here, talking to him, laughing at his sarcasm, smiling at him, Jonathan couldn't help but think to himself how wrong he was. Sure, it's nice having some alone time, but it's nice talking to someone other than Will or Joyce's back (since she rarely even looks at him when she's at home). Part of him wished he met Oliver sooner in his life.
When the lunch bell rang, the two boys picked up their stuff and hurried off of Mr. Mundy's Math class, and Oliver whispered to Jonathan how the teacher sounded like "a bloody muppet." Jonathan laughed. He had no idea what Oliver meant by that, but he found it funny regardless.
"I need to use the bathroom. You can go ahead to the cafeteria. I'll meet you there."
"Oh, no. I'll wait for you. It's fine." Oliver waved his hand, dismissing Jonathan's idea.
"You don't have to wait for me, you know?"
"I know, but I want to." Oliver smiled, leaning against the wall near the boy's bathroom and crossing his arms. Jonathan felt touched by such a simple action. All of this—having a friend, having someone to talk to, someone to keep him company—is foreign territory to him. "Besides, I don't know where the cafeteria is, so I kind of have to wait for you anyway."
Jonathan snorted and rolled his eyes. That's such a shitty excuse. It's not hard to find the cafeteria. But he knows Oliver is just being funny. He muttered a "Fine" and went to the bathroom while his friend—Jonathan can't believe he now has the privilege to call someone his friend—waited for him outside.
Jonathan washed his hands, diligently passing soap between his fingers—you never know what kind of germs Hawkins High has (besides Tommy Hagan)—and dried his hands on the cheap paper towel, shaking his hands to get rid of the last droplets of water. He walked out of the bathroom, letting out a deep breath. The school's bathrooms don't smell nice, not in the slightest, and whenever Jonathan has to use the bathroom, he holds his breath as much as he can. A dumpster smells nicer than the boy's bathrooms.
"Oliver—?" Jonathan's words die in his throat, and he freezes midstep. The sight before him makes his stomach drop, and his eyes widen. There, before him, a few meters away, is Steve Harrington and his gang all around Oliver. Steve is closer to him, invading Oliver's personal space, a smirk on his face. Tommy Hagan, his brainless sidekick, is right next to Steve, eyeing Oliver up and down with a sly grin. On the other side are Carol Perkins and Nancy Wheeler, eyeing Oliver up and down as if he's a piece of filet mignon. Carol's even biting her lower lip, and Nancy's batting her eyelashes. It doesn't even seem like they are literally on their boyfriends' side.
Jonathan keeps his distance, not wanting to interact with these barbarians, even if a part of him is begging Jonathan to go there and tell them to back away from Oliver and leave the guy alone. But his feet stay firmly planted on the ground, and he watches from a distance. He sees Steve handing Oliver a sheet of paper, a flier. Oliver raises his eyebrow and takes the paper from Steve's hand, reading what's in it.
"A party?" They snicker silently at the way Oliver pronounces the word.
"Yeah, mate . A pah-tee ." Tommy mocks Oliver by giving the worst-ever impression of the British accent the world has ever seen and smirking like he and Oliver are best buddies fooling around. Steve nudges at Tommy, a gesture that tells him to keep quiet, but the smirk on his face tells Jonathan the self-proclaimed "King" of Hawkins High is enjoying Tommy's mocking.
"That's right, dude. We're throwing a party at my house this weekend! My parents are out of town visiting my aunt, and you know what that means?"
"Well, if it goes like Hallowe'en Party , someone's getting murdered."
"Huh?"
"What?"
"The Hell?"
Carol, Tommy, and Steve raise eyebrows at Oliver's reply.
"It's a book by Agatha Christie where a kid gets murdered at a party." Nancy clarifies, rolling her eyes at their stupidity. The three utter a "Ah" in sync, and Nancy turns back to Oliver, smiling sweetly at him. "You should come, too! It's going to be fun!"
"It's gonna be more than fun. It's gonna rock!" Steve flashes a confident and smug smirk, the kind that makes you want to hit his face with a stop sign. "There's gonna be unlimited drinks, the best food, awesome music, and a hell lotta girls!"
"We can get you hooked up with a nice girl, mate !"
"Oh, I think you're gonna love my friend Nicole! She's, like, super cute."
Jonathan's shoulders sag in disappointment as he overhears their conversation and sees Oliver nodding along. Of course, the popular clique would want to recruit Oliver to their ranks. He's tall, handsome, and new, perfect to boost Steve's popularity and expand his influence throughout the school. Jonathan lowers his head. "Stupid," a voice in his head said, and Jonathan could feel the corner of his eyes burn, "you really thought a guy like Oliver would be friends with you ?! No one would want to be friends with someone like you! Oliver's way out of your league. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid—"
"No, thanks."
"HUH?!"
Jonathan's head shot up as he heard that, sharing Steve & Co.'s surprise.
"What do you mean "no, thanks"?!" Tommy frowns, acting like Oliver just insulted him.
"Parties aren't my thing." Oliver shrugs nonchalantly and returns the flier to an agape-looking Steve. Parties aren't his thing? That's such a Jonathan thing to say, and it's too much for Steve's simpleton brain to fathom. How can a teenager not like parties, alcohol, and girls?!
"What? But... come on, dude! You have to come!" Steve says, his voice taking on a more incisive tone while he tries to maintain a charismatic and friendly face. "You're gonna love it! Everyone's coming! The cheerleaders, the basketball team, the swimming team, the wrestling guys!"
"Nah." Oliver waves a hand and smiles, turning away from Steve and his group. "Thanks for the invite, mate, but that's not my thing. Hope you have fun at your... pah-tee, though." He smirks at Tommy, mocking his poor mimicking of his accent, and turning around, walking back to Jonathan with a smile. "Ready for lunch? I'm starving!"
Jonathan blinks once, twice, thrice. He cannot believe this happened. Oliver just rejected Steve and his party, rejected a chance to be popular, and chose... him?! This guy's crazy. Jonathan shakes his head again when he notices Oliver looking at him, waiting for a reply.
"U-uh, right, yeah, sure. Let's go. I'm hungry, too." He gestures for Oliver to follow him towards the cafeteria, leaving Steve and the others behind.
Steve's right eye twitched in annoyance. How dare this Brit defy him? How dare he reject him, Steve Harrington, the King of Hawkins High, and worst of all, how dare he choose Jonathan The Weirdo Byers over him ?! He growls in annoyance, crumpling the flier and tossing it to the floor, stomping on it. This isn't over yet.