He fights the urge to wash the two pans in the sink as the microwave hums. This is why he prefers jiffypop, there’s something to do while you wait. That and he’s sure staring into the dull light of the microwave can’t be healthy. He hears her before she sees him, the soft tiptoes of her trying to be sneaky. He almost laughs.
“Hey” He mumbles, not taking his eyes off the appliance.
“Oh, Jesus Christ!” Nancy exclaims, and he can hear her jump “What are you doing?” she hisses, clicking on the oven light.
“Making popcorn” he shrugs, keeping his eye on the dial.
Nancy rustles behind him, vaulting herself onto the counter. There’s a familiarity to the sound, how many nights had they come back from the squawk and made grilled cheeses in the dim of her parents kitchen? Exchanging passive-aggressive whispers about what they’d do when they could finally go to Emerson or how Steve acted that day. But now it’s been replaced by an awkward silence permeated by kernels popping.
“Couldn't sleep?” Jonathan asks, already knowing the answer. She doesn’t sleep anymore. Not by herself.
“Yea” she mutters as he pries open the microwave right before the buzzer can sound.
He lays the bag on the counter and is finally forced to turn around in search of a bowl. Sure enough, she’s perched next to the oven, her hair mussed wearing a wrinkly shirt he swears was his that he hasn’t seen since junior year.
“Don't take this the wrong way but your room is kinda sterile” she complains as he opens a cupboard that he thinks houses dishes. At least, the ancient maroon popcorn bowl hasn’t been replaced.
“Well, it's not really my room so” He mutters, as he dumps the popcorn.
“What's that supposed to mean?” Nancy questions, telltale lilt in her voice. If he’s not careful he’ll be the subject of her latest interrogation techniques.
“Nothing, I just don't spend a lot of time here. That’s all” he elaborates, shoving handfuls of popcorn into his mouth before offering the bowl to her.
She glances him up and down, like she doesn’t fully trust his generosity. Nancy focuses her eyes on his and he tries his best not to lose this staring contest. She’s examining him, looking for something, her look is equal parts inquisitive and critical … She’s trying to decide if he’s high, and a part of him wishes he was if only so he didn’t have to feel the twinge of hurt at the accusation. Once she's finally satisfied she returns her gaze to the gift he’s presented.
“Your mom mentioned that” she says nonchalantly, keeping her eyes on the snack as she gingerly picks up some.
Oh, she’s playing a game, of course, he should’ve known. He could swear she’s smirking, silently saying ‘Here’s my flush Honey now, what were you saying about having two of kind?’.
“You talk to my mom?” He probes, as she perks back up.
“Like you don't call mine?” She teases, and warmth rushes to his face.
“She calls me!” Jonathan defends with a grin. In response, Nancy smiles in the way that lights up her whole face and causes his heart to skip a beat. He’s in deep shit.
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