Synopsis: You and Jonathan Byers had been best friends since childhood, inseparable and attached to the hip from the moment you were both old enough to walk until you reached high-school. So, it was nearly impossible not to fall for Jonathan, the same boy who you knew you better than anyone else in Hawkins — But, not all lovestruck high-school girls get their fantasy, especially not when Nancy Wheeler and her perfect smile come into the picture.
Tags: Heavy Dialogue, Angst, Emotional Vulnerability, Unrequited Lovers, Insecurities, Jealousy, Arguing, Avoidance, Friends-Lovers-Strangers, No comfort.
The first thing you pick up on is the quietness, the uncomfortable eeriness that wraps around you like a suffocating hug you tried to push through. There wasn’t any peacefulness in this quiet, it wasn’t as welcoming as the hushed silence that used to wrap around you and Jonathan like a shared secret when you were still kids.
This was thinner, stretched distantly like a single breath could snap the veil in two, but loud enough to buzz in your ears as you stood at the edge of the separation line of your front yards, dirtied sneakers sinking into the mud that you’ve crossed a thousand times before.
You used to cross the like without thinking, back when the distance between your houses was nothing more than a path you could walk blindfolded. Back when the backroads felt like they belonged to you, two kids with scraped knees and tangled headphones as they traded songs like they were pieces of themselves.
Now, every step feels unsettlingly different, like you’re trespassing on something that doesn’t belong to you anymore. The porch light is still on, flicking in the broken way it always has, casting that familiar flow across the concrete porch. You can practically see it paved with memories, Jonathan sitting there with his camera, hunched over like he’s trying to disappear into it. While you sat beside him, knees knocking together, pretending you didn’t notice how close he was.
But you’ve always noticed things too much.
Your fingers curl tighter around the sleeve of your hoodie, nails hardly digging into the worn fabric. You didn’t mean to come here tonight, telling yourself that it was just an instinct, a stupid muscle memory that had a way of pulling you down this road the same way it always has since childhood.
Only now, you don’t know what you’re supposed to do when you get here, because things aren’t the same, and they haven’t been for a while.
You exhale slowly, breathe visibly in the cool air of the late autumn sky, letting your gaze drift toward his bedroom window. Even at the late hour, it’s still glowing faintly behind the window, because Jonathan was always awake at an hour he shouldn’t be, chasing something you’ve never been able to name.
There was a time when you thought you understood it, and maybe even understood him. You feel your chest tighten at the memories, something uncomfortable aching against your ribs as you shift your weight, debating whether to turn around before anyone sees you standing outside like some kind of ghost that was haunting the veil of his life.
Lately, it feels like that’s all you do, hovering at a distance, watching from the sidelines of something you used to be a part of, something and somewhere you used to belong.
The sound of laughter cuts through the quietness, faint and muffled by the walls of the house, but you could recognize that noise anywhere. It was Jonathan’s laugh, the real one that spilled when no one was forcing him to perform, and it affects you in a way that betrays your logical thoughts instantly.
You hate that it still manages to get a reaction out of you, that after all the distance you’ve forced between the friendship, after the way you’ve been avoiding him like he’s something dangerous, your body still reaches for him as if nothing has changed.
Like he’s still yours, even though he’s not, and the thought lands sharp and precise, slicing through you with brutal precision. As much as it hurts, you’ve gotten good at reminding yourself of it, because if you don’t, you start thinking about the way things used to be, and that’s somehow worse.
Another voice follows after him, lighter and more feminine. Your stomach practically drips before your brain even catches up, immediately recognizing the softness of Nancy Wheeler’s voice. Your jaw tightens instinctively, something bitter curling in your chest as you take a step back, like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t, even though you haven’t done anything at all.
You just showed up, something you’ve always done, but now it feels like standing outside of something you were slowly being pushed out of, and the worst part was that you didn’t even notice it happening at first. There wasn’t any exact moment where everything shattered, just pieces slowly falling from the glass, leaving chips in a friendship that was fading, slow enough that you were almost able to convince yourself everything was okay.
That you weren’t losing him.
The convincing delusion didn’t last long, not when phone calls went unanswered, and plans went left unplanned, but the biggest giveaway was when he started showing up with her, practically attached to his hip in a way that seemed too friendly for your liking, leaving you with something ugly twisting beneath your veins.
Jonathan was never yours in the way that justified your hatred and jealousy, and you know that, constantly reminding yourself that Nancy never did anything wrong whenever the spikes of jealous rage pulsed beneath your arms. Nancy didn’t purposefully steal him from you or pull him away, she just existed in the orbit of Hawkins.
Yet, Jonathan still chose her, and that’s the part you struggle to swallow every night.
Another laugh drifts from the house, more intimate than the last, hitting you harder than it should have. You feel the familiar ache swelling in your throat, forcing your attention onto the wet patch of mud, blinking as it stains the soles of your sneakers. You remember standing in this exact spot years ago, calling his name one summer night until he came running outside, eyes lighting up the second like you were something worth running toward.
Now, you’re not even sure he knows you’re here.
You swallow hard, blinking against the sting pooling at your waterline, mumbling to yourself about how stupid this was, how you shouldn't have come because it wasn’t going to change anything, but some part of you still hoped, although you didn’t know exactly what you were hoping for.
Maybe things would somehow rewind themselves to before everything got complicated?
Maybe your feelings wouldn’t get in the way of things?
You shake your head at the thoughts, letting out a humorless breath, because you knew that no matter how hard you hoped, things wouldn’t change. For a moment, you just stand there, shoes sinking into the mud puddle, caught between the logical and emotional decisions — caught between holding on and letting go.
The weight of it doesn’t surprise you anymore, like your body has gotten used to the strength it took to hold yourself somewhere in-between, not quite part of his life loudly anymore, but not able to fully walk away either, because how do you walk away from someone who’s been stitched into your life for as long as you can remember.
You don’t, because that takes a level of strength that you don't have, so you just pretend. You put on a performance, pretending that it doesn’t hurt when you see them looking at someone else the way you used to imagine they’d look at you. You pretend it doesn't feel like something inside you is unraveling every time they laugh with someone who isn’t you.
Most importantly, you pretend you’re okay, and you’ve gotten too good at pretending lately.
Another sound fills the silence, the creaking noise from the front door causing your head to snap up instinctively, panic flaring through your chest. You quickly step back, nearly slipping on the mud as you move away from the porch, heart hammering against your ribs like it’s trying to give you away. You don’t even think, reacting unconsciously as you duck beneath the tree near the border of your front yard, hoping that it’ll somehow make you invisible.
It’s ridiculous, but the pride inside you refuses to let him see you like this.
The door opens, hinges creaking as Jonathan steps onto the concrete porch, and for a second, it feels like everything else fades around you. He looks the same and completely different all at once, taller maybe, or thinner. There’s something sharper about him now, something more closed-off. Beneath the sharpness, it’s still the boy who used to sit cross-legged on his bedroom floor with you, rewinding the same song over and over again because you couldn’t get enough of it.
He’s still the same boy you fell in love with.
His sneakers scoff against the concrete, running a hand through his hair in that absentminded way he always does when his thoughts are elsewhere. Nancy follows behind him, lingering in the doorway as she says something that makes his expression soften in a way that makes your chest ache. You feel your stomach drop, the ache swelling in your throat as you notice his expression, the kind of expression you always hoped would be directed at you one day. Your nails dig into your palm, hands trembling from the dull pain as you watch them, unable to tear your eyes away from the innocent encounter.
Nancy smiles at him, something warm and gentle, almost enough to ease the uncomfortable heaviness that rested on your shoulders. Jonathan smiles back, something boyish and small, but real enough to make something inside you shift at the realization that this is exactly why you stopped coming around. This softness shared between them is the exact reason why you started pulling away before you could be pushed out, because you couldn’t keep standing here, watching him choose someone else over you and pretend it didn’t break you a little more each time.
Nancy pushes away from the doorway, brushing his shoulder lightly as she steps off the porch, blissfully unaware of the way his eyes follow her like she’s the only thing in his line of sight that’s worth looking at. There used to be a time when he’d look at you like that, or maybe you just imagined it, but the distinction doesn’t matter anymore since you’ve become a ghost in your own friendship.
You take another step back, the decision stirring slowly in your bones before your mind fully catches up to the realization that you can't stay here like this, not where he can't even see you, not where you're just background noise in his life. The realization aches somewhere in your chest, but there’s a quiet kind of heartbreak that just settles, like something is finally falling into place, even if it's not where you wanted it to land. You turn away before you can second-guess yourself, before you can linger on something that was never really yours to begin with.
After that night, everything changes, and the first day when you don't look at him feels like breaking a habit you never wanted to quit. It starts small, a barely noticeable shift in your gaze when it walks into class, deliberately focusing on the chipped paint of your desk, on the slow drag of your pencil across paper, on anything that wasn’t him. You feel it the moment he steps into the classroom, the subtle change in the air, the way your body recognizes him before your mind wakes up.
It’s pathetic, the way your chest tightens like it’s greeting something familiar, like it’s welcoming home.
You don’t look up when he takes his usual seat, or when his bag hits the floor with that soft thud you could pick out a mile away. You don’t look up when his voice threads quietly through the classroom as he says something to someone that you don't bother trying to figure out, because you could recognize Nancy Wheeler’s voice anywhere now. It’s almost impressive how she’s always around, the consistency of how she follows him around, but it’s never clingy enough for anyone to call out or notice.
But you notice everything when it comes to him, and that’s the problem.
Your fingers tighten around your pen as the teacher starts talking, words blurring into something meaningless. You try to focus, you really do, but your awareness keeps drifting, unconsciously pulling toward the opposite side of the room where he sits. You don't allow yourself to look, strictly forcing your eyes on your blank notebook, because you don’t need to see the way he leans forward whenever she speaks, or the way she tilts her head just enough to meet him halfway, like they already exist in their own orbit.
You close your eyes for a moment, leg bouncing underneath your desk as you try to focus on the reality surrounding you, trying to focus on the uneven handwriting that slanted unevenly across the page like they were trying to escape.
The bell rings loudly, the metallic noise blaring throughout the school, quickly pulling you from your thoughts as you lift yourself from the desk before anyone else has a chance to move. Your chair scrapes harshly against the floor, not even bothering to pack up your things as you head toward the door without a second glance, ignoring whatever nonsense the teacher was explaining about the assignment.
The hallway is crowded, voices overlapping as students exit the classroom, lockers slamming shut, and footsteps echoing against the tile floors. The noise is overwhelming, but it’s something distracting as you move through the crowd with practiced ease, drowning out the cryptic voices in your head.
“Hey.” The sudden voice startles you slightly, your entire body locking up out of instinct, because it’s the one voice you’ve been avoiding all day. You don’t stop walking, sneakers practically forced to move forward as you try to lose yourself in the crowd. “Hey, wait.” His voice calls out, closer this time, too close for your liking.
Your chest tightens painfully, and you pick up your pace even more, slipping between two groups of people like you didn’t hear him, like you don’t know that voice, even though it lives somewhere deep in your bones. When he calls your name, your steps falter for just a second, emotions stirring before you remember what you’re walking away from.
His footsteps quicken behind you, quickly closing the distance you’ve been so desperately trying to maintain since last night. His hand reaches out for your wrist, not forceful or rough, just enough to stop your movements and remind you that he still can. You freeze upon contact, breathing turning shallow and uneven as you stare down at where his fingers curl around your skin.
They feel warm, almost familiar against your cold skin, like a muscle memory your body knows before your heart has time to digest, and you despise it. “Can you—” His voice is softer now, uncertain in a way you’ve never heard from him before. “Can you just stop for a second?”
You don’t turn around, because you can’t. If you do, everything you’ve been trying to hold together will fall apart.
“I’m gonna be late to class.” You say, your voice coming out quieter than you intended, flat and detached, completely unlike you, but it’s the only version of yourself that you can manage.
His grip tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you from moving away. “You’ve been late before.” He replies lightly, but there’s something else beneath his tone; it’s not quite frustration or hurt, it’s something in between.
“That was different.” You reply evenly, still refusing to look at him while the silence after your words stretches uncomfortably between you, enough to feel the weight of it pressing against the empty space.
“[Y/N], what’s going on?” He says again, quieter this time.
You let out a small breath through your nose, something almost like a laugh but not quite. “It’s nothing, Jonathan.” Your response is automatic, the same answer you’ve been repeating for days, because it’s easier that day, but except it’s not when he doesn't let go.
“Don’t do that,” Jonathan replies.
“Don’t do what?” You ask, pretending to be oblivious, even though your chest is tightening beneath your shirt.
“Pretend like everything’s fine.”
That one almost makes you laugh for real, because that’s all you’ve ever done. “I’m not pretending anything.” You say, finally pulling your wrist free from his grasp, the absence of his touch feels immediate against your skin. You turn slightly, not directly facing him, but keeping him in your peripheral vision as you look past him. “I have stuff to do.” You mumbled the weak excuse.
“Since when do you have stuff to do that doesn’t involve me?” The question lands heavier than he probably intended, letting it sit sharply and uncomfortably against your chest.
Since he stopped choosing you.
“People change, Jonathan.” You respond flatly, trying to ignore the flicker of emotions across his face, confusion, hurt, maybe even a little bit of anger.
“Yeah, I guess they do.” He says slowly, and the way it sounds, leaving his lips makes your stomach twist, because it sounds like he's not just talking about you.
And, maybe he's not. Maybe he’s referring to himself as well, but you don’t stick around late enough to find out. You turn fully this time, walking away and burying your hands in your pockets before he can stop you again, before he can say something else that might make you hesitate.
By the time the last bell rings, your chest feels hollower than usual. It doesn’t feel lighter or relieved, just empty, like you’ve carved something out of yourself and left nothing in its place. You sling your backpack over your shoulder, sluggishly approaching the front porch outside your house, trying to ignore the instinctive pull that always brought you to his house. You sink onto the concrete porch, pulling your knees closer to your chest as the chilly breeze brushes against your skin.
It should feel calming, but it doesn’t, because your mind keeps replaying what happened in the hallway. It keeps tracing back to the way he said your name, and especially the way he looked at you, with that same warmth you’ve grown to love. You squeeze your eyes shut, rubbing your hands exhaustedly over your face, exhaling heavily into your palms, knowing that you can’t keep pretending like you don’t feel everything all at once because you feel it entirely too much.
You feel it every time he walks into a room.
Every time his laughter fills the silence.
Every time he looks at her with that look.
Especially when he looks at her.
A sharp breath leaves your lips, shaky and uneven as the logicality finally catches up with those buried emotions, unable to run away from the fact that you love Jonathan Byers.
Your head immediately snaps up at the sudden voice, heart dropping into your stomach as Jonathan stands by the edge of your front yard. You stare at him from a distance, wide-eyed and frozen, like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Which maybe you have, because this distance and silence isn’t you, and you both know that, but it’s the only way you know how to survive this.
“What are you doing here?” You ask, voice sounding sharper than you intended.
He flinches at the sharpness, expression tilting as he fumbles with his words. “I don’t—” He hesitates, running a hand through his hair. “You left. Again.”
“That’s kind of what people do after school. My mom wanted me home.” You reply evenly, voice filled with deflection, because that’s always been easier than honesty, except he’s never been the person to let you get away with it.
“Stop.” He says, firmly, but still soft enough to make you hesitate. “I mean it, [Y/N]. Just stop doing that.” He finishes, gesturing toward you loosely.
“Doing what, Jonathan?” You snap, frustration bubbling up before you can recognize it. “Stop living my life?”
“Shutting me out.” He says, keeping his voice to a minimum, but the words hit with the same weight as if he were yelling them.
You stare at him blankly, something unreadable cracking in your expression. “I’m not shutting you out.” You say, but it sounds weak and unconvincing as it leaves your tongue, because you both know it’s not true.
“Then what is this?” He asks, gesturing between the two of you again. “Because you won’t talk to me, you won’t look at me, you won’t even stand in the same room as me anymore.” He added on, but his voice wasn’t angry. It was hurt and confused, like he genuinely doesn’t understand what’s happening, and that’s what finally breaks something inside you.
“You really want to know what this is?” You ask him, voice shaking despite your best efforts to keep it steady. He doesn’t answer your question, just watches you, like his silence is all the answer you need. You let out a shaky breath, pushing yourself to your feet. “Fine, you want to know? I’ll tell you.” You say, heart pounding so heavily it feels like it might burst out of your chest.
You could easily stop this with a brief lie and walk away while pretending this confrontation never happened, but you don’t. You’re too tired to keep pretending, too tired of bottling up your emotions and hurting in silence. “You want to know why I’ve been avoiding you?” Your voice cracks with each syllable. “It’s because I can’t look at you without feeling like this.”
“Feeling like what?” Jonathan asks, his brows furrowing in confusion.
You scoff softly, almost in disbelief, because after all this time, he really doesn’t know. “I love you!” The words rip out of your throat, loud and raw, completely out of control. “Okay? I love you, and I have for a while now, and it’s killing me.” You finish, voice cracking completely, tears spilling over before you could stop them.
The silence that follows your confession is heavy and thick, unforgiving as Jonathan stands there, staring at you like the world has tilted off its axis, and maybe it has, because there’s no going back after this, no matter what his response is.
“I see you with her every day, and everywhere.” You continue, your voice trembling as you angrily wipe away the tears cascading down your cheek. “And I know it’s stupid, I know she didn’t do anything wrong, but I can’t help but hate it. I hate her for it, and I hate myself even more for feeling that way.”
Your chest heaves with uneven breaths, fingertips trembling against your side. “I can’t be around you like that, Jonathan. I can’t sit there and pretend I’m okay with watching you fall for someone else.”
His expression shifts almost instantly, something pained flickering across his face. “[Y/N], I–” He tries to explain, but you cut him off before he could even start.
“No, don’t. Don’t say anything.” You say, shaking your head, because you already know. You’ve always known that he doesn’t love you like that, but hearing him say it out loud would destroy you. “I– I just needed space. That’s all.” You explain, voice softening, breaking differently than before.
Jonathan swallows hard, his gaze searching your face like he’s trying to find something, maybe an answer, or maybe an opening to let him fix this, but this time there isn’t one. “You should’ve told me.” He says quietly, and a hollow laugh escapes you.
“Then what? What would have changed if I told you?” You question him, but he doesn’t answer, because he knows absolutely nothing would have changed. You take a step back, putting space between you, more final than before. “I’m sorry, Jonathan.” You whisper sincerely, because you actually mean it for once.
You’re sorry for the distance.
And, for loving him in a way he could never return.
He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but whatever it is, never comes out, and maybe that’s for the best, because some things don’t need to be said to hurt. You give him one last look, not lingering or hopeful, something final as your hand reaches for the doorknob. You don’t even remember reaching for it. One second, you were standing there, everything inside you splitting open and spilling onto the ground between you, and the next, your fingers are curling around the cold metal like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.
It’s grounding, only because it gives you something to hold onto that isn’t him. The wooden door presses faintly against your forehead as you lean into it, your breath uneven as your chest rises and falls too fast. You can hear the sound of your heartbeat, loud and frantic, echoing in your ears like it’s trying to drown everything else out. It doesn’t work because he’s still here, lingering behind you. Jonathan was never the type to walk away from something unfinished, not when it mattered, and certainly not when it came to you, love or not.
Something broken catches in your throat, quickly pressing your lips together hard enough that it almost hurts as you try to keep it in, because you don’t want him to hear you like this. You don’t want him to see what he’s done to you, and that’s not fair to either of you. The thought comes sharp and immediate, cutting through the haze of emotion, the realization that it was never something he did, but what you did, settling heavily on your conscience.
You’re the one who let it grow into this, into something too heavy and impossible to carry quietly. You’re the one who turned every shared moment into something more, who read between the lines that were never meant to be noticed. He never promised you anything, he never looked at you and said, you’re mine.
That was all you, and now you’re the one paying for it as another tear slips free, despite your effort, trailing warmly down your cheek before falling off your chin, then another, and another. You squeeze your eyes shut, grip tightening on the doorknob as your shoulders start to shake, but you don't turn around to face him. You can’t, because if you look at him and see the pity or confusion in his expression, you’re going to fall apart in a way that you won’t be able to come back from.
So, you face the door and keep your back turned to him like it’s the only defense you have left. Behind you, the silence stretches, almost unbearable. You can still feel him there, standing on the edge of your yard, probably looking at you the same way he always does when something doesn’t make sense, like he’s trying to piece it together, trying to fix something that can’t be fixed. Your fingers twitch slightly against the metal, feet unmoving, refusing to walk away while everything is left unfinished and unsaid.
Your voice comes out quiet, barely above a whisper. “Just tell me.”
You hear the shift behind you, subtle, but it’s there. His shoes crunch on the leaves beneath his feet as he moves forward, just slightly, still hesitant to cross that edge. “What?” He asks, voice cautious, like he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing.
A shaky breath escapes you, forehead pressing more firmly against the cracked wooden door. “Just tell me, Jonathan.” You repeat, a little clearer this time, even though your voice still trembles. “Please, just tell me.”
“Tell you what?” He asks, the confusion lingering in the air between you, thick and uncertain, because, of course, he needs you to say it out loud.
You swallow hard, throat tightening with an aching swell as your chest feels like it’s being pressed down on. “Jonathan…” You whisper, the sound of his name breaking on your tongue, voice sounding painfully softer than you intended. “I need you to say it.” You manage, squeezing your eyes shut, like that might help prevent yourself from breaking in front of you.
Another pause of silence fills the space, stretching longer than the last before he speaks up again.
“Say what?” He questions gently, but there’s something in his tone, almost desperate, that makes something twist painfully around your bleeding heart, because even after everything, it sounds like he still cares.
Just not in the way you need him to.
The metal handle creaks underneath the tightening pressure of your fingers, inhaling sharply as your voice falters. “You need to tell me who you love.” You manage to choke out the words, each syllable cracking against your lips, struggling to push the words out.
The words hang there, heavy and final in a way neither of you expected, and the silence that follows explains the expected request in a way that’s suffocating. You can hear everything beneath the sound of your breathing, the wind brushing against the tree branches, the faint scuff of your shoes as you shift your weight against the concrete porch, but behind, there’s nothing.
Jonathan doesn't speak or move, almost like the entire world is frozen as it waits for his answer.
Your nails press into the wooden door, hand slipping from the handle to brace yourself against the surface as your knees threaten to give out. “Say it.” You whisper, voice breaking completely now, nearly begging him. “Just say it, Jonathan. I can’t keep wondering.”
And, you truly can’t, because holding onto the unknown, something that was never real, but felt like it was, is the worst part in all of this. Behind you, there’s a movement, a brief step forward, an inch toward closing the large distance between your bodies. You can feel it, the shift in the air as his presence grows closer, and your entire body tenses in reaction, but you refuse to look at him.
“[Y/N].” He calls out, his voice quiet and cautious in a way that almost undoes you.
“Don’t.” You cut in quickly, shaking your head even though he can barely see it. “Don’t say my name like that. Just answer the question.”
Another pause follows, like he’s bracing himself, like he’s trying to steady his voice to give you an answer, and that’s what gives it away, because if it were ever you, then he’d never have to hesitate to answer. “I-I… I care about you.” He says first, like that might soften what’s coming next, and it’s enough to shatter something bitter deep inside your chest.
“Jonathan, please. I need the truth, even if it hurts me.” You whisper. Voice raw with pleading desperation, aching to get away from his half-answers and cautious wording.
He exhales softly, expression shifting into something pained, even though you can’t see it. “I love Nancy.” Jonathan finally admits, simple and clean, unavoidable and unmistakable.
The three words land like a physical blow, harshly knocking the air from your lungs, leaving your chest tightening uncomfortably. For a second, you feel like you can’t breathe or even think properly, everything just stops with something intensified and painful. Your fingers curl into the wooden door, posture going rigid as the reality of it slowly settles in.
You knew what to expect, you knew what he would say, but hearing him say it aloud made it real in a way it never was before, because now it’s finally closing the door of possibly you’ve been clawing at for years. It locks away every maybe you’ve told yourself, every small ounce of hopeful desperation is gone, just like that.
A broken sound escapes before you even have the time to stop it, something small and wounded, completely unlike yourself. You clamp your hand over your mouth instantly, as if you were trying to shove the sound back down your throat, like you can hide the way you’re falling apart right here in front of you, but it’s too late, everything is too late.
“I’m sorry, [Y/N].” He says quickly, the words rushing out like he’s trying to figure something that can’t be repaired. “I didn’t want to hurt you.” He whispered as another sound ripped out of you.
The sound is sharper this time, not quite a sob, but somewhere in between. “Don’t. Don’t apologize for that.” You choke out, shaking your head as tears stream freely down your face.
Because what else is he supposed to do?
No, that’s not what you want. You never wanted that, all you wanted was something real, and he can’t give you that, no matter how hard you both try. You take another shaky breath, forcing your hand away from your mouth, even though it leaves your emotions exposed, even though he can already hear every broken piece of you now. “That’s all I needed to hear.” You say quietly, and saying it hurts more than anything you’ve ever felt, but it’s clear.
There’s no confusion or uncertainty left behind, just the truth, the ugly truth that left a bitter taste in your mouth. Finally, you push yourself away from the door, hand lingering on the wooden material before falling to your side again. You don’t turn around or look at him, because if you do, you might not be able to walk away, and you have to walk away from this.
“I think this is where I leave.” You say, voice wavering, but you push through it even though the words feel strange on your tongue, too final for your liking, as if you’re closing a chapter you never wanted to end.
Behind you, you hear him shift again, trying to move close enough to reach out for you. “[Y/N], wait.” He tries to say, but you cut him off quickly, shaking your head.
“No.” You whisper, quietly but firmly. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be your friend like this. It’s not fair, to you or me.” You finish off, and the stretch of silence is heavy with the reality of it, the understanding that this is a goodbye to a decade-long friendship.
You take a step forward, pushing open the door, the creaking sound settling uncomfortably through the air, like it’s aching along with your heart, like it knows you’re stepping away from something you never wanted to leave. “I hope she makes you happy, Jonathan.” You say sincerely, ignoring the way your vision blurred with unshed tears.
It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever said, and it’s the most honest, because despite the jealousy, the anger, and the heartbreak, you want the absolute best for him, even if it’s not with you. You don’t wait for a response, because if you do, you might not ever walk away, and it’ll all be for nothing.
So, you push open the door, the warmth of the house drastically different from the coldness outside, like it’s welcoming all the heartbreak coursing through your body as you close the door behind you, ending the chapter that you never wanted to say goodbye to.
• this was a req, so i really hope whoever requested this fic enjoyed it!
• stranger things masterlist
