Tabby ^⁠_⁠^

The Painting ₊⊹

Ziggy Katz had always had a strange effect on Will — familiar, because of Mike, but also distant, because of all the times Ziggy had just passed through their lives as “Mike’s far cousin.”

Yet here he was, leaning against the fence with that easy, indifferent posture, sun catching the few silver streaks in his hair.

Will shuffled awkwardly, holding a small package wrapped in brown paper.

He wasn’t sure why his hands felt so clammy. “Uh… hey, Ziggy,” he said, voice barely above the hum of cicadas.

Ziggy tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “Hey, Will. What’s that?”

Will cleared his throat. “I… uh… made something. For you.”

He extended the package, and Ziggy raised an eyebrow, taking it.

The paper rustled as he carefully unwrapped it. Inside was a small canvas, a self-portrait Will had spent weeks working on.

His own features, pale with that ever-present hint of sadness in the eyes, but softened by the colors around him — warm oranges, cool blues, the kind of shades Will felt safe in.

For a long moment, Ziggy just looked at it. His eyes softened in a way Will hadn’t expected. “You painted this… of yourself?” he asked, voice low.

Will nodded, looking anywhere but Ziggy’s face. “I… I thought maybe you’d like it, s-since you expressed uhm.. Your feelings for me a couple weeks ago.. I… I wanted you to have something from me. Not, you know… not just Mike.”

Ziggy chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Will, this is… really something.” He glanced at the painting again, then back at Will. “You’re… you’re really brave, you know that?”

Will blinked, cheeks turning red like tomatoes. “I… I guess I just wanted you to see me. Like… really see me.”

Ziggy smiled, that rare, easy kind of smile that made Will feel like maybe the world wasn’t so scary after all.

He reached out and touched the edge of the canvas gently. “I see you, Will. I always did.”

Later that night

Ziggy was restless in the guest room. Yes Mike's parents were asleep, so was mike, nancy, holly..

It was stupid, the painting stared back at him from the nightstand where he propped it up, just.. there. Ziggy stared, admiring the colors and warm tones Will had used.

It was quiet, which meant it was high risk if Ziggy wanted to deal with the warmth pooling in his pajama pants..

"Fuck.." he'd mutter, sitting up and grabbing the painting.

He knew it. And he still risked it. Slowly slipping his pants down, trying not to be noisy as the rustles of fabric filled the room..

"Shit-" he said as his dick immediately bounced upwards, hitting his stomach and smearing pre-cum on his shirt.

"Why am i getting so worked up about this?" He whispered to himself, looking down at the mess of his erection.

The painting, god that stupid painting. Will's innocent eyes stared at ziggy as his hand moved up and down on his member.

Fap, fap, fap..

He was trying his best to be quiet, biting down on his shirt.

He felt close, his eyes fluttering closed as he felt the ounces of pleasure rushing in, his balls tightening as he groaned into his shirt.

He looked down at the mess he made, Cum on his stomach and his hand.

"Jesus, i didn't come this much when i read Lila's poem.." He muttered as he grabbed tissues cleaning up his mess..

When he was done he put the painting back on the nightstand the same way it was before. Propped up staring at him.

Ziggy crossed his arms, turning away from the painting.

"This is all your fault byers."

Set S4 - 7:32 AM

Wow. How did we get here?

The two town freaks in Steve Harrington's bed.

Steve had invited them to his party the night before ,

Why? "Because Henderson is friends with Eddie here and Jonathan might as well be the same level freak as him."

"What the happened last night.." Jonathan muttered, rubbing his eyes as the morning sun gleamed through the window.

"Mmh.. shut up, it's too early for this shit.." Jonathan could hear a deep gruff voice say from above him.

He looked up tired and realised he was sleeping on top of Eddie Munson himself.

"What.. what the fuck?.." Jonathan stammered out, his eyes widening.

His head hurt, it felt like someone grabbed a sledgehammer and banged it onto the back of his brain.

The events of the night before flashed in his mind as he recalled it.

FLASHBACK (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

The party was loud, Steve was currently trying to redeem himself, trying to be a better person than he was years ago.

"Man this place is loud" Eddie muttered as he walked around, to every person he passed by they stared.

He was trying, emphasis on the trying, to look for Dustin since this party sucked. The lights were too bright and it made his head hurt.

He ran into Steve who was apparently already very intoxicated, insisted he had a couple drinks.

"No thanks dude" Eddie responded, scratching the back of his neck.

"Mmhg- Come on Eds, have atleast oneeee" steve slurred out, shoving the red party cup full of booze to Eddie.

".. One won't hurt would it?"

One led to 4 more shots and then 5 mire shots, and now he was tipsy, he held a vodka bottle as he stumbled through the halls.

He walked into walls and could barely find a room to attempt to rest in without some popular girl and jock making out inside.

He found a quiet room at the end of the hall, inside was Jonathan, he didn't know the kid that much, all he knew was that he was the kid whose brother went missing.

"Yo, could i crash in here??" Eddie asked, stumbling in.

Jonathan just nodded, he was toying with his camera, clicking and playing with it, a beer bottle right next to him.

It was like that for awhile, just them sitting in silence, the loud noise of the party coming from outside.

Eddie sat cross-legged on the bed, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hands. His hair is messy, and his Hellfire Club jacket is hanging loosely over his shoulders.

Jonathan leans against the wall, holding a bottle of beer he barely touches, watching Eddie with a mix of curiosity and caution.

It was silent, until Eddie broke the silence.

“You ever feel like… everyone thinks they know you, but nobody actually does?” Eddie Slurred out.

"Yeah… all the time.” Jonathan replied, quietly nodding. Eddie laughs, a little bitter, and takes a long swig.

“I mean… my mom? My stepdad? They… they just see the “punk kid” who smokes too much and plays too many guitar solos. They don’t see the… stuff I can’t… I can’t fix.”

Jonathan shifts uncomfortably, looking down at his hands.

“I get that. My dad… he’s… gone. Sort of. And my mom’s… she’s drowning in her own stuff. And Nancy… she’s amazing, but sometimes I just… I just feel like I’m invisible. Or like nothing I do really matters.”

Eddie’s eyes soften, and he nudges Jonathan lightly with his elbow.

“Damn, man… I thought I had it bad. But yeah… I get it. Feeling invisible… feeling like all your choices are mistakes no one even notices.”

Jonathan laughs softly, a humorless sound, and shakes his head.

“At least you have your gang. You’ve got people who… get it. I mostly have Nancy, and sometimes even she’s… wrapped up in her own life.”

Eddie leans back on the bed, letting the bottle dangle lazily from his fingers.

“I’ve done some stupid stuff, Jonathan. Stuff I… I wish I could take back. But hell, maybe that’s life. Maybe it’s all just… scars and messed-up memories we carry around until they don’t hurt so much.” Eddie murmured,

Jonathan’s eyes meet Eddie’s, and for a moment, the noise from the party disappears.

“Yeah… scars. That’s exactly it. I carry them too. And sometimes it feels… too heavy to even breathe.”

Eddie smirks faintly, raising his bottle like a toast.

“To scars, man. To being messed-up, and still… somehow… surviving.”

Jonathan chuckles, lifting his half-empty beer reluctantly.

“To surviving… I guess.”

They clink bottles lightly. Eddie leans back, closing his eyes, and Jonathan just sits there, quietly letting the moment settle between them.

Outside the door, the muffled sound of laughter and music reminds them that the world keeps spinning… but for now, they have this little bubble of honesty, far from the chaos.

- (⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠) -

Jonathan groans, sitting up slowly.

His head throbs like a drumline.

Every pulse in his skull makes him wince. He blinks down at the body beneath him, messy hair sticking up in every direction, cheeks still flushed from last night.

“Oh…” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

Eddie’s eyes flutter open. He blinks, squinting as the sunlight hits him, and his first words are a confused blur.

“Huh??” His gaze lands on Jonathan, still slouched above him, and his face twists between recognition and mild horror.

“Byers?”

Jonathan freezes, realizing just how close they are, how inappropriately close.

His hangover doesn’t help his brain process anything rational.

“Uh… yeah. You—uh, you’re here. I mean… we…” Jonathan muttered out.

Eddie sits up slowly, scratching the back of his neck, suddenly very aware of the space between them.

The bed is small, the room warm, and for some reason the hangover makes every inch of him painfully aware of Jonathan’s proximity.

"We… we’re… close. That’s… I mean, obviously. But… wow." Eddie stuttered out, half-laughing and panicking on the inside.

Jonathan groans again, leaning back against the headboard and pressing a hand to his forehead.

“We… shared too much last night. Way too much. I… we…”

Eddie sits up fully now, squinting, rubbing his eyes, and mutters:

“Yeah. Secrets. Trauma. Bad life stuff. Way too much. But… somehow… I feel… lighter?”

Jonathan freezes, realizing he totally gets what Eddie means.

Their shared panic, their lowkey connection over messed-up families, past mistakes, and the pressure of surviving Hawkins… it’s like they’ve stumbled into a weird, comforting honesty that hits harder in the morning.

“Yeah… me too. I… didn’t expect… this.” Jonathan muttered softly, almost embarrassed.

There’s a beat.

They look at each other.

The sunlight hits Eddie’s face, warming the pale skin and making his eyes glow just slightly. Jonathan feels… magnetic pull, like being caught in Eddie’s orbit.

“You gonna tell me we shouldn’t be… like… this close? Because my brain is a mess, and so is my head, and honestly… maybe this helps.” Eddie replied, Teasing but Vulnerable.

Jonathan swallows, his hand unconsciously moving a fraction closer to Eddie’s, both of them hyper-aware of the other’s warmth.

“Maybe… it does.” Jonathan whispered.

They lean in without thinking, the hangover, the shared secrets, and the quiet relief of not being alone anymore making them collapse into a soft, messy kiss.

It’s awkward, warm, and perfect in its imperfection.

Eddie hums into it, laughter and groaning mixing, and Jonathan’s headache almost melts away in the ridiculous intimacy of the moment.

After a beat, they pull back, foreheads resting together, breathing uneven. Panic, embarrassment, and something softer, comfort swirl in the sunlight around them.

“Okay… maybe we talk less next time about… literally everything?” Eddie Chuckled, grinning sheepishly.

“Yeah… maybe. But… not too much less.”Jonathan laughs, groaning as he presses a hand to his throbbing temple

They slump back against the bed, tangled together, letting the morning hangover, panic, and vulnerability settle around them… and secretly, they both like it way more than they probably should.

A/n: Can you tell when I reached a flow state (⁠*⁠_⁠*⁠)