sing you songs full of sad things

good old fashioned lover boy

Steve was weak. He knew that. Everyone knew that.

Steve learned to expect criticism in response to everything he did, growing up. His father had prepared him for the real world, reminding him of his flaws at any given moment.

It didn't bother him. Not at all. And even if it did, which it didn't, it's not like he didn't deserve it. His father wouldn't say those things if he didn't. His mother wouldn't sigh and agree. His friend wouldn't tease him.

Which is why, when Steve was nine years old, he was shocked to meet the first person to say something meaningful to him. A little boy who had moved to Hawkins recently.

Steve hadn't planned on talking to him. Why should he? He already had a friend. It wasn't until the boy had complimented his doodles in class one day that Steve had even learned his name: Jack.

They never became that close. Never hung out outside of school. Steve never even planned on telling his parents about Jack. But they sat in the field every day at recess. Jack wasn't a talker. He liked running his hands in the grass and making funny noises. That was okay. Sometimes Steve just talked about his day or his favorite movies. Sometimes they sat in companionable silence.

Steve liked Jack. His only other friend was Tommy, and Tommy never let Steve talk about day or his favorite movies. Tommy liked to push down girls in the lunchroom and say words that earned him a scolding by the teacher.

Tommy didn't like Jack.

Sometimes, Steve didn't like Tommy.

He especially didn't like Tommy when he found him laughing at a crying Jack. He was holding Jack's hand to the hot metal of the monkey bars. Jack always got upset when he touched the metal of the playscape. That's why they sat in the grass every day.

"Tommy, what are you doing?" Steve asked, running out to them. Jack had tears running down his face and was making those funny noises he always made.

"Trying to get this sissy to answer my question!" Tommy laughed, kicked hard at Jack's knee. The pinned hand kept him upright, but Jack still stumbled and sobbed.

"You're hurting him!" Steve cried, looking around for the teacher. He wasn't supposed to get in Tommy's way, but he couldn't let him keep hurting Jack.

"Answer me! Why do you act like that if you aren't a queer?!" Tommy asked, ignoring Steve.

Steve knew he wasn't supposed to get into fights at school. His father told him it was a sign of a real man, but his teacher always said that violence wasn't the answer. Steve didn't like it, anyways.

But, as he walked home with a note in his hand and a black eye, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe his father would be proud. He'd defended his friend. He hit someone. He was a man.

"What's this?" his father asked as Steve strutted up to him in the kitchen, head held high. He tore the note from his grasp, eyes narrowed as he read it. "You hit Tommy? What in the hell did you do that for?"

"He was making fun of my friend," Steve answered, smiling politely. He couldn't wait for his father to tell him how proud he was, standing up for someone like that.

"What friend? You don't have other friends."

"My friend Jack. He acts a little funny and Tommy called him queer." Steve had heard that word from his father before. He knew it wasn't good from the way he had spat it out like Steve wanted to spit out the salmon his mother sometimes made him eat.