Stonathan ❤️

21

NOT MINE!!

all credits go to orphan_account on  ao3

a/n: I spilled soda on my keyboard 

Jonathan loved the night. He loved the moments before sleep, laid out on his bed, staring out the window, at the ceiling, at the static darkness. He took pleasure in a long shower filled with the skin reddening spray of water followed by the glide of soft cotton against milky skin.

He loves the moments before sleep because they are private because they let him be who he truly is.

For most of his life at night, Jonathan would lean himself against a wall and read. It could be any book, for school, for pleasure, or for simple curiosity. It didn't matter. He would turn all but one light off, bathing himself in a soft golden glow as his fingers reached down to gingerly turn a page. He'd be distracted sometimes, by the mimicry of shadows around him, following his movement. It'd be dim and bad for his eyes, he knows that, but it was so comforting.

On an odd night, he might have his headphones on, a secret mixtape of ambient music surrounding his sleepy soul. All of the lights in his room would be off and he'd angle his head just right to peer out of his bedroom window, the stars a glorious blanket of hopes and memories for him to discover. He could just lie there in the darkness, surrounded by nothing more than his quiet and selective thoughts and memories. Sometimes, it would be a simple colour, and in other times, Jonathan would build himself the world again.

Recently, he found that he treasured the moments where Steve would be on his bed, waiting innocently with a book in his hand. There would be a flicker of wind against his cheek, giving away the entryway of the boy in his bed. Jonathan didn't mind. In fact, he'd crawl into the bed, slow and shy most nights. He'd drape himself timidly onto Steve's front, chin rested on the elder's sternum.

Steve doesn't have to be there, in fact, no one does, but Jonathan found that the moments before sleep became just that much better with the gentle brush of Steve's fingers at his hip or slow carding of fingers through damn blonde hair.

It lets sleep come so much easier.

He used to love the night.

Ever since the disappearance of his younger brother, Jonathan couldn't sleep. It wasn't the growing concern for his brother that kept him up at night. Nor was it the stress that built from witnessing his mother's deteriorating mental and emotional state. Those he could deal with – his moments drifting between the land of the living and the land of the sleep were designed for introspection, for making peace with the woes of living.

Will's disappearance affected Jonathan in an incomprehensible way.

The first time it happened, Steve had snuck through his window with roses and cuddles, curled himself around the trembling and disoriented form of Jonathan to whisper apologies and hopeful nothings. Enclosed in the warmth of his boyfriend and emotionally and mentally strained from the situation with Will, Jonathan slips from the plane of consciousness.

Jonathan awakens in a realm of eternal darkness. As far as the eye can see, there is nothing. Strangely, it feels as if there is a light, for he could star and saw not blanket of black across his own features.

In these dreams, he sees Will. Ghostly pale, blue-lipped, dark veins and arteries marring Will's childish features. He is running from something, stumbling in an uncoordinated but frantic sprint. Jonathan screams his brother's name, complacent hope and frightened guilt building in his chest. Will doesn't hear Jonathan. He keeps glancing back. Jonathan makes a mad dash towards Will, grasping onto the boy's wrist only for it to turn to sand and dust in his hands. All the while, water as abysmal as the as reality around him splashed and rippled.