Stonathan ❤️

37

NOT MINE!!

all credits go to Whookami on ao3

"You... you can't tie a tie?"

"What? No. I-I can tie a tie."

Steve's brows shoot up to his hairline, the disbelief practically radiating off of him. "You actually can't tie a tie. Holy shit, Byers. You can't tie a tie."

"Honestly, how many times can you say 'tie a tie' in a single conversation?"

"Well, with how long it's taking you to do so, I can probably fit in another hundred 'tie a ties'. Maybe more."

Embarrassment simmers low in Jonathan's stomach as he wrenches once more at the stupid strip of fabric that still hangs limply around his neck despite his best efforts. "Shut up." It isn't his fault he can't do this. He'd never been shown how, never had anyone who could teach him. His mom had done her best at raising him, but some things had simply gotten left by the wayside. He'd figured out shaving for himself, and how to balance a cheque book, but ties had never been important enough to put in the effort.

"Didn't you, like, hafta wear one for your job that summer. Y'know, that summer." The emphasis Steve adds is ridiculously unnecessary. There's only one summer they talk about like that, only one that stands out against the endless lazy days that marked all the years before Starcourt and The Mind Flayer had happened.

It sours his mood somewhat. "Nancy tied it," he replies in carefully clipped words, focusing once more on the motions of his hands weaving before the mirror. The result is bunchy and uneven, the thin end of the tie hanging far below the thick one. Nancy had made it look easy, her eyes intent as she had folded the tie into a perfect Windsor knot. Of course Nancy Wheeler knows how to tie a man's tie, even when Jonathan doesn't. He doesn't say any of this out loud, though. He doesn't feel much like filling Steve in on any of his bitter inner musings on the matter, knowing it would only distress him. His own mood has been irrepressibly joyful for weeks on end, and Jonathan isn't about to going ruining that for Steve now. Doing his best to block the other man out, he carefully repeats the steps in his head as he tries to perform them.

"No, you go behind there," Steve corrects gently, suddenly right at Jonathan's shoulder. His voice is tight, a slight frown twisting his lips. Jonathan knows him well enough to recognize the remorse in Steve's expression. He knows he's screwed up, but isn't sure how, and definitely isn't sure how to go about setting it right with words alone. Sure, Steve is a smooth talker, a real charmer, but his strength secretly lay in his ability to convey his feelings through thoughtful action.

Strong arms close around Jonathan's shoulders, each hand carefully taking an end of pale blue satin and crossing them over each other. "I can tie a Windsor, half Windsor, double Windsor, four-in-hand, Prince Albert..."

"Those are not all real knots, I'm sure of it."

Jonathan can feel Steve's indulgent grin by his ear, even as his eyes are glued to the skillful movements of Steve's fingers as he pulls and twists the fabric around Jonathan's neck.

"My dad, he, uh, he'd throw parties. I had to attend. Had to look perfect."

He's scowling but can't help himself, effervescent anger welling up as Steve speaks softly. The subject of the elder Harringtons isn't one that gets brought up often, and honestly, Jonathan had thought it well beyond taboo today to mention them. Steve however gives him a shrug, a familiar sense of resignation cloaking his features. "I learned a bunch of knots. Thought, y'know, maybe I'd impress him. He wore a tie every day to work and I just thought..." he shrugs again.

Jonathan sighs.

This isn't how the script is supposed to go. The last thing either of them should be doing is lamenting the failings of the men who gave them life and then precious little else. Jonathan had a towering resentment and a boiling anger he tried to keep locked down inside. Steve had a desperate need for acknowledgement and approval, pushing himself to attain a prize despite how the goal post kept moving further away with every step he took. Their fathers had both let them down, but in doing so had given them that first scant piece of common ground, of understanding each other. He may wish things had been better growing up, but he wouldn't change the way things had worked out for all the world.

Turning effortlessly in Steve's arms, Jonathan smiles serenely and pulls the other man in by his perfectly tied tie, capturing his lips. They move together with a comfortable ease, well practiced, and content to just kiss softly while they have a moment of peace and solitude to share.

As they pull apart Steve reaches over and fixes Jonathan's tie, shimmying the knot up until it sits neatly at his collar, before smoothing his own back down. "There. Perfect, see?" He spins Jonathan around and tucks his chin over the shorter man's shoulder, eyes heavy lidded and dreamy as he gazes at their reflection in the mirror. "You look good enough to marry."

"Good, considering we have a couple dozen guests out there waiting for us."

"Not to mention a shit ton of food!"

"Please tell me you didn't insist on an actual wedding just for the catering."

Steve bats his eyes innocently, turning the charm up to it's highest setting. Jonathan's grown an immunity over the years, answering back with just a hint of a suspicious eyebrow raise.

"I'm not gonna say it's like, a bad thing or anything! I mean, these guys are supposed to be really good. Authentic, home cooked, but fancy, every day sort of food. Can't blame me for wanting to enjoy our wedding dinner, can you?"

"Can and will."

With a gasp Steve staggers back from their entwined image, trembling hand raised over his heart. "I am wounded, Jonathan Byers. Wounded."

"Well, you're about to be wedded, soon to be Mr. Steve Byers."

Standing back up straight, Steve chuckles, hands practically twitching with the desire to clap them together excitedly. They both know that this day is really more for Steve than for him. Steve's the one who wants to stand up in front of all the people he cares about and proudly announce his love for all to hear. He wants the beautiful hall and expensive food and mushy vows, and Jonathan loves him enough to put up with it all. Also, at the end of the day, Steve will be sharing his last name, and that's more than enough reason to give his almost-husband a little leeway.

"So, you'll still marry me despite the fact I can tie a tie so much better than you?"

Stepping up close into the other's space, hands on the broad plane of Steve's chest, Jonathan tilts his face up and presses their lips together. "Yes," he replies, a small smile spreading across his face. "Because I know one thing for certain."

Steve leans down, trying to meet him at the mouth again, but being stymied. His eyes are dark with want, and it gives Jonathan a satisfied thrill to gently push back against the other. "Oh yeah, Byers?" Steve taunts, head tilted just so and hair spilling in perfect waves across his forehead. "What's that?"

In one fluid motion Jonathan pulls his hand away and backs himself toward the door, pale blue trailing behind him, connecting him to Steve by the neck. "I know how to take them off better than you."

Jonathan races out of the room. The ends of the pilfered tie flapping behind him as his (almost) husband gladly gives chase.