Stonathan ❤️

125

NOT MINE!!

In those last precious weeks of September, Steve admits defeat.

Robin accompanies him to the optometrist and does a valiant job of pretending the big, wire frames he settles for―because it's either that or plastic, which make him look even more like someone's grandfather―don't do him a terrible disservice; when they're delivered a week later, Jonathan insists on taking his picture; Will and Dustin tell him that he looks like John Denver.

Steve is (very generously, he thinks) driving them to the thrift store, so that they don't have to haul Will's latest load of donations into town on their bikes. Resisting the urge to slam on the brakes, he settles for shooting them a glare in the rearview mirror. "John Denver? Like, 'Take Me Home, Country Roads?' Screw you guys."

"He's not bad-looking!" Will protests.

It would be more convincing if Dustin wasn't red-faced and snickering behind his hands.

"Well, it's not exactly what I'm going for," Steve says, deadpan.

For emphasis, he pushes the offending glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Even if they didn't make him look like John Denver, they're driving him fucking crazy, inching down all day and constantly needing to be swiped clean on his shirt. He doesn't even know what they're coming into contact with for them to be so damn filthy all the time―he's careful not to touch the lenses, and he's been militaristic about taking them off before kissing Jonathan since the first time he tried, when all they did was get in the way and eventually fall off to smack Jonathan in the forehead. He can see up close just fine, anyways; he needs them to keep from running stop signs, not for making out.

Naturally, Dustin chooses this moment to pipe up: "Does Jonathan like them?"

He even waggles his eyebrows.

"He put that picture on his-" Will starts.

Steve cuts him off. "Why don't we stop talking for a while? Check out those trees." He gestures vaguely out the window, towards the roadside trees rushing past in rapid succession. "Will, you know they don't have seasons in California? This might be the last time you see leaves-"

"There's still seasons, Steve," Dustin interjects. "It just doesn't snow."

Steve aims another dirty look at him in the rearview mirror.

" Snow is part of the seasons, Henderson. It isn't winter if it doesn't snow. So they don't have all the seasons."

He doesn't mean to start bickering with Dustin in earnest; but before he knows it, he's getting a lecture about the chlorophyll content of leaves in the fall and how it's the shorter days, not the temperature, that makes them change.

By the time they reach the thrift store, Steve has been reduced to, "Well they won't be Hawkins leaves."

" Leaves are leaves ," Dustin sputters. Turning to Will, he adds, "Mail me a leaf when you get there. We'll see if Indiana's premiere leaf expert here can tell which is which."

Will grins and nods in wordless, traitorous agreement; at least it stops them from talking about Steve's John Denver glasses.

―

That night, all Jonathan can do is echo Will, saying that John Denver is handsome in his own way.

They're sitting on the floor of Jonathan's bedroom, sorting photos into piles. Not that Jonathan will part with any; but he's so far ahead of everyone else on packing that he can afford to screw around, sorting his cassettes by genre and neatly packaging his pictures into manila envelopes labeled by year.