heaven-sent | b.h.

03.

The cul-de-sacs are bustling with groups of trick-or-treaters as Jonathan parks outside the house. Frances sits beside him, touching up her makeup simply to busy her hands so that she wouldn't have to acknowledge the awkwardness between the two of them. Her father had decided to lift her grounding on account of it being Halloween, though he thought that she and Jonathan were taking Will trick or treating, not rocking up at a house party full of drunken teens.

Even from the car she can see the party already in full swing, with familiar faces loitering in the front yard, drinking from kegs upside down and vomiting in the bushes. Reluctantly, she pulls her camera from her neck, knowing it would only get damaged otherwise. "You mind if I leave this in here?"

"No, of course not," Jonathan says, hands still gripping the steering wheel despite the fact they were no longer moving.

"You sure you don't wanna stay with Will?" she asks, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. "I don't mind, honestly. I know this stuff isn't usually your thing."

"Didn't used to be yours, either." There is no venom in his voice, though he says it under his breath as though it's something he's trying to suppress.

Frances takes a deep breath, focusing her attention on the waning moon above them. Despite the laughter and music outside, the car felt too quiet. "If you have something to say, Jonathan, you should say it."

"You don't think things have been weird between us lately?" he says, finally loosening his grip from the steering wheel and turning in his seat to face her. "You seem distant. We barely talk. I don't even know if we're ..."

"If we're what?" She blinks, though she knows what he wants to say. Together.

"I don't know, Frannie," he sighs, pressing his back to the seat and looking up as though maybe God could help him spit it out. "Are we okay?"

She pauses, knowing that if she says yes it would be a lie. "Look, it's no secret that things have changed between us. I just have stuff going on, okay?"

"Like what?"

"Just stuff. Nothing you need to worry about."

"You used to tell me everything," he mumbled. It's true and Frances knows it: Eleven hiding out in her father's cabin is the first secret she's ever kept from him in their ten years of friendship and two years of romance.

Something else catches his eye, drawing his attention away from the car and what's happening inside of it. That Something is Nancy Wheeler, walking hand in hand with Steve Harrington across the lawn. They stop to greet a few of their friends before disappearing into the orange glow of the hallway. Only when they're out of sight does Jonathan focus on Frances again.

"If you want an out, take it," Frances says passive-aggressively, placing her hand on the door so that she can make a quick escape if necessary. "If you don't want this anymore—"

He frowns. "Who said I didn't want this?"

"Do you?"

"Do you? You're the one pulling away from me."

Frances scoffs. "Don't put this all on me, Jonathan. You just spent a solid minute watching Nancy walk into a house while I was sitting right next to you."

You see his muscles twitch with tension and he straightens up. "We're gonna do this again?"

"No," she rolls her eyes, opening the door, "we're not."

Without another word, she steps out, slamming the car door behind her. Jonathan is motioning to her in frustration, but she ignores him, marching into the party and getting pulled into a current of bodies. The bitter stench of beer lingers on sweaty clothes as she pushes through them, waving at a few people who are sober enough to recognise her.