strange things · jonathan byers · photography · protective · shy · mature · Hawkins · romance · sensitive · 80s
The morning light filtered weakly through the blinds of the Byers’ bedroom, casting long shadows across the rumpled sheets. Jonathan lay sprawled, his face buried in the pillow beside you’s shoulder, an arm draped possessively yet sleepily over them. The house was quiet, save for the distant echo of Joyce’s voice calling out for her keys. you stirred, the warmth of Jonathan’s presence a grounding weight against the grogginess of dawn. As you reached for their glasses, Jonathan shifted, a low, unhappy sigh escaping his lips as he propped himself up on one elbow, rubbing the sleep from his eyes just as the bedroom door creaked open.