[ The small breath of laughter that Jonathan hears from Nancy brings a levity to the room that Jonathan desperately needs, and he's quick to latch onto it, taking the opening that Nancy has offered. ] I do have a lot of children, but I'll see what I can do. [ It's said matter-of-factly, Jonathan's contribution to taking a step away from their tangle of emotions. A small, bitter smile lingers on his face.
There's minimal rummaging as Jonathan pulls out a drawer and locates the box of photographs. It's tucked safely away beside his neatly-folded tees - a plain, black, re-purposed shoebox. He's gentle as he takes the box out, as if the contents of it are fragile despite ultimately being slips of chemically sensitized paper. In a way, though, they kind of are fragile. The photos are mostly recent candid moments of the Byers family - happy moments, sad moments - made delicate in nature thanks to the run-in they've had with the Upside Down. They're precious to Jonathan, because it's so easy to imagine an alternate universe in which Will is lost to them forever - a universe where Jonathan doesn't get to take photos of Will, concentrating on getting a new high-score on an Atari game, or Will, getting scolded by their mom in the kitchen, the two of them unaware of Jonathan snapping a photograph until after the fact.
The knowledge of the contents of the box help to soften the hard edges of frustration that Jonathan feels - they help him find his bearings again (which he always seems to lose around Nancy), help him reorient himself. He hates that there's this canyon between him and Nancy, but it could always be worst, couldn't it? At least like this they have a chance at something, whatever that may be. Calling out Nancy again would only make things worse, and this time there's no pressing situation forcing them back together. It would be foolish; worse than incidental-seeming missed connections at school, Jonathan thinks.
He finally turns to head over to Nancy, box in hand, but he's stopped in his tracks rather suddenly, stunned when he sees Nancy in his sweater.
Oh.
Feelings are complicated, and Jonathan finds himself wishing he hadn't offered the garment to her earlier, because the sight of Nancy in his clothes just serves to convolute everything again. Jonathan likes the way Nancy looks in his sweater. It looks right. ]
It - kind of suits you.
[ He can't help the comment as he comes to sit down beside her, almost over-careful that they don't rub shoulders or otherwise touch as he settles in on the bed. Jonathan holds the box in his lap for a few seconds before offering it out to Nancy, very deliberate in not lingering on the pseudo-compliment he's given, his eyes trained on the box rather than Nancy.
Amongst the numerous photos of Will, there are photos of Joyce, bags under her eyes but happy - truly, genuinely happy - in the box. There are also photos of the wilderness outside their home, of the change in seasons and the animals out and about; photos of the kids, messing about and working on their science fair project. There are, notably, no photos of Jonathan. ]
no subject
There's minimal rummaging as Jonathan pulls out a drawer and locates the box of photographs. It's tucked safely away beside his neatly-folded tees - a plain, black, re-purposed shoebox. He's gentle as he takes the box out, as if the contents of it are fragile despite ultimately being slips of chemically sensitized paper. In a way, though, they kind of are fragile. The photos are mostly recent candid moments of the Byers family - happy moments, sad moments - made delicate in nature thanks to the run-in they've had with the Upside Down. They're precious to Jonathan, because it's so easy to imagine an alternate universe in which Will is lost to them forever - a universe where Jonathan doesn't get to take photos of Will, concentrating on getting a new high-score on an Atari game, or Will, getting scolded by their mom in the kitchen, the two of them unaware of Jonathan snapping a photograph until after the fact.
The knowledge of the contents of the box help to soften the hard edges of frustration that Jonathan feels - they help him find his bearings again (which he always seems to lose around Nancy), help him reorient himself. He hates that there's this canyon between him and Nancy, but it could always be worst, couldn't it? At least like this they have a chance at something, whatever that may be. Calling out Nancy again would only make things worse, and this time there's no pressing situation forcing them back together. It would be foolish; worse than incidental-seeming missed connections at school, Jonathan thinks.
He finally turns to head over to Nancy, box in hand, but he's stopped in his tracks rather suddenly, stunned when he sees Nancy in his sweater.
Oh.
Feelings are complicated, and Jonathan finds himself wishing he hadn't offered the garment to her earlier, because the sight of Nancy in his clothes just serves to convolute everything again. Jonathan likes the way Nancy looks in his sweater. It looks right. ]
It - kind of suits you.
[ He can't help the comment as he comes to sit down beside her, almost over-careful that they don't rub shoulders or otherwise touch as he settles in on the bed. Jonathan holds the box in his lap for a few seconds before offering it out to Nancy, very deliberate in not lingering on the pseudo-compliment he's given, his eyes trained on the box rather than Nancy.
Amongst the numerous photos of Will, there are photos of Joyce, bags under her eyes but happy - truly, genuinely happy - in the box. There are also photos of the wilderness outside their home, of the change in seasons and the animals out and about; photos of the kids, messing about and working on their science fair project. There are, notably, no photos of Jonathan. ]