Radios had become a big part of her life since everything had happened. She didn't like the silence, especially when she shut her eyes and it was accompanied by the dark and what always lurked there. She had music playing whenever she could, something bright and upbeat usually. Sometimes she'd listen to Johnathan's mix. A couple of weeks after Christmas he'd turned up at her door with a cassette tape and a sheepish smile, he had to give her something in return, even if this was all he could manage.
When she listened to it she thought about him, it was like a peek inside his head, his world.

Nancy sought him out when she needed to talk about it, which she often did. Usually at night, mostly after nightmares. She'd called him up just past midnight, and gotten Joyce arriving home from work. She sounded surprised to hear Nancy's voice, but not upset at the late hour of her call. She assured her that Johnathon was likely to still be awake, he usually was these days, and went to check. After a few minutes she heard him pick up the phone,
"Nancy? Are you okay?"

"Hey. Sorry, I just... couldn't sleep." She was suddenly self conscious, feeling foolish for calling.

"Nightmares?" He knew how hard sleeping was since the things they'd seen, he'd spent his fair share of nights tossing and turning.

"Always."

"It's not coming back, you know. It's been months. We're going to be okay."

"I know, it's not that."

"Oh." She didn't need to say it, he understood. When Will disappeared he blamed himself, and when he thought he'd lost him completely the guilt seemed to consume him. Nancy didn't talk about Barb much, but Johnathan knew how much she was hurting.

Before he could comfort her she spoke again,
"I'm sorry I called so late. This was stupid. I'm sorry."

"No, Nancy, it's okay, I'm glad you called me."

"I could've woken Will or something, and you should go to sleep."

"Well, yeah, but so should you. Look, don't worry about this, you can call me any time. I'm dropping Will off at yours after school tomorrow, let's talk then?"

"Yeah, okay."

"I don't want you to regret calling me. I wouldn't mind if you had woken me up."

She sighs to herself, because he's decent, because he always has to make sure she's alright. "Goodnight, Johnathan."

"Goodnight, Nancy."

The next day she tells Steve not to come over, that she has to study. Things are still strange between him and Johnathan, especially considering that the rumours of her promiscuity hadn't ceased. They were tapering off, gradually, but there were still whispers every time she spoke to Johnathan at school. Nicole, Tommy, and Carol had made sure to do their best in telling everyone in town that Nancy Wheeler had let Johnathan Byers between her oh so virtuous thighs. Steve refused to speak to them, and made it clear that he knew the rumours were bunk, but she knew it bothered him to have people think he'd been fooled.

Johnathan had experienced people he'd never noticed (let alone spoken to) stop him to congratulate him on his good fortune or chastise him for "stealing" from Steve. He always set them straight, insisting that Nancy was a friend, but they didn't believe even him. He spent an evening in detention when one of Tommy's friends asked him if Nancy was tight for a whore, having knocked the kid unconscious when his head hit the pavement outside of school. He didn't tell Nancy about any of it.

That day she found herself double checking her hair in the mirror, smoothing down her skirt and replying a soft pink balm to her lips. She didn't let herself question why she cared what she looked like, it was only Johnathan after all. She left her bedroom and ran into him coming up the stairs, letting out a yelp of surprise when they almost collided. He blinked up at her for a moment, surprise and the sight of her having momentarily stolen his voice, before he managed a smile.

"Hey, Mike said you were up here."

"Yeah, yeah. We can talk in my room." She felt strange as she lead him into her bedroom, shutting the door behind them as he sat on her bed. "What have you got?" Nancy gestured at his full hands.

"Radios! The boys had an extra set. Apparently they lost a couple last year and had already convinced your mom to buy some new ones by the time they'd found them. We're allowed to borrow them as long as we stay off channel 2. Oh, and if we break them we have to do two of their homework assignments each, but I'll take care of that if it happens." He sounded excited, pleased with himself.

"What for?" She was still confused as she sat on the bed beside him.

"Well, so we can talk. You know, when you can't sleep. This way you won't have to worry about waking anyone up. We can use channel 3." He tunes each device, then hands her one, watching her face and wondering if he was being stupid.

"Nancy Wheeler, come in Nancy Wheeler, over."

His voice crackled out of her radio, and she finally smiled back at him, taking his hand and squeezing it gratefully.

"We don't have to say 'over' every time, do we?"

"No, definitely not."

Johnathon had showered much earlier than usual, he was in bed by 10, the radio on his bedside table. He tried reading their assigned novel for literature, but it couldn't hold his interest. He was waiting for the buzz of the static, the sound of her voice. A mile or so away she's laying on her back, staring at her ceiling, her radio beside her on the mattress, wondering what time is too soon.

It's not until 11:45PM that she finally calls his name, quietly, through the speaker. He responds almost immediately, his voice is gruff when he lowers it so his little brother won't hear them through the bedroom wall.
"Hey, Nancy, you okay?"

"I'm alright. Can't fall asleep."

"Have you tried counting sheep?"

"Has that ever worked? For anyone? Anyway. Every time I tried to imagine a sheep it would probably turn into one of those things."

"You still see it all the time too, huh?"

"Almost every night."

They're both quiet for a moment, thinking about the monster that continues to stalk through the shadows along the edge of their vision.

"How do you think it got here? I mean, what do you think opened the gates?"

"I don't know. But I tried talking about it with my mom, and she wouldn't. I think she knows more than we do."

"Does she seem worried? I mean, if it opened once, maybe it could open again?"

"No, well, she's been more jumpy and protective of Will than normal, but that's to be expected." His eyes flicked over to the dresser, where his new camera sat. It was nicer than his old one. He thought about Nancy insisting that Steve had only been protecting her. Jonathan's face flushed in the dark, remembering how he'd felt stealing those pictures. His skin had buzzed, his vision had blurred, but the thrill of seeing her so open and vulnerable had been overshadowed by the knowledge that he was crossing every line. He wondered how she'd ever forgiven him, vowed to himself he wouldn't betray her again.

"How is Will?" Nancy asked, snapping him out of it.

"Good, I think. Different though, quieter."

"I think we're all different." She knew she'd changed, how she saw the world. As she lay there she tried to picture him on the other end of the connection. If she shut her eyes she could see his messy room as if she were standing in it, dark clothes strewn across the floor. He'd be lying on his back, the radio on the pillow beside him. She wondered how he slept, he didn't seem like the type to own pyjamas, in one of his many black t-shirts maybe. When they'd shared her bed he'd produced so much heat as he slept that'd she'd kicked the covers off herself. Shirtless, maybe. She'd definitely changed, she certainly wouldn't have found herself blushing at the thought of Jonathan Byer's bare shoulders before everything.

"Do you want me to sing something? Help you doze off?" He's smirking, turning his head to the radio as if she's really lying beside him.

"I don't think anything by the Ramones constitutes a lullaby."

"Okay, what about the Sex Pistols?"

They both laugh, and hers turns into a yawn that she stifles, not wanting to say goodnight just yet.

"What do you do, when you can't fall asleep?" Nancy asks him, twirling a lock of hair around her fingers. He doesn't answer her for a moment, he's biting his lip on his end, wondering where the line was this time.

"What?" She says, curiously.

"I don't want to lie, but I also don't want to tell you."

"What?" She's insistent now, and he groans in embarrassment rather than replying, which is all the answer she needs.

"Ohhh" she breathes, "that."

"Sorry. I didn't want to tell you."

"You didn't! And anyway, I asked." She wasn't totally naïve, she knew it was something guys got up to pretty often, Steve made his fair share of jokes. "Does it really help you sleep?"

"I, uh-"

"I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me."

"No, no." On his end Johnathan breathed a sigh of relief, having her decide where the lines were was a much less stressful way of talking to her. "It helps. Sometimes more than others. It can make it worse, though, if I can't think of anything that, uh, you know, gets me there. Then I just end up frustrated." He's not sure how he's managing to force the words out, his voice breaks a little, it wasn't a topic of conversation he'd been prepared for.

"You mean sometimes you don't- uh...?"

"Not always. If I'm in a bad mood I get too distracted."

This was interesting, she'd been under the impression it was always easy for them. Suddenly the Johnathan in her imagination is in the forefront of her mind, the moonlight filtering in his window and making his skin glow. She sees his hands, one gripping a fistful of his sheets, the other dipping beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. His chest rises and falls in the dark, and her breathing gets a little heavier.

"Do you think it would help me? Sleep, I mean."

"Well, I don't know. How do you normally feel, uh, after?"

"I don't know."

Nancy's bold questioning has him feeling a little braver.

"You don't know?"

"Well, I mean, I've never- I don't think I've ever... you know."

"Never?" He sounds surprised, and she's suddenly feeling a little defensive.

"Well how would I know? It's not like you guys."

"I'm pretty sure you'd still know. I thought you and Steve had-"

"We have!" She cuts him off "it's nice, it is, I just haven't gotten there yet."

"Well have you ever tried getting there yourself?"

"Johnathan!" She's reproachful, but mostly blushing.

"You asked me first!" He replies, and she rolls her eyes and suppresses a grin.

"Okay, you're right, I did." She squeezes her eyes shut, as if he's there looking at her, watching her answer. "I've tried, I think. I just tend to stop before anything big happens."

His heart is hammering behind his ribs, and he's trying hard not to let his quickened breath become obvious. This certainly wasn't the direction he had expected this conversation to go in.

"Why do you stop?"

"I don't know! It feels... strange. And I don't want all those idiots in the 'Nancy is a slut' brigade to be right."

He snorts with laughter and something like exasperation, he's had more than enough of those morons.

"I'm fairly certain it doesn't count as something that qualifies someone for that title."

"Maybe you're right, but anyway, I wouldn't know how."

"I think it's something you just sort of... feel out." She groans, and he laughs, "sorry."

Shyness aside she's invested now. They've already stepped way beyond the usual boundaries of their conversations, and she trusts him, she's trusted him since it seemed foolish to. Almost unconsciously her hand has snaked down to rest between her thighs, caressing the skin at the hem of her nightdress.

"How do you get there? Without stopping, I mean." Nancy tries to keep her voice even, but she can see his jaw clench in her mind, the way he's slipped his pants below his hips.

"Well, when it's feels like it's going to happen I don't want to stop."

"Do you think about anything while you do?"

This is dangerous territory. There's some confessions he's not sure she's ready to hear. Often, in his imagination and his dreams, that night she called him into her bed ends very differently. After tonight he's sure he'll have a new harem of fantasies to feel ashamed about when he looks at her. Even now he can see her with her back arched, cheeks flushed, her hand between her thighs.

"Yes, haven't you, when you've tried?"

"No, maybe that's my problem." She bites back a gasp as she brushes her fingertips over the cotton of her underwear, nerve endings burning under her wary ministrations.

"It couldn't hurt to try."

"Quite the opposite." She mused, and he smiled. In her head she's crawling into bed beside him, watching the muscles in his forearm, illuminated by the moonlight, ripple as his hand moves in the darkness. Nancy wonders if it's her he thinks about, sometimes at least. Her fingertips find the spot that makes her jump, that sends a wave of heat through her body, and she spreads her thighs a little. "You didn't tell me what you think about."

"No, I didn't."

"Is it a secret?"

Jonathan hesitates, because he's not sure it is. Everyone seems to know how he feels about Nancy, even Will asked him if he thought she was pretty, in a way that made it clear that he knew he did. When she called the other night his mother had raised an eyebrow at him as she handed him the phone, a mix of slight disapproval and amusement. Steve certainly knew, though his confidence in his relationship and guilt in how he'd treated both Johnathan and Nancy meant that he was civil, even nice towards him now. If everyone else knew, she had to as well. All the same, he'd rather play it safe than lay it out in front of her.

"No, I can tell you what, but I won't tell you who."

"You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to."

"I know. I think about things I've not done."

"You've never," she's amazed she can have this conversation, yet be unable to say it plainly, "done it? Gone all the way, I mean?"

"No, not yet. Not that I couldn't have, I guess, I just haven't really been with anyone I wanted to do it with."

"What have you done?"

"You know, normal stuff."

"Are we talking second or first base?"

"Third."

"Oo, with someone at school?"

"No, no. She lives in the city."

He doesn't want to tell her the girls name because he doesn't remember it and that makes him feel a little sick, too much like his father. For his sixteenth birthday he'd been allowed to take the car to the city and go to a gig. He'd met a girl there, older than him, and let himself be well and truly seduced. She looked moody and mysterious, dancing like she didn't really want to be there. Her dark eyes were heavy with kohl, and her low cut shirt boasted her impressive bosom to the world. They hadn't spoken much, after dancing a bit she'd simply taken his hand and pulled him into the largest cubical in the women's bathroom. She'd kissed him feverishly, but her sloppy tongue tasted like beer and cigarettes and he was glad when she broke contact. He buried his face in her neck instead, which thankfully only tasted like salt and perfume, and hoped it seemed like he knew what he was doing as he slid his hand under her skirt. He'd fumbled around the best he could, trying to gage by reaction what was most appreciated, but she seemed to be overreacting to most things he attempted. Eventually she dropped to her knees in front of him and made him see stars. He relays the story to Nancy, skimming over the apprehension and strangely empty feeling that had come over him as he drove home.

"Do you think about her?"

"No, never."

Nancy's hand had crept under the elastic of her panties, she was wet already, whether it's her own doing or their conversation she can't be sure.

"Do you ever think about me?" She can't believe she's asked, and the resulting silence makes her think she's pushed too far. But sure enough his voice finally mutters,

"Sometimes... is that okay?"

If they could see one another they'd be laughing at how red their faces had gotten.

"Yes, I mean, of course." She's breathless and he hears it, her hand had quickened its soft stroking of her sex, the Johnathan in her head is throwing his head back against his pillow, groaning her name.

"Would you like to know what I imagine about you?" It's a power rush, a heady cocktail of hormones and emotion as he considers what he thinks might be happening on her end of the line.

She manages a faint "mhmm", her lips are pressed together, desperate not to let him hear her moan.

"I think about kissing you, about pulling your clothes off slowly and sliding my hands over your body. I want to run my tongue over your breasts, up your thighs, tease your skin with my teeth. I imagine pinning you to my bed and pushing inside you, making you moan, making you say my name." His voice is husky, interrupted by heavy breaths. There's pressure building somewhere inside her, glorious and divine heat rushing to meet her fingers. She can see what he does, pictures wrapping her legs around his waist, begging him to pick up the pace. Nancy lifts her hips to meet her hand, bites into her lip as he continues, "I imagine you with your head tilted back, pressing my mouth to your neck as you get closer to-"

He's interrupted, a whimper gets caught in her throat and becomes a gasp, her hand is clenched tight around the radio and he hears her. It was an unmistakable sound, ecstasy distilled into a single breath.

It's ridiculous how good it is, more so considering she's never done it before, she can't believe she's denied herself this for far too long. A blissful smile spreads across her face and for a moment she forgets the impropriety of what she's done. Then his voice buzzes through the speaker grill and brings her back to earth,

"Nancy?"

"Um, yes?" She squeaks, mortification and shame made her want to throw the radio out the window.

"Do you think it'll be easier for you to get to sleep now?"

Her face is crimson and hot, no pretending it hadn't happened, he knows. There's no threat of his telling anyone, her shame is rooted in guilt not fear. All the same, her eyelids were feeling heavy, she even clicked off one of the lamps beside her bed, it's the darkest her room has been for months. Perhaps she could save guilt for the morning, and revel in how soft and warm her bed suddenly seemed.

"Yes," she finally replies, "yes I think it will."

"Good, I-uh- sweet dreams."

"Sweet dreams, Johnathan."

They're both quiet for a minute or two and he wonders if she's asleep already, but then she speaks one last time before drifting off, radio on the bed beside her,

"And Johnathan?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Nancy won't dream at all that night, for the first time in a long time her sleep will be deep, dark, and rejuvenating. Johnathan, on the other hand, will dream of big blue eyes and skin paler than her bed sheets. He'll dream of tangled limbs and that sweet sound she'd made, dark hair and her soft, pink mouth against his.