Chapter Text
It was a rainy afternoon in Massachusetts. The kind of rain that blurred the city into shapeless lights and made everything feel heavier than it should. Work was painfully slow that day, every minute dragging on and leaving Nancy alone with her thoughts longer than she wanted. She wrapped her hands around a cup of coffee, more for the warmth than the taste, and stared out at the city as if it owed her an answer.
When she finally made her way back to her desk, she found the usual stack of papers waiting for her —unfinished articles, notes, reminders she didn’t have the energy to deal with— and then she saw it.
A pink envelope.
For a moment, her heart stumbled in her chest, but then the corner of her mouth lifted despite herself. Of course it was pink. He hated the color. He’d complained about it a thousand times, which was exactly why he used it whenever he wanted to tease her.
Her name was written across it in that familiar messy handwriting —the one that always looked like he had been in a hurry, even when he wasn’t.
She didn’t feel dread anymore. Just a soft, unexpected warmth threading through the heaviness of the day.
It was from Jonathan. And, in spite of everything, she almost laughed.
Dear Nancy,
I know I could’ve given you this back in Philadelphia a few weeks ago, but… well, I didn’t. Anyway, I just got the movie greenlit for an early screening, and it would be really cool if you could see it. I know things are hectic, and it’s okay if you can’t make it. Just give me a call. Love, Jonathan
Her invitation was tucked right behind the letter —a single ticket where she could read, in bold letters, “The Consumer – directed by Jonathan Byers.”
She realized her cheeks hurt from smiling. It was impossible to stop. A warmth spread through her chest, so bright it almost drowned out the gray day outside. She felt proud of him in a way that was almost overwhelming. He was finally doing it. Finally getting to do the things he had always wanted to do.
She took the day off and went to New York.
By the time she reached the theater, almost everyone was already there —familiar faces, voices, laughter buzzing in the air— everyone except Steve and Robin, for some reason she couldn’t quite figure out.
Jonathan was standing across the room, surrounded by people. He was talking animatedly, hands moving, eyes bright, and she couldn’t help thinking about how much he had changed. The quiet boy who used to hide behind a camera was gone; in his place stood someone confident, someone who looked ready to show the world his art.
That was when she noticed the girl beside him.
There was nothing overtly romantic in the way they stood together, nothing that screamed anything more than closeness —but it was close enough to make something twist in her chest. Jealous? No. She couldn’t be jealous. She and Jonathan had broken up years ago, and now they were good friends. That was all.
She wasn’t jealous …Or maybe she was.
Once everyone was seated, and before the movie began, there was a short Q&A with the audience —mostly NYU students and a handful of kids from the university newspaper. That was when she learned just how far things had gone.
His film wasn’t just another student project. It was being talked about as one of the best works to come out of NYU in years, with the potential to get distribution and be shown in theaters across the country.
For a moment, she just sat there, stunned.
Jonathan. Her Jonathan. The boy who used to doubt every frame he shot… and now people were talking about his movie like that.
She felt pride swell in her chest all over again.
The movie was just as good as everyone had said —maybe even better. Halfway through, she realized she couldn’t tell whether she loved it because it was genuinely captivating or simply because Jonathan was the one behind it. Maybe it didn’t matter.
When the credits rolled, the theater erupted into a standing ovation. Chairs scraped. People shouted his name. The room buzzed with excitement, admiration, disbelief.
Nancy stood up with the rest, clapping until her hands stung, her throat tight for reasons that had nothing to do with the film’s ending.
She finally reached him after swimming through that sea of people, and before she could even open her mouth, Jonathan’s face lit up.
Not just a polite smile for a familiar face —no. Something brighter. Softer. Genuine.
“Nancy,” he breathed, like her name had suddenly become the easiest and happiest thing to say.
He didn’t hesitate.
He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, and she met him halfway. The hug wasn’t quick or awkward or careful like she had rehearsed in her mind. It was warm. Solid. The kind of embrace that came from years of knowing each other —from shared nightmares, old jokes, long roads, and the quiet comfort of simply existing side by side.
She sank into it without thinking.
He smelled like coffee and rain and the cheap cologne he always forgot to replace. His hands rested between her shoulder blades for a moment longer than necessary, like he was memorizing the fact that she was really there.
“I’m so glad you came,” he said against her hair, voice low and honest.
She smiled, her cheek pressed against his shoulder.
“Of course I did,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t miss this.”
“Hey, um… why didn’t Robin and Steve come?” she asked, pulling back just enough to look at him.
Jonathan shrugged lightly.
“Ah—well, Steve had a big baseball game today. They’re competing for a spot at the state championship,” he said. “And Robin has midterms this week. She’s basically living at the library.”
He smiled, and there was no bitterness in it —just fondness.
“But it’s all good. We’ll catch up with them later. He paused for a second, then added with a little spark in his eyes,
“If anything, I don’t think Steve would’ve understood it.” she said
That did it.
They both burst into laughter —the real kind, the one that breaks tension instead of creating it. For a moment, it felt easy again, like all the years and distance and complicated emotions had stepped aside and left only them.
“Hey, Jonathan—”
The girl beside him turned at the sound of her voice.
“Oh, hi!” she said, smiling with easy confidence. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Jonathan shook his head quickly.
“No, it’s okay.” Then he looked at Nancy. “This is Veronica. She’s the producer. She basically bullied the university into letting this movie exist.”
Veronica laughed. “Professionally bullied,” she corrected, then offered her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nancy Wheeler,” Nancy replied, shaking it. “Nice to meet you too.”
Veronica glanced at Jonathan again.
“Hey, a bunch of us are going to this bar around the corner later. Very cheap drinks, terrible music, deeply questionable life choices. You should come.”
She said it casually, but then added with a small grin, “Plus, my girlfriend will be there and she wants to congratulate you in person for surviving post-production.”
Nancy caught the detail. Subtle, but clear.
Jonathan hesitated for a moment, then shook his head gently.
“I think I’ll pass tonight,” he said. “Kind of want to keep things quiet.”
Veronica nodded, not offended in the slightest.
“Figured you might,” she said warmly. “Rain check, Byers.”
She gave him a quick, friendly pat on the shoulder —nothing romantic in it at all— and then disappeared back into the crowd, already calling someone’s name. Silence settled briefly between them. Nancy let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Jonathan looked at her, soft-eyed, amused. “She’s great. And always right.”
Nancy smiled. “Yeah. I can tell.”
And somehow, everything between them felt a little lighter.
They waited patiently as Veronica and the rest of the crew slowly filtered out of the theater, the noise fading bit by bit until the lobby felt quieter, softer, almost like the world had shrunk down to just the two of them. Once they were finally alone enough, Jonathan cleared his throat.
“I was thinking… there’s this place I want you to see,” he said.
She raised her eyebrows, pleasantly surprised. “Yeah?”
He nodded, a little sheepish but excited in that quiet Jonathan way. “We could pick up a pizza and something to drink on the way. There’s a pizzeria down the street that serves the best pizza ever. Like—no contest.”
She smiled, not even trying to hide how warm the idea made her feel.
“That would be nice.”
His shoulders relaxed, like he’d been holding his breath without knowing it.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Then it’s a plan.”
They found a secluded spot near Hudson River Park, the kind of hidden corner where the city noise softened and the lights stretched out across the water, breaking into shimmering reflections on the river’s surface. The pizza was just as good as Jonathan had promised —greasy, warm, perfect— and they’d picked up cold cans of soda to go with it. They ate straight from the box, sitting side by side, their knees almost touching, the quiet between them surprisingly comfortable.
She raised her can, eyes glittering with the reflections of the city lights.
“Cheers,” she said softly, “for The Consumer… and for all the future films you’ve got coming.”
They clinked their cans together, the sound small but warm between them.
“I promise I’m not going to shred you to pieces when the Herald makes me write an article about this,” she added with a teasing smile.
Jonathan laughed. “Thanks. That feels… validating?”
She bumped his shoulder lightly. “And you better read it, Byers. I know you used to hate reading my articles.”
He shook his head, amused and a little shy. “I didn’t hate them.”
She looked at him, eyebrow raised.
He sighed. “Okay. I hated how much they made me think.”
That made her laugh —really laugh— and the sound carried out over the water.
They kept looking at each other for a while. It wasn’t tense, not awkward —just two souls that had once been inseparable, who had somehow grown into different versions of themselves. Adulthood had pulled them into separate cities, separate lives… but the love between them lingered like something unfinished, something that refused to disappear.
Yearning. That was the word.
She was the one who finally broke the silence.
“You know,” she said quietly, “I keep thinking about what could’ve happened if Holly hadn’t gone missing… would you still have proposed to me?”
He let out a slow breath, eyes dropping for a moment before returning to hers.
“Honestly?” he said. “I knew, somewhere in the back of my mind, that you would’ve told me we were too young to do that. Which we were…”
He gives a small, sad smile —not regretful, just honest.
“But I also knew I would’ve asked anyway.”
The river moved below them, the city lights trembling across the surface.
“I didn’t want a perfect plan,” he continued softly. “I just… wanted you. Whatever way you would’ve let me have you.”
“And I’m glad that, regardless of what happened, I know we didn’t break up because we didn’t love each other,” he says, his voice unsteady. “What I said that day… it’s still true. All of it. I loved you enough to let you go. And we still have each other.”
She feels her throat tighten, but she smiles anyway — soft, aching.
“And I’m glad we do,” she reassures him.
“Jonathan? Remember what you said in the motel room? When we compared our scars?”
He looks at her, breath catching a little. “That you waited.”
“Exactly…” She swallows, the words trembling out of her. “My point is that… would you wait for me this time?”
There’s no hesitation. No joke to soften it. Just honesty.
“I could wait for as long as you want,” he says, voice barely above a whisper — like saying it any louder might break him.
The two of them fall into each other’s arms, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It isn’t dramatic — just tight, desperate, familiar. They both cry a little, silent tears against shoulders they know by heart.
When they finally pull apart, their breaths are shaky, eyes red but soft.
“I didn’t say it yet,” she murmurs, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand, “but… I am so proud of you.”
His lips tremble into a small, broken smile, like the words physically hit him.
“Thank you,” he whispers, because anything more than that would crack him open completely.
Weeks went by in a blur. Jonathan was back in his apartment, sitting in front of his typewriter, staring at it like it might suddenly tell him what to write. He’d been stuck in a writer’s block — too many ideas, and no way to get any of them onto the page.
He eventually sighed, deciding he needed fresh air. On his way out, he noticed something by his door: mail.
A copy of The Herald.
And on top of it, a note written on pink paper — much to his dismay. He already knew who it was from before he even read it.
“I kept my promise. You need to see it for yourself. Love, Nancy.”
He read it twice. Three times. He couldn’t stop smiling, that stupid, helpless smile that hurt a little because of how much he’d missed this feeling.
The kind of smile that said he was in trouble all over again.
Jonathan Byers, the Next Promise of Modern Horror
By Nancy Wheeler
A few weeks ago, I had the privilege of attending an early screening of The Consumer, the debut feature from what can only be described as one of horror’s most compelling new voices, Jonathan Byers.
It is rare — almost unsettlingly rare — to witness a first film with this level of confidence. The Consumer delivers a razor-sharp script, unnerving cinematography, and performances that refuse to leave your head long after the lights come back on. Byers doesn’t rely on jumpscares; instead, he builds dread with patience and precision, trusting his audience enough to sit with discomfort.
What makes The Consumer remarkable is not only its ability to terrify, but the clarity and audacity of the ideas beneath it. Byers weaves body horror and social commentary together so seamlessly that they become inseparable — a critique of capitalism that is as bold as it is haunting.
It feels premature to talk about “career-defining work” when a director is just getting started, and yet here we are: if this is his debut, one can only imagine what will follow. Horror has found a filmmaker who is not just chasing genre conventions, but reshaping them.
Remember the name.
Jonathan Byers isn’t just a promise for modern horror —
he is already delivering on it.
Back in Boston, Nancy kept glancing at the desk phone as if she could will it into ringing, as if wanting it badly enough might give her some kind of power. When it finally did, she didn’t hesitate—not for a second. She already knew who was on the other end of the line.
“So,” she said, a smile slipping into her voice before she could stop it, “you liked the article?”
“I have a question,” Jonathan said, his voice warm, unmistakably his. There was a smile in it—she could hear it even through the line. “Did you seriously like it, or is this just because it’s me and you don’t want to hurt my feelings?”
“Are you seriously doubting me after all these years, Byers?” Nancy shot back, mock-offended. “I thought we were past that.”
Jonathan laughed softly on the other end of the line. “I’m just messing with you,” he admitted. “I loved it. And I’m really glad you liked it too.”
“Thank you,” Nancy said, softer now. “So… how have you been lately?”
Jonathan sighed dramatically. “Ugh. Writer’s block. Too many ideas, not enough words.”
She smiled. “Oh, so now you know what that feels like.”
“Screw you, Wheeler.”
“How’s work?”
“You know—articles, articles, articles. I’m practically living here at this point.”
There was a brief pause, then Jonathan cleared his throat. “Actually… I got invited to the Boston Film Festival next week. I was hoping I could crash at your place, if that’s okay? I can take the couch.”
“No, not at all,” Nancy replied easily. “You’ll just have to share the couch with my dog.”
“Ahh,” he said, clearly pleased. “That sounds perfect.”
“Hey—she keeps me warm at night,” Nancy added. “Put some respect on her name.”
Jonathan laughed. “Deal. See you next week, then.”
“See you next week.”