It's strange, feeling— well, feeling the way he does about her. It's not puppy love — he's too old for that — but it comes pretty close in the way that he gets butterflies in his stomach whenever he sees her, the way he laughs more than he means to when they talk. (It's kind of pathetic, probably, a man of his age getting so lovesick — especially over a young girl like her — but it is what it is. Don't break my heart, she says, and he keeps his word. He does his fucking best not to.)
They don't spend as much time together as he'd like, but it's part and parcel of the whole deal between them. Still, maybe there's some good things about it; a premium on time means more of an effort to make that time count. They go out this time — well, out for a certain definition of the word. They go to a local diner, get lunch (innocuous, or at least as innocuous as they can be), split a slice of pie even though it's the middle of the day. They walk back to his place, after. It's a nice enough day. The snow's mostly melted, leaving slush in the divots next to the roads. The sky's the kind of blue-grey that tends to exist halfway between winter and spring, a few clouds blotting out the sun.
His hand finds hers somewhere between here and there. It's a light touch, a brush of his fingers before they curl to take hers, free to offer up that little gesture of intimacy with no real traffic on the roads. He looks over at her once — twice — feeling a certain bafflement each time that she's chosen to spend her time with him.
(He realizes, after a while, that their time is limited not just because they can't really be around each other so much but because she'll be going away to college soon enough. He asks her, sometimes, how the process is going, where she's applied, if she's heard back. But it's a careful line of inquisition — he cares, yeah, but there's a line in the sand as far as showing it goes.)
He's still holding her hand when they get back, laughing slightly as he fumbles with his other hand for his keys. ]
You sure you don't have anywhere else to be?
[ It's not a suggestion for her to leave — it's just incredulousness, as it usually seems to be. ]
n + h. she traces it with a heart, her pencil scribbling it in the corner of her notebooks. or her fork, tracing it out against the hard surface of the cafeteria table. he keeps a finger in her hair, twirling it absently as she fixates on the very thought of him in the middle of her lit class. he lets wild butterflies loose, enabling them to swirl around her gut until she feels as if she may float away and into another world. there's never been anything like it; she sometimes wonders if there ever will be again.
she knows that barb would never approve. it's a silent thought she carries with her, even while she's sitting across from him in the diner. ( they take a chance — lunchtime, rather than a dark evening's dinner. pie, two utensils and one plate, she laughs and he smiles. ) an older man, the police chief for christ's sake. her mother would never let her out of the house again. all of hawkins might find itself in an uproar. so, they keep their secret, and they keep it well. suspicions aren't truths, and rumors tend to fade into obscurity.
her boots crunch over the slow-melting slush. winter slowly changes into spring and he still wants her. she feels the warmth of his hand seeking out her own and the rush that follows gives way in the reddening of her cheeks. spring blossoms all around them and she's never needed anything more than this.
hopper goes for his keys and nancy turns to look at the afternoon sky shifting in color. the sun peeks out from in between a few passing clouds, bringing a quiet heat to the chill. she squeezes his fingers, turning her face to him when he asks his question. nancy's expression contorts, incredulous. ]
Trying to get rid of me already?
[ her chin sets to his shoulder, bright eyes watching him from beneath long lashes. she breathes him in, breathes him out. ]
I told Mom I wouldn't be home until late. [ her free hand touches the side of his arm, feeling the material of his jacket. ]
I'm at the library. Studying. [ she sways lightly, a grin creeping into her features. ] Very intensely, might I add.
[ He wonders, from time to time, if there's any way that this plays out happy. If there's any way that they'd end up together instead of inevitably going their own ways, torn apart by time and by circumstance. He doesn't really remember the last time he'd felt this way about anyone. Years and years of trying to block out any semblance of pain had left him aching and numb in turns, itself a product of some heartbreak and seeking to escape. But Nancy—
—she's untouched by any of that. ]
Oh, yeah?
[ He grins right back at her, catching a glimpse of her features as she rests her chin on his shoulder. (Christ, she's pretty.) It takes him just another moment to get the door unlocked, and he's swept her into his arms almost before the door's closed behind them, lifting her easily off her feet and twirling her around.
(He wonders, too, what kind of hell they'd catch — he'd catch, because guilt really only points one way — if word got out. If one of the kids put two and two together, if one of the boys at the station noticed something off in his behavior. None of them have caught on to anything just yet beyond a general note that he seems to have a little more focus, but that's been true since little Will disappeared, so it's let go almost as quickly as it's brought up.
And besides. It's love. Neither of them have said the word just yet — it's a frightening prospect — but even a man like Jim Hopper knows better than to try to deny it.)
He kisses her almost as soon as he sets her feet back down on the ground, laughing a little when he finally pulls back. ]
[ If Jim's being honest — which he is at this age, more often than not — he's always kinda had a thing for Joyce. She's the prettiest girl he's ever seen, and it's the kind of prettiness that's equal parts toughness and vulnerability. Tangible beauty. And she's smart as a whip, too — "the full package," as it were. He's head over heels for her. It breaks his heart a little, later, when she chooses Lonnie, but it is what it is. Life goes on. He leaves Hawkins, and he's different when he comes back.
(He never really talks to her about his time in the city, about the girl he'd married, or about his kid. It feels — separate. Like another life.)
But for now — he sits on the floor at the foot of her bed, back against the white frame, watching Dick Clark announce Connie Francis on the little TV set that occupies a corner of her room. They've been going steady for a little while — still a miracle, as far as he's concerned — and her parents don't mind having him over, though they leave the door to her room open anyway. She sits at the vanity, painting a shade of red onto her nails, and for all that Connie warbles, Jim's only got eyes for Joyce. It's the kind of infatuation that's unique to young love, that sort of ridiculous notion that you've found the one at so young an age. (Granted, it's not always ridiculous, but, well—) ]
I can smell the polish from here.
[ It's a comment, not a complaint, the difference easy enough to parse out given his tone of voice. There's a notebook in his lap, ostensibly proof of getting a little homework done, though the paper's received about as much attention in the last few minutes as the TV has. (Calc can wait.) ]
Come on — the sooner you get done with that, the sooner I can take you out.
[ joyce hums to herself — you had your way, now you must pay — watching the small brush splay over her last pinkie finger. red smiles at her, wet and ready, but her eyes are fixed on jim hopper, reflected in her vanity mirror. ( if she's being honest — which she's always tried her damnedest to be — she's wild about hop. all it took was one lazy little grin and she knew that in the way her heart fluttered, she'd like very much for it to belong to him. ) ]
Aw, what's the matter, Hop? Late for a date?
[ she turns on the seat, her skirt grazing her legs. both her hands are held in awkward positions, keeping them away from the awkwardly bundled kink at her waist, or the strand of hair that's so poignantly fallen into her vision. joyce blows at it from the corner of her mouth, dark hair zipping upwards, but settling back over her eyes with only so much hesitation. ]
I'm done, I swear. Look. [ her left hand extends, but she pulls it back just as quickly. ] But don't touch.
[ giving him a knowing expression, her smile is sly, playful, as she wiggles her fingers in front of his face. the middle finger prods his nose, pushing lightly. ]
You ready? I could do you a coat if you want. Maybe we can play a game of dominoes. Oh, no — chess.
[ no one looks at her the way jim hopper does. ( lonnie's gaze is cold, hungry. watching her from a darkened corner of the high school during lunch. it makes her stomach uneasy, where hop makes her feel — god, he makes her feel safe. ) she only hopes she can reciprocate, standing just before his place at the edge of her bed in a worn-out pair of saddle shoes. ]
I'll leave you here to play chess against yourself, don't think I won't.
[ It's an empty threat, and they both know it. He's already smiling back at her, notebook slipping from his lap as his fingers briefly find her ankle, just above the top of her shoe, before he gets to his feet. ]
Got a pretty girl who said she'd go dancing with me, I'm not gonna keep her waiting.
[ A laugh, then (his sense of humor won't ever change), as he reaches up to tuck that stray lock of hair back behind her ear.
He's not good, per se — he's not a straight-A student, he's screwed around in previous relationships — but if the road to hell is paved with good intentions, then he deserves some credit. His heart's in the right place, and at the end of the day, he's never run from a fight that's needed fighting. ]
I know, I know. Look, but don't touch.
[ No, nobody looks at her quite the way that he does. He's always stood a good head taller than her (he'd gotten tall fast, practically guaranteeing his spot on the football team), but she might as well be miles above him. There's not a thing she could ask him for that he wouldn't give. (It's that gut feeling that he remembers almost thirty years from now when she turns up at the police station. It's a memory, sure, but that doesn't discount it. They fall right back into old habits, arguing like no time had passed at all. She still knows how to hit him — You think I don't know my own son's breathing? Wouldn't you know your own daughter's?) ]
[ she laughs — it's easy to, around him. it bubbles inside of her like happiness is meant to, shooting out of her as if she can't quite keep the thing contained. you wouldn't dare! ( his finger sends warmth up her arms and into her stomach and cheeks; one touch, is that really fair? ) ]
Oh yeah? She sounds nice.
[ her eyes follow him all the way to his highest height. her hair's put into place and she thinks she's never been more in love with anyone. ( she doesn't say it though. the l word is exactly like playing that individual game of chess — difficult, unexpected, and a little crazy. ) ]
Sure, but —
[ ( she bursts into his office, every part of her stiff and guilty and afraid. she wants her son, she wants a cigarette, and she wants to run into jim hopper's arms until this nightmare comes to a goddamn end. ) joyce takes in a corner of her mouth, biting it thoughtfully, watching him with feigned decision. ]
I don't think I ever said anything about kissing.
[ her expression becomes hopeful, scrunched and silly on her features. ( joyce, listen to me — ) ]
[ In fairness, by the end of things, he never tells her he loves her, either. It's something that exists implicit between them until it doesn't. Sometimes he thinks it serves him right, and maybe it's not so surprising at all that Joyce should be the one that got away. (Who's sorry now, right? Christ.)
That's not to say that he spends the rest of his life hung up about it — she loves Lonnie in her own way, and he loves the girl he marries in Indianapolis, and they both love their respective kids so much it fucking hurts. They move on. But first love is— different. Especially in a little town like this. He's back in town for four years before they really interact with each other, and though it's not like they're avoiding each other, they don't make the effort to see each other, either.
But for now, he's young, and he's crazy for her. She might as well have hung the moon. ]
Semantics, [ he says, though it's obvious from the way he takes a step closer to her that he really is just teasing for the sake of teasing. (The cornerstone of their flirtation, really — back and forth until one of them gets too annoyed, though their arguments never last so long.)
He tips up her chin as he leans down, kissing her once on the cheek, then on the mouth.
Grinning against her lips: ] Not bad, as a way to wait.
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It's strange, feeling— well, feeling the way he does about her. It's not puppy love — he's too old for that — but it comes pretty close in the way that he gets butterflies in his stomach whenever he sees her, the way he laughs more than he means to when they talk. (It's kind of pathetic, probably, a man of his age getting so lovesick — especially over a young girl like her — but it is what it is. Don't break my heart, she says, and he keeps his word. He does his fucking best not to.)
They don't spend as much time together as he'd like, but it's part and parcel of the whole deal between them. Still, maybe there's some good things about it; a premium on time means more of an effort to make that time count. They go out this time — well, out for a certain definition of the word. They go to a local diner, get lunch (innocuous, or at least as innocuous as they can be), split a slice of pie even though it's the middle of the day. They walk back to his place, after. It's a nice enough day. The snow's mostly melted, leaving slush in the divots next to the roads. The sky's the kind of blue-grey that tends to exist halfway between winter and spring, a few clouds blotting out the sun.
His hand finds hers somewhere between here and there. It's a light touch, a brush of his fingers before they curl to take hers, free to offer up that little gesture of intimacy with no real traffic on the roads. He looks over at her once — twice — feeling a certain bafflement each time that she's chosen to spend her time with him.
(He realizes, after a while, that their time is limited not just because they can't really be around each other so much but because she'll be going away to college soon enough. He asks her, sometimes, how the process is going, where she's applied, if she's heard back. But it's a careful line of inquisition — he cares, yeah, but there's a line in the sand as far as showing it goes.)
He's still holding her hand when they get back, laughing slightly as he fumbles with his other hand for his keys. ]
You sure you don't have anywhere else to be?
[ It's not a suggestion for her to leave — it's just incredulousness, as it usually seems to be. ]
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n + h. she traces it with a heart, her pencil scribbling it in the corner of her notebooks. or her fork, tracing it out against the hard surface of the cafeteria table. he keeps a finger in her hair, twirling it absently as she fixates on the very thought of him in the middle of her lit class. he lets wild butterflies loose, enabling them to swirl around her gut until she feels as if she may float away and into another world. there's never been anything like it; she sometimes wonders if there ever will be again.
she knows that barb would never approve. it's a silent thought she carries with her, even while she's sitting across from him in the diner. ( they take a chance — lunchtime, rather than a dark evening's dinner. pie, two utensils and one plate, she laughs and he smiles. ) an older man, the police chief for christ's sake. her mother would never let her out of the house again. all of hawkins might find itself in an uproar. so, they keep their secret, and they keep it well. suspicions aren't truths, and rumors tend to fade into obscurity.
her boots crunch over the slow-melting slush. winter slowly changes into spring and he still wants her. she feels the warmth of his hand seeking out her own and the rush that follows gives way in the reddening of her cheeks. spring blossoms all around them and she's never needed anything more than this.
hopper goes for his keys and nancy turns to look at the afternoon sky shifting in color. the sun peeks out from in between a few passing clouds, bringing a quiet heat to the chill. she squeezes his fingers, turning her face to him when he asks his question. nancy's expression contorts, incredulous. ]
Trying to get rid of me already?
[ her chin sets to his shoulder, bright eyes watching him from beneath long lashes. she breathes him in, breathes him out. ]
I told Mom I wouldn't be home until late. [ her free hand touches the side of his arm, feeling the material of his jacket. ]
I'm at the library. Studying. [ she sways lightly, a grin creeping into her features. ] Very intensely, might I add.
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—she's untouched by any of that. ]
Oh, yeah?
[ He grins right back at her, catching a glimpse of her features as she rests her chin on his shoulder. (Christ, she's pretty.) It takes him just another moment to get the door unlocked, and he's swept her into his arms almost before the door's closed behind them, lifting her easily off her feet and twirling her around.
(He wonders, too, what kind of hell they'd catch — he'd catch, because guilt really only points one way — if word got out. If one of the kids put two and two together, if one of the boys at the station noticed something off in his behavior. None of them have caught on to anything just yet beyond a general note that he seems to have a little more focus, but that's been true since little Will disappeared, so it's let go almost as quickly as it's brought up.
And besides. It's love. Neither of them have said the word just yet — it's a frightening prospect — but even a man like Jim Hopper knows better than to try to deny it.)
He kisses her almost as soon as he sets her feet back down on the ground, laughing a little when he finally pulls back. ]
You need any help studying?
fast times at hawkins high.
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(He never really talks to her about his time in the city, about the girl he'd married, or about his kid. It feels — separate. Like another life.)
But for now — he sits on the floor at the foot of her bed, back against the white frame, watching Dick Clark announce Connie Francis on the little TV set that occupies a corner of her room. They've been going steady for a little while — still a miracle, as far as he's concerned — and her parents don't mind having him over, though they leave the door to her room open anyway. She sits at the vanity, painting a shade of red onto her nails, and for all that Connie warbles, Jim's only got eyes for Joyce. It's the kind of infatuation that's unique to young love, that sort of ridiculous notion that you've found the one at so young an age. (Granted, it's not always ridiculous, but, well—) ]
I can smell the polish from here.
[ It's a comment, not a complaint, the difference easy enough to parse out given his tone of voice. There's a notebook in his lap, ostensibly proof of getting a little homework done, though the paper's received about as much attention in the last few minutes as the TV has. (Calc can wait.) ]
Come on — the sooner you get done with that, the sooner I can take you out.
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Aw, what's the matter, Hop? Late for a date?
[ she turns on the seat, her skirt grazing her legs. both her hands are held in awkward positions, keeping them away from the awkwardly bundled kink at her waist, or the strand of hair that's so poignantly fallen into her vision. joyce blows at it from the corner of her mouth, dark hair zipping upwards, but settling back over her eyes with only so much hesitation. ]
I'm done, I swear. Look. [ her left hand extends, but she pulls it back just as quickly. ] But don't touch.
[ giving him a knowing expression, her smile is sly, playful, as she wiggles her fingers in front of his face. the middle finger prods his nose, pushing lightly. ]
You ready? I could do you a coat if you want. Maybe we can play a game of dominoes. Oh, no — chess.
[ no one looks at her the way jim hopper does. ( lonnie's gaze is cold, hungry. watching her from a darkened corner of the high school during lunch. it makes her stomach uneasy, where hop makes her feel — god, he makes her feel safe. ) she only hopes she can reciprocate, standing just before his place at the edge of her bed in a worn-out pair of saddle shoes. ]
Yes, that's much longer.
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[ It's an empty threat, and they both know it. He's already smiling back at her, notebook slipping from his lap as his fingers briefly find her ankle, just above the top of her shoe, before he gets to his feet. ]
Got a pretty girl who said she'd go dancing with me, I'm not gonna keep her waiting.
[ A laugh, then (his sense of humor won't ever change), as he reaches up to tuck that stray lock of hair back behind her ear.
He's not good, per se — he's not a straight-A student, he's screwed around in previous relationships — but if the road to hell is paved with good intentions, then he deserves some credit. His heart's in the right place, and at the end of the day, he's never run from a fight that's needed fighting. ]
I know, I know. Look, but don't touch.
[ No, nobody looks at her quite the way that he does. He's always stood a good head taller than her (he'd gotten tall fast, practically guaranteeing his spot on the football team), but she might as well be miles above him. There's not a thing she could ask him for that he wouldn't give. (It's that gut feeling that he remembers almost thirty years from now when she turns up at the police station. It's a memory, sure, but that doesn't discount it. They fall right back into old habits, arguing like no time had passed at all. She still knows how to hit him — You think I don't know my own son's breathing? Wouldn't you know your own daughter's?) ]
no subject
Oh yeah? She sounds nice.
[ her eyes follow him all the way to his highest height. her hair's put into place and she thinks she's never been more in love with anyone. ( she doesn't say it though. the l word is exactly like playing that individual game of chess — difficult, unexpected, and a little crazy. ) ]
Sure, but —
[ ( she bursts into his office, every part of her stiff and guilty and afraid. she wants her son, she wants a cigarette, and she wants to run into jim hopper's arms until this nightmare comes to a goddamn end. ) joyce takes in a corner of her mouth, biting it thoughtfully, watching him with feigned decision. ]
I don't think I ever said anything about kissing.
[ her expression becomes hopeful, scrunched and silly on her features. ( joyce, listen to me — ) ]
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That's not to say that he spends the rest of his life hung up about it — she loves Lonnie in her own way, and he loves the girl he marries in Indianapolis, and they both love their respective kids so much it fucking hurts. They move on. But first love is— different. Especially in a little town like this. He's back in town for four years before they really interact with each other, and though it's not like they're avoiding each other, they don't make the effort to see each other, either.
But for now, he's young, and he's crazy for her. She might as well have hung the moon. ]
Semantics, [ he says, though it's obvious from the way he takes a step closer to her that he really is just teasing for the sake of teasing. (The cornerstone of their flirtation, really — back and forth until one of them gets too annoyed, though their arguments never last so long.)
He tips up her chin as he leans down, kissing her once on the cheek, then on the mouth.
Grinning against her lips: ] Not bad, as a way to wait.