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. ]
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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.
no subject
—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?