Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a Friday morning in late May, and Hawkins High was buzzing. Another school year was almost over, and for the senior class of 1965, they were two weeks away from staring down the great unknown and what was promised to be the best summer of their lives. Fourteen days, a handful of final exams and a graduation ceremony was all there was left between them and Freedom with a capital F.

The teachers had long given up on keeping the students in line. Teens were running wild throughout school, cleaning out their lockers early. Overflowing garbage cans lined the hallway while crumpled flyers for Prom ’65, old notebooks and loose-leaf littered the floor as the students turned the first break of the day into a hall party.

Joyce Horowitz wasn’t cleaning out her locker just yet, but she was tearing it apart all the same, looking for the one textbook she needed to finish her Home Economics project. It was in there somewhere, but she didn’t know how to begin sorting through a year’s worth of mess. Pondering if it was possible a book-eating portal to another dimension had opened up at the back of her locker, she looked over just in time to see her friend making a grand entrance that morning.

Karen Dawson strutted down the hall of Hawkin’s High like Jean Shrimpton on the catwalk, headed straight for Joyce — on a mission. Keeping the tiny brunette in her sights, she sashayed passed a group of sophomores who could barely keep their jaws from dropping. Karen knew she had that effect on the younger men and was putting on a show especially for them today.

Joyce smirked, knowing that whatever her friend was about to say, it was going to be good.

“What’s the word, little bird?” she asked as Karen got within earshot.

The blonde gasped and then giggled, unable to contain herself anymore, holding up her left hand to reveal the truth before she could get the words out.

“Ted asked me to marry him! Joyce, I’m getting married!!” She squealed in delight at the chance to say the words aloud to her best friend, which meant it was now official.

“Get out! That’s not real,” Joyce gasped and grabbed at Karen’s hand, examining the diamond perched atop perfectly manicured fingers. “Oh my god,” she bit her lip. “That’s real!”

“Remember how I told you he was taking me to the country club last night?” Karen asked. Joyce nodded — it was all Karen had talked about for the last week. She continued to dig around in her locker while her friend went on, describing her night.

“Well we got there, and there was a table with candles set up on the veranda. We had our own private waiter. Ted had oysters and clams casino ordered in from Maine for appetizers, a filet mignon for the main course, and tiramisu for dessert”, Karen bragged, pausing for dramatic effect, watching Joyce’s face for a reaction. When there was none, she continued.

“He was saying all these wonderful things like maybe we’d take a trip to France in the fall if the firm could give him the time off. Then he asked me where I always wanted to go on a honeymoon. Of course, I told him Hawaii—”

“Meanwhile, back at the ranch…” Joyce raised an eyebrow, trying to prompt Karen to get to the good part. 

 “And, then he ordered us a bottle of really expensive champagne, dropped down on one knee, and I said YES!” She flashed the ring again to Joyce, making sure the freshmen girls next to them could hear and see everything too. A chorus of “oohs” sounded behind Joyce so she knew they must have gotten a good look.

“Jesus, Karen. That’s so romantic, I could die,” Joyce deadpanned, only half-joking, knowing that it was driving Karen wild that she wasn’t acting more excited about this.

Karen shoved Joyce playfully, pushing her out of the way to get to her locker. “I’m in love, Joyce. You’ll understand one day, when it happens to you,” she sniffed at her lackluster friend.

“I’m sure,” Joyce said with an eye roll. 

She was happy for her, she really was. Joyce could see how in love Karen was, there was no denying that. But part of her was a little disappointed at how fast this was all happening. The engagement meant that soon, she would be giving up her best girlfriend to the domestic life. The summer road trip they had planned would be going on the back burner, most likely indefinite now.

Another part of her was sad because she wanted to be where Karen was; happy, in love, and cared for. Growing up, Joyce had seen the path her Ma had chosen, and she didn’t want to follow her down that lonely, single-mother road.

All Joyce secretely wanted was what Karen had laid out for her — the handsome, devoted husband, the house with the white picket fence, and a gaggle of kids.  She couldn’t help but be a little jealous of Karen’s fairytale ending with her prince charming: the tall, dark and handsome Ted Wheeler. Recently promoted to Junior Analyst at the accounting firm in Hawkins, he was both financially secure and in the process of ‘settling down’. They had met at Karen’s parents country club at Christmas and had only been dating for a few months, so Joyce naturally assumed it would be the same for their engagement. Talk about a whirlwind romance!

“Well, when’s the wedding?” she prompted.

“August 21st,” Karen said, looking like the cat who ate the canary. Of course, she already had the date picked. “It’ll probably be at his great aunt’s ranch just outside of Kokomo, and you’re coming. Jim, too,” she added, pointing to the devil himself walking over to greet them.

Joyce turned around as her oldest friend strode over, only to witness a group of junior girls swoon as he passed by. One called out after him.

“Hi, Jim!”

Wearing his beat-up old stormrider over a white tee and jeans, a smoke tucked behind his ear, Joyce didn’t know what the damn fuss was about. He just looked like boring old Jim Hopper to her, the same little boy she grew up with next door. Though, at seventeen, he towered over her by almost a foot now, so he wasn’t that little anymore.

Hopper had shot up like a weed over the previous summer, losing all the baby fat from his formative years practically overnight. The chubby cherub cheeks and the freckles were gone, replaced entirely by 6-foot-3-inches of tall, blonde and handsome — and he damn well knew it. The natural-born heart breaker took his cool-and-aloof reputation a bit too far, and he actually had the girls chasing him. Yuck!

Joyce rolled her eyes. The way the younger girls fawned over him made her sick. Sure, once upon a time, long long ago, she thought he was kinda cute too, but she wrinkled her nose at the thought now. 

“Ladies! What’s shakin’?” Hopper slammed the locker door shut on Joyce, taking a great amount of joy out of being annoying.

Joyce didn’t react, used to his antics, knowing that he was only doing it to get a rise out of her.

“Karen’s dropping the Dawson,” Joyce told him.

Hopper looked at her, brow furrowed, trying to decipher what she was saying.

“I’m getting married!” Karen squealed again, not bothering to wait for Joyce to explain. She held up her hand for him to see this time.

Hopper squinted at the rock on Karen’s hand, unimpressed.

“What? To old man Wheeler?”

Karen slapped at his chest.

“Stop calling him that, he’s only twenty,” she said, annoyed.

Hopper shrugged.

“Yeah. Old.”

“He’s not old, Jim,” Joyce interjected. “He’s a businessman, and he’s successful and sophisticated, not that we expect you to know what that’s all about.” She squinted at him, as if daring him to prove her wrong.

“Well, I have something even better than that,” he said, ignoring Joyce completely. He dangled a set of keys in the girl’s faces, waiting for their reaction.

Both girls looked at him, confused.

“Car keys?” Joyce asked, equally unimpressed with his version of show and tell.

“Not just any keys,” Hopper said, explaining. “The keys, Joyce. Pop-pop came through, I got the GTO this morning.” He held a hand up to Joyce, expecting a high-five.

Joyce’s jaw dropped instead. He had been waiting all year for the Pontiac, a promised graduation gift from his generous grandparents on his mother’s side. Joyce knew how hard he had worked for it, considering she was the one who had to stay on his ass and tutor him all last semester to help get his grades back up to where they needed to be to walk across the stage at the end of the year.

“No way!” Joyce said, excited for him. She gave him his well-deserved high-five, and then smacked him on the arm, “Why didn’t you give me a ride this morning, you jerk?”

“Yes, way! And you had already left when he showed it to me.” Hopper sniffed down at her and then flashed a broad smile at his friend.

“Excuse me! How is a car better than a diamond?” Karen interrupted their banter. She waved her left hand in front of their faces again.

Hop just stared at her.

“How is it not?”

Karen heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes at him.

“Don’t rain on my parade, Jim! I’m getting married,” she repeated in sing-song. It was obvious what she was fishing for.

Hopper rolled his eyes back.

“Congratulations, Karen,” he said, knowing that was all it would take to make her happy again.

And it did. She did a little dance and started to admire her ring, until the warning bell rang a second later. Lockers slammed shut in unison throughout the halls as students started to make their way to second period. Karen grabbed her book bag too and turned to leave.

“Gotta run to my English final. Wish me luck — not that I need it, now that I’m a kept woman,” she flashed a sly grin at Joyce.

Joyce knew exactly what that meant. No more worrying about applying for college or finding a job after high school was over, Karen had been selected to be Hawkin’s next beautiful, dutiful, happy housewife.

Joyce shook her head and wished her luck anyway. “Good luck! See you later, alligator?”

“After while, crocodiles,” Karen said, throwing them a toodle-oo over her shoulder, diamond twinkling her goodbye.

Joyce turned to Hopper then, and without even needing to ask, she loaded up his arms with books. Hitching up her plaid skirt, she got down on the floor to pull more junk out of the bottomless pit that was her locker. 

“Now you got the grades, and the car, I guess you can stop trying so hard?” she said to Hopper, smirking.

“Damn rights,” he nodded, setting her books down beside her. He watched her for a moment as she paused to go through what she already tossed aside, organizing the loose papers into stacks, her lips pursed in thought as she continued her investigation of the missing textbook. She looked like the prettiest thing he’d ever seen with her hair pulled back like that.

“Wanna play hooky with me this afternoon, take this bad boy for a spin?” he said, tossing the key to the GTO in her lap and waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “I’ll even let you drive.”

“Aw,” Joyce’s cheeks flushed at the invitation, and she stammered, handing the keychain back to him apologetically. “That sounds great, but I got a Pep Club meeting with Karen after eighth period. Last one before Prom,” she reminded him and she didn’t need to say anything more. Secretary and Acting-Vice-President of the Hawkin’s High Pep Club, Joyce had been working hard on putting the Prom together for their class and he knew how important it was for her to be there.

But he wasn’t about to give up just yet. “Well, what about after? We could hit up that double feature at the drive-in tonight? Maybe get a malt at Benny’s after? My treat.”

Joyce threw him a sorry look and said, “Lonnie’s picking me up for a date after Pep.”

Hopper bit his tongue. Not that clown, again.

“But that sounds like fun,” Joyce perked back up. “Why don’t you take Chrissy Carpenter? Weren’t you supposed to be asking her to Prom anyway?”

He deeply regretted telling Joyce that. It was just something dumb he said weeks ago when he started fooling around with Chrissy to make Joyce jealous. Which just happened to be around the same time Joyce started getting serious with Lonnie and Hopper realized he was jealous himself.

“Yeah,” he admitted reluctantly, sliding down to the floor to sit next to her.

Joyce looked at him, expectantly. “And? Did you?”

“No, but I will,” he stuttered. “I will. I’m just leaving my options open for now…” he leaned up against Joyce’s locker, looking right at her, wishing she’d pick up what he was putting down already. But she didn’t seem to notice.

“What options?” Joyce muttered, digging into the back of her locker. “It’s a week away, Hop. What are you doing? Do you need me to ask her for you?” She pulled her head out to look at him, concerned. “‘Cause I can do that… if you need me to?”

“No, I don’t need you to ask her,” he said, sighing. Today just wasn’t going to be his day.

At least there was always good old Chrissy — the junior cheerleader eager to find herself a graduating senior with a car. She had dumped him after his dad took the Oldsmobile away three weeks ago, but one flash of the leather keychain in his hand and he knew she’d be back.

Hopper sighed, admitting defeat. “I’ll do it. Maybe later tonight.”

Joyce smiled and said, “Let me know how it goes.” She pulled out the textbook from under a pile of papers with a flourish. “Aha!” she said, waiting for him to applaud her in her great discovery.

But Hopper was distracted, something else caught his eye. He stood up to pluck the photo off her locker door before she could stop him. Holding it up above her head, just out of her reach, he stared at it disapprovingly. It was a black and white snapshot of Lonnie, sitting on the hood of his jacked-up 55’ Thunderbird, hair slicked back, teeshirt sleeve rolled up around a pack of smokes. The original James Dean loser wannabe.

“I can’t believe you’re still seeing this Greaser,” he said, cringing.

“He dropped out. Doesn’t mean we have to stop seeing each other, Jim,” she said, using Hop’s first name now, which meant she was giving him a warning.

Lonnie had thankfully decided to stop wasting everyone’s time and stopped showing up to classes last month after he found out he would be failing the twelfth grade for the second time in a row. Hopper had hoped that would be the last he saw of that skuzzball. Joyce could do so much better than Lonnie fucking Byers.

Snatching the photo back from Hopper, Joyce stuck it up on the locker door where it belonged.

“What do you see in him anyway?” Hop scoffed. “I mean, who lifts a T-Bird like that?”

“I see lots of good things in Lonnie,” Joyce countered.

“Like?” Hopper asked.

Joyce rolled her eyes so far back in her head, he wondered if she could see herself. 

“Like…” she started, suddenly struggling to list Lonnie’s so-called qualities. “He’s got a car.”

Hopper chuckled and dangled the car keys in front of Joyce’s face again, much to her annoyance.

“Everyone’s got a car, nowadays babe. That don’t mean sweet F.A.,” he said, knowing he had her there.

“He’s handsome,” she smirked.

Hopper scowled. “And?”

“And… he’s a good kisser,” she said right to Hopper’s face. She was trying to make a bold statement, even though her rosy cheeks gave her away.

Hopper just shook his head at her.

“Gross,” he said. He didn’t want to hear about that shit.

“Oh, are we jealous?” Joyce raised an eyebrow at him as she restacked all the folded-up notes her and Karen passed during classes, shoving them between books haphazardly.

Hopper shrugged, his face scrunched up as he shook his head, “No.”

“Good, you shouldn’t be anyway.”

He raised an eyebrow at her before she went on to explain. Joyce grinned at him, knowingly.

“Chrissy told Karen in French class that you’re quite the kisser yourself. I heard you have… an interesting technique,” she said, eyebrows raised.

“Oh yeah? Maybe you’d like to find out first hand?” Hopper puckered his lips and leaned in for a sloppy air-kiss.

Joyce put her hand up to stop him in his tracks, disgusted.

“You’re disgusting!” she laughed, pushing him out of her way right as the last bell chimed. She glanced at the clock and then back to Hopper with big eyes.

“Shit, I gotta go. I’ll be lucky if Mrs. Meyer doesn’t fail me for being late again. You coming?” Joyce asked, already knowing what his answer would be.

Hopper tossed the keys in the air and caught them in one swift move. “Nope, I’m outta here,” he said, sarcasm implied. “Gonna hit that open road. Maybe squeeze in a trip to California, or Canada. I heard it’s nice up there this time of year.”

Joyce smirked at him, tucking her textbook under her arm. “Fine. Have fun in Canada,” she said, slamming the locker shut behind her. She looked so beautiful when she was being sarcastic. “See you after fifth period, dork.”

She waved goodbye as she turned to leave, hustling to her next class.

“See you after fifth,” Hopper echoed, staring after Joyce as she walked away still completely unaware she was dragging his heart on a leash behind her.

Chapter Text

The break between fifth and sixth period was half over, and Joyce was so lost in thought, she almost forgot that she wasn't alone. Sitting next to Hopper at the bottom of the stairs behind the gymnasium, they were hiding out in their usual spot, eating their lunch, just like always. Joyce wasn't her usual chipper self though. Her face cast down, she left her food untouched as Hopper all but inhaled his. She had been sitting like that for a few minutes now, letting the last of his Camel smolder between her fingertips. 

"Earth to Joyce!" Hopper waved his ham sandwich in front of her expressionless face. 

"Huh? Oh," she said, blinking with a wince when she realized he was talking to her. 

"Way to space out on me," he frowned at her and the wasted cigarette, a long column of ash perched between her fingers. His expression melted to concern when she looked back at him with troubled eyes. 

"Everything okay?"

Joyce sighed, unsure if she should open up to Hopper or sugarcoat the truth like she always did for him. He didn't really handle deep conversations like heart-to-hearts very well as she had found out over the years.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she lied, her voice wavering as she took the last drag off the cigarette. "Karen's news this morning just sent me for a spin."

Hopper stuffed the last of his sandwich in his mouth. 

"I take it the road trip's canceled?" he managed to ask between chews.

"Yup," she nodded, throwing the spent smoke on the ground, grinding the butt out with the point of her saddle shoe with vigor, as if it were the sole cause for her pent up emotions.

"Bummer," Hopper nodded along with her in sympathy.

She could tell Hopper was trying to find the words to comfort her and make it okay, but he gave up after a long, heavy pause.

"Wanna go for a walk?" he asked instead.

She shrugged and nodded sullenly, gathering up her things and throwing her book bag over her shoulder. 

A walk would be good, give her something to do other than dwell on her thoughts and worries, hidden away under the stairs behind the high school. It was a beautiful day out, and Joyce let the sunshine warm her face and distract her for a brief moment from the dark thoughts edging in. Karen's happy news that morning had cast a pall on her, and it was suddenly occurring to Joyce that things would never be the same again. 

She soaked in the familiar scenes as they navigated their usual circuit around the schoolyard in silence. They had probably walked that stretch a thousand times over the last four years, but this was it. It very well might’ve been the last time they ever took this stroll, so she savored it as best she could.

The jocks were on the field, practicing for the last big games of the season. Groups of students and couples sat on the bleachers and watched, basking in the early afternoon sun. Some were smoking and roughhousing, while others caught some rays on the grass or studied. Hawkins High was picking up good vibrations all around, and their class seemed content as a whole. Everything was as it should be. 

Joyce was the only one walking around with a storm cloud overhead, miserable with the thought that it was the end of an era for her classmates and a strange premonition that nothing would be the same this time next week. It wasn't the first time she had that feeling, and once she had it, it was hard to shake — in her own fatalistic way, she was certain it was the inertia of reality or maybe the loss of innocence catching up to her. 

Sure, she was familiar with duck and cover and all the grim realities that came with a Cold War, but it never really sunk in until two Novembers ago. Soon after finding out the fate of their beloved president. Joyce would recall that exact horrible moment for the rest of her life. America watched in shock as Camelot fell and vice president Johnson was sworn in; as Jacqueline Kennedy's heart broke in two, over and over. The footage playing on repeat burned into her brain. The candy coating of America had dissolved that day, revealing an unsettling, sour core. She learned an important lesson that day; nothing gold could stay.

Now, as Joyce meandered alongside her best friend, kicking rocks down the sidewalk, she took in the sights as if it were the last time. Another wave of sadness overcame her. Soon, their class would be split up, friendships faded and outgrown. Some classmates would be content to stay in Hawkins and live a quiet, small-town life — like Karen — while others would leave with the intention to come back — like Joyce. 

Some might never come back at all, seeds scattered in the wind. Bob Dylan was right: the times were a-changin'.

"I can't believe she's getting married so fast," Joyce finally muttered, starting the conversation, not bothering to clarify who she was talking about. They only knew one person getting married, and she was currently shouting it from the school's rooftop, telling anyone who would listen. "It feels like she just met Ted and they're rushing into this, but I guess it's love.“

"What? You don't approve?" Hopper asked, a smirk touching his lips. 

"Of course, I approve!" Joyce scrunched up her face at the suggestion. She brought her bag around to look inside for something, obscuring her face, so he couldn't see that she was fighting back tears. "I'm happy for Karen. I know this is what she wants. But now I'm torn," she said, pulling an apple from the bottom of her bag with a sniff.

"About what?"

"It's silly," she admitted, taking a bite out of the fruit, buying time before she unleashed her confession on him. "All this hubbub about marriage this morning and hearing all the other girls talk about their plans after high school, I suddenly feel like I'm the odd one out for wanting to go to school and have a career. Like I'm shirking my womanly duties or something, just because I don't want to be Suzie Homemaker right away." 

She pushed her bangs out of her eyes and looked to see him nodding along, listening. She doubted that he could understand, but at least he wasn't interrupting her. 

"And then here's Karen, marrying into the silver spoon treatment right outta high school? It seems like an easy way out," she muttered and then hung her head in shame for admitting it out loud. "I'm suddenly struggling to find a reason why I don't want to take the easy way out, too." 

Hopper tutted and held out his hand to Joyce expectantly. 

"That's it," he said, teasing. "Time to hand in the women's lib pin."

Joyce huffed and passed him the apple instead, watching him take a big bite. He was right. What she was admitting went against everything she fought for in her Women's Liberation student group, and that served to make her feel worse.

"I'm serious," she whined, looking to him with big eyes. "I feel awful about it, Hop. I was so sure that I wanted to go to school when I found out, but now it's starting to look like… like a mountain I don't want to climb. I mean, what if I flunk out?"

He shortened his pace next to her so he could grab her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze, a gesture that didn't go unnoticed. She smiled softly as his comforting touch lingered. And then he opened his big, stupid mouth.

"You're not gonna flunk out, dummy," he said, almost scolding her. "You don't give yourself enough credit sometimes. Your art… is the best art. In all of Hawkins!” 

She made a noise at his thoughtless comment and pulled her hand away, narrowing her gaze on him.

"Oh yeah? And how do you know? Do you even know which project I submitted for the scholarship?”

Hopper's mouth opened and closed, like a fish. He had no clue, even though she had asked for his opinion before she sent in the application. 

"I showed it to you! You said it was ‘Awesome!’” she air-quoted him, mocking his dumb voice. 

Hopper frowned. 

“It was a mixed-media installation," she prompted him. "An interpretation of T.S. Eliot's Four Quartets, Burnt…"

"Norton," he finished for her, sheepish that it took that long to jog his memory. "Right, yeah that." 

She glowered at him before softening.

"Look, I'm just frustrated because… I thought I knew what I wanted, and now… I don't know. It just feels like everything is changing so fast, y' know? And I have to make all these big decisions and moves and— Why can't everything just stay the same?" she pouted.

"Are you having second thoughts about Herron?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Maybe?" she admitted with a grimace. 

Post-secondary hadn't been on her agenda at the beginning of the school year. Early in January, the new art teacher took Joyce aside after class and told her that she had a keen eye for detail and that if she kept at it, it would lead her to great things. The young teacher pushed some papers across her desk; an application for the Herron School of Art and Design in Indianapolis. Joyce had thanked her for the suggestion but told her she couldn't afford to go to school that fall. Ms. Garcia told Joyce she had serious potential, and insisted she think on it. Then she told her about the scholarship. 

Joyce put it off, naturally. She knew she didn’t have what it would take to win. Her teacher seemed to have more faith, however and helped her fill out the forms at the last minute, reminding Joyce that she had a natural talent which shouldn't be ignored.

When Joyce received the letter a few months later stating that she was the finalist for a full-ride to Herron, she could hardly believe it. It wasn't State or Notre Dame, but it was the best art school in Indiana, to be respected in its own right. Joyce would also be the first woman in her family to attend a post-secondary that wasn't secretarial school, and she suddenly felt the immense weight of that responsibility and an obligation to see it through. The idea of being a full-time art major had her walking on air for the last few months, excited for what changes the fall would bring. But as the days went on, Joyce was second-guessing herself again, and beginning to wonder if she even deserved such a huge opportunity. Surely there had to be someone more deserving? Someone with more talent or need?

She sighed, dropping her shoulders as she reiterated to Hopper. 

"I'm just worried, that's all. I don’t want to blow it.“

Hopper shook his head at her. He didn't understand.

"What's there to worry about?"

"Everything!" she exclaimed. Her eyebrows knitted together, and she began chewing on her bottom lip, at the peak of her anxiety. "I don't know what I'm doing, Hop."

Hopper gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, his touch keeping her on level ground. 

"You know what you're doing," he reminded her. She shook her head. 

"Yeah, for the short term, and even that doesn't feel real yet. Graduation's next week. I get the scholarship and go to Herron in the fall and then… I don't know," she said, throwing her hands up to the sky as if asking for a sign from the heavens. "I don't even know what I'm gonna take in school yet."

“But… I thought you were going for art... stuff?" he asked through another bite of their shared apple.

Joyce knew Hopper didn't actually have a clue beyond the fact that Herron was the most prestigious art school in the state and it was a once in a lifetime opportunity for someone like Joyce to get a free ride. He likely just assumed Joyce would be painting and drawing and learning from the masters, to paint… and draw.

"There's lots of different art stuff I could be doing, Jim," Joyce said, her voice on the razor-thin edge of exasperation and laughter. 

Hopper pressed his lips together, and she could tell he was choosing his next words wisely. 

"Okay, here's the thing," he sighed, his patience waning, gesturing to the entire student body around them. “None of us know what we're doing. Me especially."

"So?" Joyce asked.

"So, what if I told you that you don't need to have a plan? Just let it ride, see how things pan out. Who says we need to figure it all out right now? " 

Joyce hoisted her bag up higher on her shoulder with a perplexed expression. What part of this wasn't he getting? 

"I need to have my electives submitted by the first week of June. So, I kinda do need to figure it out right now."

"Oh," he said, zipping his mouth shut and passing her fruit back to her. 

She held the apple in her hand, poised to take a bite when she turned to him, confused. 

"So, wait. You're telling me your plan is that you… don't have a plan? At all? That's gonna go over real well with your father," Joyce said, knowing full well that Mr. Hopper was a hardass who didn't tolerate his son's natural ability to be "a lazy little shit."

Hopper shrugged it off. 

"My plan… is to enjoy the summer. Probably get a job with ol' Benny boy there," he said, nodding to where their friend was across the field, practicing with the varsity team for the final game of the season. Ben was always easy to spot, a full foot taller than the other linebackers. "The old man won't care as long as I'm working," Hopper continued. "So, I'll go flip burgers over at Mr. Hammond's diner for the summer. Save up. Maybe move out, sooner than later. Maybe take off and see the world. Y’know, whatever.“ 

Hopper certainly had a freeing mentality to it all, and Joyce envied him for it. It seemed so simple for him to just see what life tossed his way. He'd probably coast along, go the blue-collar route eventually, or end up in the force, just like his father, and his father's father. But that was always a fundamental difference between them, even as kids growing up: Joyce preferred to always have a well thought out plan, while Hop liked to fly by the seat of his pants. 

She just shook her head and took another bite of her apple before passing it back to him again, her words interspersed with crunches as she continued her inquisition. 

"And then? I mean, don't you want a career? A family?"

Hopper huffed at her unusual questions. "Yeah, I guess… I could get me one of those career things." 

Then he thought about it some more. 

"I'd take a house on Maple, too. A couple of kids would be nice. Oh, and a smokin' old lady, who brings me sandwiches and beers, on demand,” Hopper joked, trying to lighten the random heavy talk she was forcing on him.

"Of course, the beautiful subservient wife is a must," Joyce agreed with him sarcastically — his sexism was showing. "But you don't want that all right away?"

"No way!" He shook his head, just like a stubborn child who didn't want his medicine. "Maybe in a few years,” he said, face clouding over as he spoke. “ See what Uncle Sam has in store for me first.”

"Don't say that," Joyce shushed him. She didn't want to even begin thinking about the next round of inductions that would be happening soon if the government didn't drum up enough volunteers to deal with the conflict in Vietnam. "Johnson just said it's about to wind down.”

Joyce wasn't sure of that fact, it was just something she heard on the radio, but she hoped it would be the case so they could avoid the whole thing altogether. Their sitting president hadn't given them a reason to doubt him... Yet.

"Yeah we'll see," Hopper said, finishing the apple off, tossing the core aside. "So, you takin’ the easy way out or what? "

"No," she said sighing. "I haven't completely given up on school… yet. So, I guess in the meantime, I should find a job over the summer so I can save up to move out too. "

"Why? You're mom's never home anyway."

Hopper was right. Mrs. Horowitz was notorious for leaving Joyce alone for days or weeks at a time while she chased her boyfriends halfway 'round the midwest. There wasn't really a point to moving out just yet, but it was something she needed to start preparing for.

"True," Joyce shrugged. "But I'll need to move out by August, though, to give me time to get settled in Indy before school starts. Which means I need to start looking for a place to rent in July."

Hopper looked like he had forgotten that part — like he wasn't sure what to make of Joyce just up and leaving Hawkins like that. 

"Huh. Bright lights, big city," he muttered.

"Yeah," Joyce sucked in a deep breath, utterly overwhelmed at the thought of moving to Indianapolis and striking out on her own. "Heavy, I know."

"Lonnie going with you?" Hopper asked then, casually, pulling leaves off a bush as they passed the entrance to the school. He fiddled with them as he waited for her response.

Joyce side-eyed him. 

"Maybe. What's it to ya?"

"Just curious," Hopper said, letting the leaves blow away. 

Joyce's lips teased her amusement. 

Even though Hopper and Lonnie had been friends all throughout middle school, Hop didn't seem to care for Lonnie much anymore. Something had changed when Lonnie started flirting shamelessly with Joyce in the tenth grade. By the time Lonnie convinced Joyce to go on a date at the beginning of the senior year, Hopper's general dislike for Lonnie finally erupted into full-blown hatred. Before Lonnie dropped out, the boys were butting heads regularly, and Joyce had quickly learned to keep the two idiots separated as much as possible to maintain the peace. It had worked well for her over the last few months, at least until today. She wondered what was spurring the sudden interest on Hop’s part.

"Think you'll marry him?" Hopper asked Joyce point-blank.

The question was so out of the blue coming from him, she burst into laughter before realizing Hopper was dead-serious.

"I hadn't really thought about it," she said, and that was the god's honest truth. Sure, she wanted to get married, but she didn't know yet if Lonnie was the marrying kind. He was certainly looking like fun for the summer, though she would never admit that to Hop.

"You know, that guy is a real J.D. piece of work, Joyce." Hopper cracked his knuckles, a sour look on his face.

"He is not a Juvie!" Joyce exclaimed, knowing she was only loosely defending Lonnie on a technicality: his juvenile record had been wiped by the county on his twentieth birthday in January. 

"He promised me he was being good," she affirmed to her concerned friend. "Said he's got a job now and that he's saving up to move out. "

"Oh, yeah. Is that what he said?" Hopper laughed. "What's the new job? Working nine to five down at the ol Chop Shop?"

"Oh my god, Jim. Shut up!" Joyce groaned and smacked him on the arm for what he was implying. 

"Just watch yourself around him, that's all I'm saying. You know he's more trouble than he's worth,” he said, gazing down at Joyce. "And I'm still allowed to watch your back, y' know." 

Joyce bumped into him on purpose as they walked, trying to ignore the flush in her cheeks, flattered that he cared so much. 

"I can hold my own, y’know, she smirked back.

"I know, I know. You're small but feisty," Hopper said, patting her on the head with a grin. 

"Damn straight," she beamed up at him.

"Wait, stop," he said, reaching out to her, halting them in their tracks.

"What?"

With a grin, Hopper spun her around to face the student parking lot, her back facing him, his arms wrapped around her tiny frame in a bear hug. Joyce's jaw dropped.

She had only seen the one in the magazine ad and another from a distance on Main Street last summer when Hop pointed it out to her: the one that started his obsession. This was her first real look at a brand-spankin' new Pontiac GTO, hot off the lot, sleek lines sparkling like diamonds in the sun.

"There she is, "he said, spreading his arms wide at the sight of his pretty little coupe. 

"Jeez, Hop," Joyce breathed, taking in the vision. "It's a thing of beauty, all right." Joyce skipped over to the driver's side and held her hands up, pressing her face to the window to sneak a peek inside. 

"Tell me about it! Nightwatch blue, gold trim. Four on the floor with a 389 V8. Zero to 60 in six seconds, Joyce. Do you even know what that feels like?"

"Uh, fast?" she offered, moving around to the hood of the car to get a better look from the front. 

"Oh yeah," he said, biting his bottom lip at the word.

"You're terrible," Joyce laughed. "But this car… is cherry." 

She slid her hand up the hood, admiring the shimmering indigo flecks of sparkle in the smokey blue exterior and felt a genuine smile sneak up on her as she realized Hopper's intention. He had brought her out here to cheer her up and convince her to play hookie, knowing she couldn’t say no once she saw the damn car. 

The warning bell rang out across the schoolyard, signaling the end of the break. The other students mulled around them in the parking lot, heading back to the main doors of the school. Hopper and Joyce stuck around, in no hurry to head back to class.

 Just then, a bubbly voice called out from behind Joyce. 

"Oh, hey, Jim! Is that your car?" 

Joyce turned to see a tall blonde brush passed towards Hopper, nose in the air as she floated by. It was Chrissy Carpenter, the queen-bee of the junior class, with her two wanna-bees buzzing around at her side. 

"Just got ‘er today," Hopper said, fumbling to lean up against the hood like Steve McQueen as Chrissy approached, catching him off guard. The blonde didn't seem to mind, watching him squirm as she got closer, feeding off his nervous energy.

"Now, this is what I'm talking about," she said, admiring the car, trailing her frosted pink nails across the paint job, and then up to his arm. Hopper squirmed some more.

Joyce cringed as the scene played out in front of her.

"What do you think, ladies?" Chrissy asked of her loyal subjects.

"Oh yeah," the redhead said, nodding emphatically along with her. "It's real groovy."

"Outta sight," the brunette one snapped her bubblegum, staring at Hopper with doe eyes from under long lashes.

Chrissy smiled wide, like a crocodile about to eat its prey. She leaned into Hopper as if they didn't have an audience, practically melting for him and his new car in the late May sun.

"Maybe you could pick me up tonight after eight? Take me for a spin? We could go to the lookout again and do that thing you like…" 

Joyce attempted to stifle a laugh, but choked on it instead which caught everyone's attention. Chrissy shot daggers at her and Joyce just rolled her eyes. Hopper watched the interaction between the two unfold before locking eyes with Joyce over the hood of the car.

"Yeah, sure. Eight," Hopper nodded at Chrissy.

"See you then!" Chrissy said on a high note, as she grabbed her friends and bounced away. 

Joyce just shook her head in awe as she watched the trio of girls giggle their way over to the school's entrance, sneaking looks back at Hopper and the coupe. 

"That was ‘so groovy! Outta sight,’” she said mockingly to Hopper, face scrunched up in disgust at the grotesque display she just witnessed.

"Oh, are we jealous?" he asked, echoing Joyce's words back to her from earlier that morning. 

Joyce shook her head, pressing her lips together, holding back a smirk. Even if she were, she wouldn't dare admit it to him. 

"Not even a little." 

"Hm," he said, a devilish grin spreading on his lips. "Well, since we can't go tonight, what's say you and I take ‘er for a ride right now?" 

Chrissy was already long forgotten as he focused his attention on wearing down little Miss Goody-Two-Shoes. Every once in a while, he could convince Joyce to explore her inner wild-child.

Joyce dropped her bag at her feet and put her hands on her hips to stare him down, contemplating if she should or not. It was tempting with only one week left of classes to go. And since she could count on one hand how many classes she'd skipped so far this semester, she reasoned one more couldn't hurt. 

 Hopper raised his brows to prompt her.

“We could probably skip Cooper's class. It's study hall again today, and he fell asleep halfway through yesterday," she reasoned, tilting her head as she weighed the consequences. Were there any, though? With all this responsibility looming ahead, this might be her last chance to have some real fun. 

She pursed her lips, then asked, "Maybe just a zip around the block?" knowing full well they'd be gone a lot longer than that. "As long as I'm back before English."

"You're driving." Hopper smiled at how easy she gave in and tossed the keys to her.

She caught them, wide-eyed, looking between them, Hopper and the car.

"Are you sure?" She asked, surprised, eyebrows sky-high. Lonnie never, ever let her drive the Thunderbird. 

Hopper cocked his head. 

"Who taught you to drive, babe?" He asked.

“Don’t call me that,” Joyce smothered a giggle, practically giddy as Hopper moved around to open the driver's side door for her and let her get situated behind the wheel. Jumping in the passenger side, he leaned over to adjust the wheel and seat for her, giving her instructions. 

"Just go easy on the clutch! And feather the brakes! They're sticky because they're—“

“— new! Yeah, yeah, I know how to drive," Joyce told him, full of confidence now, and shoved him out of her way so she could start the car.

The engine roared to life as she turned it over, and Joyce gasped as she revved the peddle, drawing the attention of everyone left in the parking lot. 

Hopper chuckled and took a deep breath, before lighting a cigarette and adjusting the mirror for her. She took her time backing out, careful of the other vehicles. She didn’t want to be the first to put a lovetap in Hop’s new baby. She made it to the exit of the parking lot and took a deep breath, looking to him for reassurance this was okay.

“Drive, Joyce,” he told her, smoke dangling from his lips as he drummed the dashboard. 

"If you say so," Joyce said with a grin, putting her foot into it.

Chapter Text

Out past the cornfields and beyond town limits, was the Starlite drive-in — the hippest place in Hawkins to hang besides Benny’s Burgers.  Also, the only other place to hang out besides Benny’s. 

With two large screens and a concession stand, the Starlite drew in teens from all over Roane county, though everyone knew it was mostly Hawkins territory. That Friday night in May, the old farmer's field between the two screens was jam-packed with cars filled with the wild local youth. Stormy weather had rolled into town late afternoon, but despite that, almost all of Hawkins High had shown up. A fiery sunset was painting the rural Indiana sky in faded crimsons behind broad indigo strokes, the lightning and thunder tapering off just in time for the movie to start when a black, 1955 Thunderbird pulled up into the usual spot.

Lonnie had picked Joyce up from the school earlier that night, soon after Pep club finished, hiding a small bouquet of red carnations tied with twine behind his back and a bashful grin painted on his face. He took her to grab a quick bite to eat at the greasy spoon on Main street, his treat! After that, he whisked her off to the Starlite as a surprise to see the new Jane Fonda film. He even made sure to get there early since he knew she liked watching the previews. 

Joyce had a distinct feeling she was in for a strange evening. The air seemed to be charged — and not just because of the thunder storm that was quickly retreating above them — but because of Lonnie. 

He was acting so odd, almost possessed… by a polite young man. All evening he had been opening doors for her and pulling her chair out, complimenting her on something other than her body, paying for everything she wanted without complaining about the price. He said that he had one more surprise for her when they got to the Starlite, and her interest was genuinely piqued.

As Lonnie put the Thunderbird in park, Joyce looked around at the other vehicles pulling up around them. Groups were getting settled in to watch the double-feature, and even though everything was still wet from the rain, teens sat on the hoods of their cars, or set up camp with sleeping bags in the beds of their trucks. Most couples were content to stay in the privacy of their own vehicles, much like Lonnie and Joyce, who were parked in his favorite spot at the far corner of the lot. Joyce watched him set up the speaker box on his windowsill and pulled her jacket tight around her shoulders when he rolled the window down. 

"So, what's my surprise?" Joyce asked impatiently, looking for something to distract her from the chill in the air.

"Hold your damn horses, woman," Lonnie chided, fiddling with the speaker box, getting the volume just right. He looked over to see her shiver. "What? You cold?"

"Mhmm." Joyce rubbed her arms and bounced her knees in her seat. 

"Oh, well, we can fix that!" Lonnie smirked and reached over her.

Joyce leaned back in her seat, hoping he was reaching for the heat. Instead, he hit the glovebox with his fist. It dropped down, and he grabbed a silver flask the size of his palm before slamming the box shut again. 

Unscrewing the top, he took a gulp and then passed it to Joyce. She took a sip, hesitantly. It tasted like a pine tree and instantly burned the back of her throat. She tried not to choke, spitting the rest back without Lonnie noticing, and passed it back to him with a small, forced smile of thanks.

"It's just a nip of gin, Joyce. Don't be shy, get to know it," he mumbled, with a smug grin. "It'll help you warm up, in more ways than one."

Joyce dropped her smile and grimaced, though Lonnie was too busy preening at himself in the rearview mirror to notice. 

“Why don’t you ever let me drive?” She asked. “You know my mom’s car still has heat. And that cozy bench seat….”

Lonnie stopped greasing his pompadour and threw her a look.

“Your mom’s car’s a boat and you don’t know how to drive.”

“I do so!” Joyce frowned. “Hopper helped me get my license.” 

Lonnie snorted and raised his brows, vaguely amused by her statement.

“That explains a lot.”

“What?” Joyce crossed her arms across her chest, feeling both annoyed and cold now. “Jim Hopper’s a great driver. He got his license before anyone! And his parents wouldn’t let him drive around the new car if they thought he was being an idiot. Especially Mr. Hopper…”

Lonnie looked at her.

“He got a new car?”

“Yeah! Today, actually. It’s a sweet little GTO. Nightwatch blue.”

The kaleidoscope of changing colors from the screen reflected off Lonnie’s face, deepening his scowl in the dark.

“You know,” he said finally after a beat. “I really don’t like you hanging around Hopper. That guy’s a fucking joke.”

“Just because you don’t want to be friends with him anymore doesn’t mean that I can’t—“

“Whatever Joyce— Look, I don’t want to talk about him,” Lonnie rumbled, glancing back to his reflection like Narcissus, distracted again. 

“Okay,” Joyce sighed. “Whatever.”

There was no arguing with Lonnie when it came to Hopper. That boy was on Lonnie’s shit list for life. Joyce sank back in her seat. It felt like the car was getting colder by the minute and she pulled her jacket tight around her shoulders but Lonnie didn’t seem to notice as he grinned. 

“Now, are you ready for your surprise?”

Joyce looked around them in the empty car, her teeth almost chattering in her skull. 

"What is it?"

“Me," his grin went wide, waiting for his punchline to land.

 It didn't. Joyce stared at him, nonplussed.

Lonnie huffed and shifted in his seat, and Joyce could tell he was trying hard to be patient with her.

"I just mean… I think I want us to go steady…" he elaborated, searching her face for a reaction. "We should y' know, be exclusive or whatever. We gotta be ready by now.”

Joyce crossed her arms at what she was hearing. 

"Exclusive? I thought we were already exclusive! Have you been seeing other girls this whole time?"

"Of course not," Lonnie said, laughing her off like it was a big joke, and she wondered if he was telling the truth when suddenly he got serious on her. "Babe, we've been dating for what? Almost a year now?"

"Six months," Joyce offered, unimpressed. 

"Yeah, so all I'm saying is we should consider taking things to the next level, right? Six months is a long time if you know what I mean. I really like you, kid, and I wanna make you mine."

Joyce hesitated. Lonnie seemed sincere, in his strange emotionally stunted way, but she'd never gone steady with anyone before. Was this really how it was supposed to be? Feeling irritated and confused, cold, and cornered in his car. She heard of other girls getting rings or letterman jackets… but for all his effort or lack there of, Lonnie was coming up empty-handed. Growing up, listening to the older girls talk about it, Joyce always thought this moment would be different for her, so she couldn't help but feel disappointed by how it was actually playing out. 

“What d'you say?"

"Uh… sure," Joyce said, not wanting to let him down. She tried her best to be more excited, though she was mostly annoyed. "Can we turn on the heat yet? I'm freezing."

“Sure, babe. It’s all good. Anything you want," Lonnie nodded, his eyes glinted, shining with the bright lights of the movie screen. He turned the engine over and cranked the heat, before opening his arms and his leather jacket to her. "C'mere. I'll keep you warm."

Now, that was more like it. 

Joyce leaned against Lonnie, content with his offer to cuddle, as rubbed her arms to help warm her up. They snuggled across the bucket seats, watching the colorful animated snacks, hotdogs and popcorn, and sodas with legs dance across the screen, letting the audience know the movie was about to start. 

Joyce sighed and tried to relax. 

She hadn’t always been the good-girl type, not by a long stretch… not after all the wild parties she threw when her mom wasn’t home during freshman year. And when she wasn’t day dreaming in class, she sometimes found herself playing hooky under the guidance of a borderline-delinquent Hopper. Senior year was a different story though. As graduation loomed and the weight of the world hit her full force, Joyce realized she had to find her inner book worm and fast if she wanted to get anywhere in the real world. Of course, it just so happened that while she scrambled to get her grades together, Joyce caught Lonnie’s eye, and she quickly found out that when Lonnie Byers wanted something, he got it…. By any means necessary.

Sometime during the concession ad and the previews, Lonnie's hand wandered under her shirt but over her bra, looking for a preview of its own. 

"Hey, stop that!" Joyce removed his hand from her shirt and dropped it off her shoulder, annoyed.

Lonnie shrugged, playing it off like he didn't know exactly what he was doing. 

"What?" 

"You know what." Joyce crossed her arms and glared him down. Don't play dumb with me, bucko.

Lonnie knew he was caught, and he sat back in his seat with a huff. He pointed at her, punctuating his words. 

"You said when school was done, and you didn't have to worry about your grades…"

Joyce gritted her teeth. 

"I know what I said, but there are still two weeks left of school, Lonnie. I shouldn't even be out tonight. I should be studying," she lied. All the important core tests were over with, all that was left to finish was her finals for French and Home Ec, but he didn't need to know that. 

Lonnie caught her eye, pleading. 

"Two measly weeks? That's what this is about? Come on, sweetheart. You're killing me over here." 

Joyce sighed and crossed her arms. That was not what it was about, but she wasn't about to explain the concept of boundaries to a man-child. No meant no!

"I just want to watch the movie, Lon,” she said, nodding to the screen.

Lonnie looked around him to all the darkened vehicles parked, some with windows already fogged up. 

"You gotta be kidding me! No one goes to the drive-in to just watch the movie, Joyce," he chuckled to himself, amused by the thought. 

Joyce didn't respond, stewing in the passenger seat as the flashing technicolor on the screen announced the feature presentation was about to begin. 

"Fine, we'll watch the damn movie," Lonnie huffed, shoving a handful of popcorn in his yap, yet that still didn't shut him up. "Happy?"

Not in the slightest, she thought to herself. 

Sure, things with Lonnie were great at the start and six months later, he was capable of being a gentleman every now and then. But as she watched him grumble to himself in his seat now, glaring at the opening credits of Cat Ballou, she started to wonder how much longer she could put up with this Jekyll and Hyde routine of his. 

Not even ten minutes into the western, Lonnie had his arm snaked around her again, pulling her closer to lean into him. Joyce saw no real harm in it as long as he kept his hands to himself, so she snuggled in across the seat. 

When his hand accidentally-on-purpose grazed her chest, she tried her best to focus on the movie, hoping he would take the hint.

Minutes later, when she reached for her Coca-cola, his left hand strayed to her lap, squeezing her thigh over her skirt. Joyce didn't move, praying he'd just keep it mellow so she didn't have to tell him again. But ever so slowly, as if he could hear her thoughts, his hand dipped down to her knees and under her skirt, his fingers dancing up to the top of her thigh-high stockings. 

She froze.

"Come on, babe," he whispered, nuzzling her ear. "Loosen up, have a little fun tonight."

Her hand shot out to stop his in its tracks, but that just seemed to entice him more. Lonnie pushed himself on her, trying to kiss her as he continued his hot pursuit.

"Damn it. Lonnie, I said no!" she growled and pushed him away, pressing herself against the door and grasping blindly for the handle behind her. The door swung open against her weight, spilling her out of the Thunderbird and into a mud puddle half the size of Lover’s Lake. 

Joyce could hear someone laughing from another car over while someone else flashed their high-beams on her, lighting her up for the whole lot to see. Lonnie bit back a laugh too. He leaned over the seat to look down at her, a pathetic sight on her hands and knees. She was soaked, mud-splattered, staining her skirt and blouse. Joyce pushed herself to stand up and looked down at her ruined outfit, wool skirt clinging to her legs like a wet dog.

"See, now that's your own damn fault for being so frigid, isn’t it?” Lonnie smirked down at her, lecturing. "If you'd just give in, you wouldn't be covered in mud right now."

Joyce choked on her words and the tears building at the back of her throat. 

"My fault? My fault?" she scoffed, trying to keep her voice level and calm. All eyes within a twenty car radius were on them. "Maybe if you were a gentleman, and stopped when I said no the first time. Or the second…"

Lonnie glared. "Oh, so it's all my fault then? Is that what I'm hearin'?" 

He didn't have to say anything to let her know that she had better watch what she said next.

Joyce just looked down at her messy, muddy hands, and sighed. 

"Lonnie, I'm sorry. Can you just take me home now, please?" 

"If you think you're getting back in this car looking like that…" Lonnie snorted. 

Joyce's jaw dropped. She couldn't believe it. Lonnie was more worried about his car than her! This date was officially O-V-E-R, over. 

"Fine," she shouted, grabbing her purse off the floor of the car and slinging it over her shoulder. "I guess I'll just walk home, then." 

Lonnie waved his hand at her in invitation. 

"Knock yourself out, honey," he said, unimpressed, and with more than a hint of doubt in his voice that she would actually follow through on her threat. It was at least ten miles back to town.

Without another word, Joyce spun on her heels and stomped through the soggy field, headed straight for the concession stand. Her blood was boiling. She knew he could be a bit of a jerk, but this was taking the cake!

A few car lengths later, she could hear Lonnie rip out the speaker box and throw it out the car window, cursing as he revved up the T-Bird to chase after her. His headlights lit her up as she stomped through mud puddles. She didn’t give a flying fuck anymore, saddle shoes beyond ruined.

Lonnie pulled up beside her and slowed down, leaning out the driver's side window. 

"What are you gonna do, Joyce? Walk back to Hawkins from here?!"

"I will do anything if it gets me away from you!" She stomped her foot in another puddle as she yelled. "We're through, Lonnie!" 

The look on Lonnie's face was enough to make Joyce want to laugh if she wasn't in such a rotten mood. She could tell he wasn't used to being dumped. A group of girls picking their way around mud puddles with their concession goodies stopped to watch the commotion, giggling to themselves. Lonnie's demeanor softened with an audience.

"Come on, babe. Go get cleaned up in the washroom and get back in the car. I think I have a blanket in the trunk for you, so you don't get mud on the seats. Let's go back. I want to finish watching the movie."

Joyce looked down at herself and back at him. It would take forever to clean up this mess. She was cold and wet and just wanted to be at home, in her bed. Away from him. 

"No," she said, brow furrowed as she realized what he was trying to do. "You weren't watching the movie. I'm going home."

Lonnie's face twisted up in a snarl. 

"I knew it, I knew you were gonna be a prude tonight when you wouldn't kiss me hello. I didn't even want to be here, y' know? There was a real primo party I turned down to take you out tonight!" 

"Well, nothing's stopping you now," Joyce spat back.

Lonnie shook his head at her and then punched the steering wheel, stepping on the gas and spitting mud as he sped out of the parking lot into the dark night, leaving Joyce standing there, stunned. 

Joyce's walk of shame back to the concession booth was a cold, wet, and angry one. Peeling off her jacket and cardigan, the sleeves of both were drenched, left her shoulders bare in the brisk spring night. Met with gawking stares and whispers from the movie-going stragglers going to and fro, Joyce didn’t care, already focused on her next problem — how the hell am I getting home? 

She could probably call Karen to come to pick her up — but then she remembered Karen was with her parents and Ted, celebrating their engagement. A good friend wouldn't interrupt that… And knowing her mother, she would be three sheets to the wind by now (if she was even still at home), so that ruled her out, too. 

Maybe if she hung around the booth, she could hitch a ride back into town instead? Only if someone took pity on her and it would be a tough go looking like the mess she was. Fucking Lonnie couldn't even put aside his selfishness to make sure she got home safe. Some boyfriend he turned out to be. Why on Earth did she like him again? 

A beat-up old Buick made it's way through the front gates of the theater as she stomped her way through the mud. Its headlights blinded her as the car headed straight for a huge mud hole. Joyce dodged them at the last second before she could be splashed. One of the male passengers — a babyfaced kid no more than fourteen leaned out the window to catcall as they drove off. 

“SHAKE IT DON’T BREAK IT, BABY!”

Joyce clenched her jaw, and with all the might she could muster, flipped the bird at the young offender. She listened to the car full of boys howling with laughter as they peeled away and then the deafening silence as she realized how alone she suddenly was and tears threatened to fall until a familiar voice carried across the way.

"Hey, wait up for a second, Chrissy." 

The voice stopped behind her, and she felt a tap on her shoulder. 

"Joyce, are you okay?"

Oh, thank god.  

She turned around to see Hopper, popcorn and drinks in hand. Chrissy was standing off behind him, arms crossed with an annoyed look plastered to her face.

Joyce sniffled and looked at him, trying not to cry.

Hopper handed his snacks off to his date and then reached for Joyce to pull her into a hug and whispered in her ear to ask her if she needed a ride home.

Joyce nodded and leaned into him as he rubbed her back, thankful he was there for her right when she needed him. Noticing the goosebumps on her bare shoulders, he immediately offered up his jacket, draping it over her shoulders without a word. 

"What are you doing? We're missing the movie!" Chrissy took a step forward and hissed under her breath at Hopper.

He huffed, and squeezed Joyce's shoulder in comfort, before turning to his date and speaking to her like a petulant child. 

"Chrissy, my friend is upset, so I'm going to make sure she gets home okay before I do anything else tonight. Do you want to come with me or do you want to go find your friends?" 

The blonde curled her lip and glared at Joyce and then Hopper.

"I'll stay," she said.  

"Okay… I'll call you tomorrow," Hopper said with a shrug.

"Don't bother, Jimmy." Chrissy spun on her heels and stomped off toward the screens.

Joyce sucked in a breath, finding her laugh despite her tears. 

"Jimmy?"

He shrugged, nonchalant, more interested in her.

"What happened? Did Lonnie hurt you? I'll fucking kill him."

Joyce winced, she didn't want to tell him what really happened, partly because of her pride and partly because she knew Hopper would have to kick Lonnie's ass and that wasn't something she wanted to deal with at the moment.

When they got to his car, all shiny and new, parked in the very last row near the entrance, Joyce paused. There was no way she could sit in the GTO like this. Hopper prodded her to keep walking. 

"Come on, let's get you home." 

"I'm covered in mud," she said as if it wasn't completely obvious.

"So? It'll buff out. Get in the car, Joyce,"

"Are you sure?"

"No, you know what? You're right. Let's strap you to the roof first," Hopper replied, voice dripping in sarcasm as he held the door for her.

Joyce sighed and climbed in, careful not to make more of a mess than she already was. Mud smeared against the brand new vinyl, and she watched him gulp down a worried look and throw her a reassuring smile instead. As soon as he started it up, he turned the heat up to full blast and grabbed a blanket from the back seat to throw over her legs.

"Good?" he asked. 

When Joyce nodded, he put the car into gear, headlights guiding them home in the pitch-black night of rural Indiana.

On their way, Hopper took out his pack of smokes and lit one, taking a drag before passing it to her. Joyce accepted it with thanks and puffed on it, staring sullen out the window at the cornfields that whipped by under moonlight.

He lit up another smoke for himself before he turned to her and asked, “Do you wanna talk about it?" 

Joyce just shook her head, looking to him under the muted orange glow of the dashboard lights. 

"Okay," he said. "I'm here if you want to…"

Joyce took a deep breath.

”I know."

The rest of the short drive was spent in awkward silence as grid roads slowly turned into suburban streets. Joyce really didn't want to talk about what happened with Lonnie, and Hopper didn't want to pry. When she couldn't stand the silence anymore, she reached for the radio, turning it up just a little to let the Beatles drown out her thoughts.

As he turned down their block, Hopper spoke up again, making light-hearted chatter to keep her spirits up, so they didn't have to end the night on a sour note.

"Hard to believe prom is next week. This year is going by so fast…”

Prom. Prom is next week. 

Joyce's heart fell — all her hard work and dreams had just been dashed by a split-second impulse to dump Lonnie. 

"Woah, hey, what's that look for?" Hopper asked when he looked over to see her face scrunched up in a scowl.

"I told Lonnie we were through tonight," she mumbled, rolling her eyes.

"Oh?" Hopper's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't take his eyes off the road. "Before or after the mud?"

"After."

Hopper nodded in relief.

"So, I guess I don't have anyone to go with now,” she said, her voice wobbling on the edge of tears. "I wonder if I can still return my dress." 

That was a miserable thought — she had saved up all year working odd jobs to buy that damn dress, when she could’ve just settled for making her own. She always did this… put crazy levels of emphasis on the stupid little things, more than she needed to. Tossing the cigarette butt out the window with a frown, she watched the orange sparks skip down the road behind them in the side mirror.

Hopper pulled into her driveway and killed the engine. 

"Nope.” He shook his head at her. “That's not happening, I won't allow it. You practically planned this thing! You have to go and I'm making sure of that."

"I'm not gonna go to prom by myself, Hop," Joyce huffed.

Hopper just chuckled.  

"It's a real good thing you're cute, Horowitz," he said, tapping her on the nose. "I'm not saying you have to go alone. I'm saying that maybe you and I could..." 

He trailed off, waiting for a reaction. 

Joyce dark eyes were as wide as saucers, and peachy-pink lips formed an 'O' when she finally caught on.

"Whaaat… Wait, are you asking me to prom?" she asked, stunned. 

It was Hopper's turn to roll his eyes at her now, knowing he would have to bite the bullet and properly ask her. He sucked in a steady breath.

"Joyce. Will you go with me to prom?"

Joyce stomach involuntarily flipped at his words and a smile slowly spread across her face as she watched his cheeks flush and turn ten different shades of red as soon as the words left his mouth. She didn’t think he actually cared that much. Where was this Hopper six months ago, pre-Lonnie? 

"Sure,” she said, a bit breathlessly. “Pick me up Friday, say… seven?" 

Hopper exhaled. 

"Seven. Yep. Got it," he said, grinning ear to ear like he couldn't believe his luck.

"It's a date!" Joyce giggled, albeit a bit nervously, not quite sure how to feel about it just yet. 

Joyce's heart was beating fast, and her eyes were drawn to his lips and the way he licked them in anticipation as he leaned in. The porch light went on outside her house, and she was acutely aware that she was no longer staring back at the boy-next-door, the same one she used to call her best friend. No, he was her prom date now. 

"Joycie-honey? Is that you?" 

Her mother was standing in a cocktail dress, barefoot in the yard. With a glass of wine in one hand, Virginia Slim in the other, she looked closely in the dark at the strange car parked in her driveway. Her middle-aged suitor-du-jour in a disheveled suit wobbling out the front door close behind her.

"Shit, I gotta go," Joyce gathered herself and turned to grab the door, but Hopper stopped her.

"You sure? Looks like we're interrupting your mom's date."

"Yeah," Joyce said. She was sure. Her head was spinning, and she needed some time to process everything that had just happened. Besides, she had mud drying in places she didn't want to think about and was desperate for a shower. She brushed a spot of dirt drying into dust on the passenger seat next to her thigh, which only made it worse. 

"Look at me, I'm a mess."

Hopper chuckled, brushing a freckle of dried mud off the curve of her cheek.

"You could come over and get cleaned up at my place. Mom won't mind. I think I still have a pair of your old pajamas in my drawer from our last sleepover. Little pink hearts? With the frills on the sleeves," he smirked. "It'd be like old times."

Joyce blushed and pulled herself away, knowing it probably would not end up being like old times at all if she went over there tonight. Something strange was bubbling up inside of her, and she wasn't sure yet if it was excitement or panic at the thought of going on an actual date with Jim Hopper. A switch was flipped, everything suddenly felt different now; up was down, black was white.

"Everything okay?" 

Concern crossed Hop's face for a second, worried he had done something wrong. She gave him a big, reassuring smile as she stepped out of his car. Annette was walking across the lawn to them now, calling out with a slight slur to her words. 

"Honey, what are you doing home so early? Who's car is that?"

Joyce turned back to Hopper feeling flustered, tongue-tied, trying desperately to keep the butterflies at bay. She wasn’t ready to feel that way about him yet!

"It's cool," she managed to squeak out to him, not at all keeping it cool. "See you later, alligator!" 

Joyce closed the car door on Hop's bewildered, smiling face, and she somehow felt a little like Pandora, desperately trying to get the lid back on the box.

Chapter Text

"I don't know what you want me to tell you… Hopper asked… and I said yes! Yeah, that's why I'm calling— I need to talk to you. When are you gonna be home? Okay. Well, no — no, oh my god, Karen! We didn't do that! " 

Joyce was sitting in her room, hallway phone in her lap, the long cord weaving around the bedroom furniture as she told Karen her news, and from her perch in her window she watched Hopper from across the street.

The tall, dirty blond stumbled out onto his driveway barefoot, squinting into the mid-day like he had just woke up. Bucket in hand and a sponge in the other, he sleepwalked his way to the muddy car in the driveway. Wiping wet hands on loose Wranglers that hung just-so off his hipbones, just a little below the hem of his shirt, it revealed the top of his boxers and a set of abs Joyce suddenly wanted to lick like hard ice cream. When he flipped the cigarette from behind his ear and lit it up, Joyce couldn’t stop herself from holding her breath. When he crouched down to soap up the sponge and wring it out, the water splashed up, soaking the bottom half of his shirt before he started to wash down the car, working it over in a hypnotizing motion. 

Lord, have mercy.

Joyce's cheeks burned, and her stomach flipped wildly in her belly at the thoughts running rampant through her brain. It took all her strength to focus on the questions Karen was excitedly peppering her with.

The future Mrs. Wheeler was living it up at Ted's great aunt's house in the country for an afternoon luncheon of the utmost fashion to celebrate and introduce her to the extended Wheeler family — otherwise known as 'a total snoozefest' in the young girls' eyes. Of course, Karen had dropped the finger sandwiches and sweet tea without a moment's hesitation when Mrs. Dawson called the Wheeler estate to say Joyce had called on Karen four times that morning, and she was starting to get worried something was wrong. Karen was the only one Joyce went to when she had boy problems, and this was the worst problem of them all… In fact, it was a red alert. 

"Well," Karen said over the line. "What are you waiting for? You do want to kiss him, right?"

Joyce's heart skipped a beat at the image that flashed in her brain. 

"Uh, I hadn't really thought about it much until last night." She had to hold the phone away from her ear when Karen let out a cackle of laughter. 

"I knew it! I totally knew it. You two are meant to be together."

"Hmm, or maybe you've lost your mind," Joyce said, feeling half-amused but mostly annoyed. Karen had been harassing her and Hop to date since grade school, so Joyce fully expected this reaction. 

"And what about Lonnie?" Karen asked, managing to control her giggle-fit a bit better.

Joyce's gaze across the street never faltered. Hopper was putting great care into washing his new baby, taking his time with the details, and driving Joyce absolutely up the wall. 

She wasn't thinking about Lonnie anymore.

"What about him? I told you, he left me stranded at the drive-in last night, Karen."

Hopper was focusing his attention on the hood of the car now, his tall, bulky frame facing her house, and she shielded herself behind the gauzy curtain. If he looked up right then, he'd see Joyce peeking around the hem, like a conspicuous Harriet the Spy. 

"Oh, that just means he likes you, don't you know?" Karen snorted. "I swear he did that to Debbie Wiser two years ago, and they went together for months afterward. Some girls go for that kinda treatment, I suppose. Not me, personally, but I mean, whatever floats your dreamboat, right?"

"And what a dreamboat he is," Joyce said sarcastically. "I really doubt I'm in Lonnie Byers' good books anymore. I really reamed him out, and kinda embarrassed him. In fact, I'm pretty sure that was the first time he'd ever been dumped! "

"Ugh! Good riddance — he's a sleaze anyway. Oh, Joyce! I'm so gassed for prom now," Karen said breathlessly, switching the subject back to more pleasant topics. "I can't believe Jim asked you out!"

"He didn't ask me out yet, Karen, he just asked me to prom. But, we can talk more when you get home tonight," Joyce choked on a giggle, the reality finally sinking in for her now. "Aren't I keeping you from your afternoon with great aunt whats-her-name?"

"Mildred," Karen replied. "And please don't hang up, I'm so utterly bored here, and I wanna hear more about how he asked you. Like, was he shy about it? Bold? Was it romantic? Oh, tell me, tell me, tell me!"

Joyce stayed silent, though, lost in a daydream. Hopper stopped what he was doing to run a soapy hand across his forehead then, and she practically melted. A tinny impatient Karen-voice shook her away from her fixation, as Joyce brought the phone back to her ear.

"Did you hang up on me? You little bitch!" 

When Joyce spoke again, she practically groaned into the receiver. 

"I think I'm in trouble, Kare."

"What do you mean?"

Joyce gulped and started to pace the floor.

"I'm falling, hard and fast and… and it's with him! Of all people? I mean, how is that even possible? We're complete total opposites, y' know? We're both… stubborn as hell—“

"Mhmm."

"We can barely go a single day without arguing…"

"I know," Karen sighed. "I'm the one who gets to listen to it, re-mem-ber?“

"He's too tall and too moody and broody and… And he's been like a brother to me since I was five! Oh my god, what is wrong with me, Karen?" Joyce asked, finally realizing what it meant to be love-sick.

"Nothing," Karen said, matter-of-fact. "You're just in L-O-V-E with Jim Hopper!"

"Nope," Joyce shook her head, dragging her eyes off the man in question and looking in the mirror at herself — cheeks flushed, barely breathing — a dreamy look on her face. "Not possible."

Karen laughed again and started singing, “Jim and Joyce, sitting in a tree….”

Joyce bit her bottom lip. She was in trouble, and she was in deep.

Hopper was taking his sweet time with the GTO, enjoying the late-spring sunshine and a gentle warm breeze carrying a cheery little birdsong. He was whistling along and reading the instructions on the tin of carnuba wax when he heard his father's abrupt voice over his shoulder. 

"My, my, my… That's a good looking vehicle, son," Jack Hopper said, crossing the lawn with a determined march leftover from his time during the war. "I'm pleased to see you're already taking such good care of the magnanimous gift your grandparents gave you."

Hopper nodded and threw his old man a proper salute. 

"Thanks, Pops! Figured I'd get a head start on keeping her tip-top." 

"Oh?" Jack raised a bushy grey eyebrow. "It has nothing to do with escorting that girl across the street home last night? Looked like she'd been wrestling in the mud." He was avoiding saying her name again.

Hopper raised an eyebrow too. He didn't know they had an audience last night.

"Well, yeah. Joyce had a bad night, so I offered to bring her home." 

"You like her, don't you?" Jack scrutinized his son's reaction before he continued, "Be careful around girls like her, son. That one's gonna end up just like her mother if she's not careful."

Hopper frowned. Mrs. Horowitz had been quite close with his family when the kids were younger, but lately, it seemed like his dad had a thorn in his side when it came to Annette. Jim didn't dare say anything, having a feeling that his father was already in a mood, so he didn't interrupt.

"Your mother and I… well, we're real proud of you, son. I'll be honest, there was a moment where we both were worried you might not finish high school; dodging class and smoking the reefer was your top priority. But we're glad to see you've done a one-eighty, and clearly so have your grandparents. What a generous gift," Jack repeated, clicking his tongue at the car sitting in his driveway. 

The younger Hopper interjected, trying to give credit where it was due. 

"Well, y' know, I couldn't have done it without Joyce—"

"I appreciate seeing my boy carry out his responsibilities," Jack continued, breezing over what his son was saying. "That's just what a Hopper man does, we fulfill our obligations. To ourselves, our family… and our country."

 Hopper felt the urge to roll his eyes but kept them trained on his father. He knew where this speech was going and that he'd better listen if he knew what was good for him.

"There comes a time in every boy's life where he must head out on a path toward the man he will become. I want you to think of that man in these coming weeks," Jack stepped closer to grip his son's shoulder now and looked him square in the eyes. "And I want you to ask yourself what that man's duty will be in this life."

"Duties, sir?" Hopper asked, still standing at attention.

"Well," his father said, starting to pace. "From what I've heard, the conflict in Vietnam is nowhere near over. In fact, it looks like the Army will need double the inductees by the end of this year. So, the way I see it, you have two choices here, son. 

"You are more than welcome to get a job, move out after you graduate next week. Maybe find a nice girl to settle down with, make a life for yourself, while you can," Jack said, implying something. "But then you got eight years."

"Eight years, sir?"

"You can be drafted until you're twenty-six, did you know that? Look at me, son. Do you think you can dodge the draft for eight years? "

Hopper shook his head slowly.

"No, you can't. Besides, that's taking the easy way out, and you know what I think of men who take the easy way out, don't you?

“So, I think you'll take the other choice, and you can head down to the SSO the minute you graduate. You will accept your duty to this country without a lick of hesitation like I did and all the good Hopper men before you have done. Save all that lovey-dovey crap for when you return to your country, a real man. 

"It may be weeks or months, but when they call you, you will get it over with and be thankful you're not heading into the meat grinder like your grandfather's war," Jack said, punctuating his words by punching his son in the shoulder, once. A sharp jab.

"Yessir," Hopper said, lowering his head and biting his tongue until he was sure he would taste blood. There was no use in arguing with his father on the matter. 

Jack nodded sternly, taking a deep breath and a step back, running a hand over his closely cropped greying hair. "Now, I promised your mother that I wouldn't force your hand on this, but I know which one I would pick if I were in your shoes. You have until the end of the month to figure it out," Jack raised his hand into a set of bullhorns at Jim. "Not a day more. Understand?"

"Yessir," Hopper repeated, but his eyes were drawn across the street where Joyce had stepped out on her front porch.

Jack followed his son's gaze to see Joyce walking over, waving at him with a big smile on her face, completely unaware of the heavy conversation at hand. 

"Get it out of your system now, boy, but screw your head on straight," Jack advised, making his way back into the house, leaving his son with something to think about. "A war is coming."

Chapter Text

The week passed by in a blink of an eye, and suddenly, it was the big day. 

Joyce could barely recall the last seven days. With the last of her major exams behind her, Pep club had taken top priority, and from Monday on, it was all a blur to put the finishing touches on Prom. 

Karen took the lead on organizing the refreshments, acting as a liaison for the teaching staff who had volunteered to chaperone, assigning Joyce to decoration detail, and working with the AV club to ensure the live band was all set up. Joyce even got fifty dollars petty cash from the school secretary to buy the last of the balloons they'd need and the most confetti she had ever seen in her life (per Karen's direct order.) 

She was also in charge of repairing and polishing the coveted Prom Court props — a paper mâché tiger head scepter and tiara — a task Joyce took real pride in, her glue gun at the ready. Those two items were Hawkins High legends, permanently on display in the halls, alongside all the awards and trophies the students had won over the years. Only the most loved, most popular claimed them at the end of each year. Two people sure to go down in Hawkins history, their names forever remembered on the plaque that accompanied them. It was the longest-running school tradition, and she took great care in her work, getting them ready for the King and Queen of 1965. 

Joyce was so busy with preparations, in fact, that she barely had time to see her date. 

From her bubble bath, she glanced out the window now to catch a glimpse of his house. The light was on in Hopper's bedroom, where he was getting ready too, and a pang of guilt came out of nowhere and made her frown. 

She had meant to devote some time to him this week — at the very least to go over his notes for the last of his final exams — but any effort she was able to put in was lacking. Pep had sucked up all her free time, and she felt bad for blowing him off. Regardless, Joyce still had faith in Hopper. 

Not to toot her own horn, but she was a good teacher when she had the right pupil. And for some strange reason, Hopper happened to be a fantastic student. He even admitted that Joyce could get through to him better than any of the teachers at the school — especially Ratliff, whom he had a particular hatred for. Luckily, Joyce was a natural-born keener, and science was easy-breezy for her, so she was able to single-handedly saved Hopper's butt from flunking out of Mrs. Ratliff's class. 

Joyce could say without a shred of doubt that Hop knew his stuff by now. In fact, he'd have to skip the test completely to bring his grade average down at this point, and she was darn-proud of that fact. 

Still, she felt guilty for some reason. Hopper had seemed a bit off last weekend, and she never quite figured out why. She hated to pry, and of course he had put up his walls, so it was just easier to leave it to him to it and focus on the task at hand. 

But now, the school week they spent apart had made her want to see him more than ever. Her heart skipped in anticipation of seeing him all dressed up in a proper suit and tie. Sinking down below the bubbles into the warmth, she wondered what kind of corsage he'd bring her, and if he was just as nervous as she was to see him. She wondered if they’d kiss, and if he’d be the one to make the first move. That thought alone practically made her heart stop.

A knock on the bathroom door snapped her out of her thoughts. Her mother called out to her between the crack in the door. 

"Joycie, baby. It's almost six. He's gonna be here soon!"

Butterflies tickled her tummy, and she hit the plug with her toe, watching the water spin down the drain like sand through an hourglass. There wasn't much time left now.

Everything she'd been waiting for… it was all finally happening.

"Wow," was all Hopper could say, his face turning ten shades of red as Joyce descended the stairs and walked carefully into the room, still unsure of herself in her mother's black stiletto high heels. How anyone liked wearing these torture devices, Joyce would never know.

What Joyce did know, was that despite the constant wobble and feeling like she was about to roll an ankle, she looked damn good. Dark blue taffeta sprung out at her hips, fluffy crinolines underneath. A black and navy bodice flowed softly around her shoulders, a sweetheart neckline revealing a bit more than she was used to. 

Hopper was looking sharp, decked out in all black, a three piece suit and tie, dirty blond hair slicked back. Joyce had never seen him look more handsome.

And when Hopper slowly dragged his gaze up, he saw the prettiest sight he'd ever seen. A touch of makeup only enhanced Joyce's natural beauty, and her big hazel eyes sparkled in the low light of the living room.

"How do I look?" Joyce asked, twirling for approval.

"You look beautiful, baby!" Annette snapped a picture of her daughter and then looked over to Hopper. "Doesn’t she, Jimmy?"

Hopper gulped and nodded, too bashful to say something, for once in his life.

"Is that for me?" Joyce asked, moving closer to him, motioning to the plastic box he was white-knuckling in his hands. Joyce giggled and handed him his boutonniere — a white rose and baby's breath. Joyce opened her box, revealing a big white gardenia, which smelled heavier than heavenly. Hopper helped her put it on over her delicate wrist, and she attached the rose to his lapel, Annette snapping pictures as fast as she could.

"Okay, now a proper photo, please," she asked them. "One that I can frame! No, no, get in closer, you two. Jimmy, put your arms around her! She won't bite. Oh God bless, you make a sweet couple…"

Joyce's face blanched, and she shrugged Hopper's arms off her while he laughed nervously. Annette just smiled knowingly and took a sip from her drink, before she wagged a finger in Hopper's face.

"You behave, now," she said between hiccups, pinching his cheek, the scent of mint julep coming off her bright pink lips with each word. "And be sure to wrap it up if you need to. I'm far too young to be a grandmother."

"Ma!" Joyce groaned and grabbed Hopper by the sleeve, dragging him out into the night before her mother could embarrass her further.

"Well, it's true, Joycie! You'll both understand one day," Annette called after them. "Now, be home by midnight. Or I'll turn you both into pumpkins!"

"Pumpkins?" Hopper asked Joyce when they got out of earshot.

"She's been drinking since two. Ignore her," Joyce said, with a mischievous smirk, shaking her head as she spoke, curls bouncing wildly with each shake. "I don't plan on coming home til I'm good and ready."

Hopper opened the car door for Joyce, and they both stifled a laugh while Annette tried to sneak another picture or two with the Brownie camera from the lawn. 

“Be good, my dears!" She waved her handkerchief with a sniff when it was clear they weren't sticking around to be photographed.  

The drive to the school was barely ten minutes, but Joyce and Hop made the most of it, feeling as glamourous as a couple of movie stars on their way to walk the red carpet at Grauman’s Chinese, dressed to the nines for the first time in their lives. Hopper turned the radio up, and rolled the windows down, driving slow to save Joyce's hair from getting mussed. They shared a grin and a cigarette. There was a feeling in the air that tonight would be special, and they savored the moment even as their youth slipped through their fingers as quickly as the breeze.

When they pulled into the parking lot of Hawkins High at a quarter past seven, it looked like the party was already well underway.

The lot was full of their classmates dressed up to the point of being almost unrecognizable, pulling up to the school in some of the snazziest cars they'd ever laid eyes on — no doubt borrowed from beyond apprehensive parents. A small crowd had gathered at the front entrance to the school, with girls ooh-ing and ahh-ing over each other's dresses and comparing bouffants while the boys slapped each other on the back and puffed away on stolen cigars from their father's studies.

Music thumped away from inside of the school, the band already in full swing. Some of their classmates had already started a dance party on the sidewalk. If they could venture a guess, it looked like Joyce and Hop were in for a night to remember.

"Especially if I have anything to do with it," Hopper waggled his eyebrows. 

Joyce grinned back, fiddling with the corsage on her wrist. She was bubbling with excitement for the night ahead. 

Hopper opened the car door for Joyce and held out his hand to her like Prince Charming, and she took it, feeling a bit more grounded just by his touch. They started to walk over to the gathering crowd when he held her back.

"Hey, you uh, got a garter under that dress?"

"James Edwin Hopper!" Joyce gasped and smacked his arm, not bothering to hide her smile.

"What? I'm not being a perv!" he said, opening up his suit coat to show her the flask he had hidden there and nodded to the entrance of the school where all the boys were being searched for contraband — booze, dope, fireworks. "Just don't want to get caught with this…"

"Fuckssakes, Hop," Joyce hissed under her breath, rolled her eyes up to meet his. "Cover me."

Quickly looking around to make sure no one was watching, she snatched the flask from his hands, but not before unscrewing the cap to take a swig, catching Hopper's disbelieving eye. 

He was going to warn her, but before he could, Joyce knocked back the flask, her eyes going wide as the liquor hit her tongue with an unexpected bite.

"Cinnamon?" she coughed and sputtered.

"Schnapps," he said, snapping his fingers at the same time for her to give him the flask back so he could have some too. 

She licked her burning lips and reached down for the hem of her dress while she waited for him to pass the flask back.

Hopper stood up pin-straight and opened his suit coat to block out the view from the rest of the parking lot, pretending to look for something deep in his pocket while she bunched her dress up around her thighs and leaned forward, giving him only a glimpse.

High up on her thigh, a black garter peeked out from under frothy baby blue tulle and indigo taffeta. Hopper couldn't help himself — he was staring. The sight of her red fingernails running over bare skin as she loosened the lace and tied the flask tight around her leg sent all the blood in his body due south. 

He tried to keep focused, clearing his throat, double-checking that no one was around to see while she fastened the flask in place. When it was secured, she stood up abruptly, dropping her skirt back down and smoothing the fabric, making sure herself that they didn't have any witnesses. When she was satisfied they got away with it, she sighed and winked up at him with a cheeky grin. 

Hopper had never seen anything so sexy in his short life. It looked like Ms. Goody Two Shoes was ready to explore her bad side some more.

"Ready?" Joyce asked with pep and reached for his arm — as if she wasn't about to smuggle booze into Prom under her dress. 

"Oh yeah," he sucked in a breath as they headed towards the school's entrance, trying not to trip over his feet as he escorted her into the party. He couldn't take his eyes off her. "You look really pretty tonight," he said, finally working up the courage to tell her what he'd thought since she opened the door for him that evening.

But Joyce didn't seem to notice the sentiment behind his words. 

"Yeah, yeah, you can whistle for it." She grinned, slapping his chest before Karen caught her attention.

"Oh my god, Joyce! You look like Jackie Kennedy, only not as sad!"

Her best friend made her do a spin before settling her eyes on Joyce's date. 

"Oh my… He cleans up nice, doesn't he?"

"I'm standing right here, Karen," Hopper cut in.

Karen giggled and grabbed her two friends by their hands, dragging them to the entrance of the school, Ted bringing up the rear.

"This is gonna be a trip. Let's go!"

The foursome entered the dance and Joyce's heart skipped a beat as she saw her vision, finally realized. Royal blue and silver balloons and streamers covered nearly every inch of the gym, even surrounding the stage set up in the middle where the band played. The AV club had the spotlights going, turning the boring old gymnasium into something glamorous, just for one night. 

Karen fluffed her bouffant as they walked under the balloon arch, ready for her close-up in the school yearbook, looking for the photographers to take a snapshot of their entrance. 

"How do I look, Ted?" 

Ted looked over, giving her buttercup yellow chiffon dress a once over before replying, honestly and only in the way Ted Wheeler could: 

"Like a beautiful, blonde… pineapple — What?"

Karen tossed her future husband a look that could kill, then promptly ignored him, pointing to the far end of the room and pulling at Joyce again like a little kid.

"Hm, our table is back here."

"Just wait, just wait. I wanna vote!" Joyce said, pulling back on Karen and pointed to the booth where a mousy girl with thick coke bottle glasses and headgear sat alongside her prom date: a skinny kid with freckles who seemed to be a year younger than all of them. Both looked slightly mortified to have to interact with Joyce and Karen and their dates. 

"Hey, uh, Marissa, right?" Joyce asked, reaching for a pencil and a ballot.

The girl looked up at Joyce and nodded, confusion crossing her face as Karen interrupted, pulled Joyce away. 

"Oh no, you don't want to do that…"

"Why not?"

"Because…" Karen shrugged, and bounced on her heels, looking everywhere but at Joyce. "I might have maybe nominated you guys for King and Queen…"

"What?" Hopper stepped away from his chit-chat with Ted to lean down to get in Karen's face. "You gotta be tripping!”

"You didn't—" Joyce started and then looked down at the ballot in her hand. And there it was, sure as shit…

Their names were listed third down along with the usual suspects… the Jocks: Jim Williams and head cheerleader Connie Beavers; and of course there was Joe Harrington. Joyce didn't even bother reading the rest of the names before she crumpled the ballot in her hand and threw it at her friend, a smile creeping up on her face despite herself. 

"You little bitch!"

Joyce didn't know whether to be mortified or excited at the thought of being nominated. The idea made her giggle, but when she caught the disapproving look on Marissa's face, she wiped the smile off her face. Clearly, some people were taking the whole prom court thing very seriously. 

"Have you lost your goddamned mind, woman?" Hopper crossed his arms and stared down at Karen.

Karen cackled. 

"Oh no, this is funny. Trust me."

"For you, maybe!" Joyce grumbled. 

"You better pray we don't win," Hopper muttered to Karen. "Or you're gonna be sorry."

Karen looked up at Ted with a helpless expression.

"What? I'm not here to protect you," Ted said, hands raised in surrender to his fiancée as he simultaneously turned to Hopper with a shrug of indifferent innocence. "That was all her idea, I had nothing to do with it." 

"Nah, you're good, Teddy," Hopper slapped the older man on the shoulder. "I know how your little lady rolls. Congrats on the wedding by the way. I think you've made a terrible mistake, but who am I to judge?"

"James Hopper!" Karen glared at him and grabbed Joyce by the hand. "Joyce! I need to check on the punchbowl. Now."

Joyce shrugged at her date and allowed Karen to drag her off, leaving Hopper alone with Ted and very little in common to talk about.

Debbie Wiser and her two sidekicks, the Chatty Cathies were sitting on the refreshment table, much to Karen's horror. 

There was nothing she could do, though — no one told Debbie Wiser what to do unless they wanted a black eye and a piece of her bad reputation. That one had a interesting way of spinning everything on you to get herself out of trouble, and Joyce knew it was best to back off and leave her be.

"Chill…” Joyce mumbled under her breath to her friend as they approached. She could feel Karen holding back as she let go of her hand and grabbed a glass for herself before passing another off to Karen.

"Nice party, ladies," Debbie smirked. “Really classy.”

Joyce couldn't tell if she was being sincere or not. Deb was always so hard to read. A stone-cold ice-queen. There was no wonder why she dated Lonnie first -- she seemed to be just his type.

Joyce swallowed her pride and smiled back. 

"Thanks, Debbie! Glad to hear you’re enjoying yourself.“

"Yeah, well I'd be having a better time if our loser dates from Monroe didn't go missing every five minutes. But what you gonna do?" She shrugged and snapped her bubblegum and then poured a dark liquid in her punch from a small bottle she had been hiding in her purse. The Cathies commiserated, holding their glasses out too.

Joyce and Karen exchanged a look. Then Debbie turned to Karen.

"Punch?"

Karen hesitated, but Joyce nudged her, not wanting to slight their middle school bully when they seemed to be on her good side for a change.

"Ohh, Okay. Maybe just a little." Karen held out her glass, waving Debbie off after a splash of rum hit the rim. 

Then Debbie turned, wiggling the small bottle in front of the shorter brunette's face. 

"Joyce?"

Without thinking, Joyce lifted the edge of her dress to show off Hop's flask. "No, thanks. I got my own."

"Oh my God, Joyce!" Karen scolded and grabbed her friend's skirt to put it back down before anyone else saw it. 

Debbie raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow, cherry lips souring at the sight of the flask.

"Planning on sharing with the class?" 

"It's not mine," Joyce shrugged, instantly regretting her decision to say anything. "Just holding for someone."

"Lonnie?" Debbie stood up now, arms crossed, looking over Joyce's head into the sea of people behind them, scanning the faces.

"No," Joyce said, unable to hide the sneer on her face at the mention of his name. "He couldn't make it tonight."

"Hm," Debbie sniffed. "That's too bad. Byers is a good time."

"Yeah, that's too bad, Joyce," Cathy echoed. 

“Aw, did you come alone?" the other Kathy asked, a look of pity on her face.

"Nope," Joyce said, confidence surging through her now, poised to blow the Chatty Cathies' minds. She left the notorious gossips hanging, grabbing her drink and Karen, taking the long way back to their dates. 

Meanwhile, Hopper had found his friends in the corner of the room by the bleachers. Benny and Martin Sinclair and a few others from the varsity team were drinking beers they had snuck in, passing around the church key and a sloppy joint. 

"Looks like Dick Clark threw up in here," Benny smirked as Hopper approached. “And look at you. Disgusting. What is this? Dippity-Do?” He raked a hand through Hopper’s hair and grimaced, wiping it off on his pants.

"What's shakin' Hop?" Martin asked, passing him his beer can and slapping him on the shoulder as he joined the group.

Hopper had to bite his tongue when Benny spoke again, making fun of the decorations. He wasn’t about to let Benny rain on Joyce’s parade. Thankfully, Ted was too busy being bored to notice what Benny was saying and defend Karen’s honor.

"Can you believe this American Bandstand bullshit? Feels like we're all on camera somewhere. I mean, what the hell is that supposed to be?” He pointed to the group of their classmates across the room, dancing wildly in a disorganized line.

"The Loco-motion," Hopper replied, before realizing what he was admitting to. "Joyce showed it to me a few weeks ago…"

"I bet she did," Martin snorted, a puff of smoke escaping with his laughter before he started to cough.

“I don’t know how you can think that’s fun,” Benny smirked, watching the couples dancing wildly across the floor.

Hopper rolled his eyes, taking a pull off the beer and handing it back to Martin before replying. 

“That’s because no girls ever asked you, dummy.” 

Martin guffawed and then straightened up at the sight of what was headed their way.

“Damn, who’s that little foxy— oh shit, it’s Joyce. Check it out!” Martin slapped Benny and the other guys to look. 

“Nice one, Hopper!” 

One of the lugs tried to high five him and while normally Hopper would’ve returned it, he was feeling annoyed — his friends were suddenly getting on his nerves. The sight of the girls coming back made him snap to attention, and he elbowed Ted to do the same.

"Hey, uh, you got the flask?" Hopper asked as they approached, feeling the urge for something a bit stronger than beer. 

Joyce froze, and passed him her punch. Then she looked to all the young men surrounding her now, wolf-eyes fixated on her, and Karen, who was giving her that disapproving look again. She rolled her eyes and swiftly reached under her skirt — without showing any skin this time — and passed it back to Hopper without ceremony despite the low whistle Benny let out.

“Already got her bootin’ for ya, hey Hop?”

"Hey!" Karen interrupted, waving heavy smoke out of her face, realizing what the boys were doing over in the far corners by the bleachers. "You can't be smoking that in here!" 

"Karen," Benny said, passing the joint back to Martin. "No one cares what you think."

“Ugh! Miscreants!" she grumbled, crossing her arms in front of her chest before a loud snap sounded above their heads. The entire class all looked up in time to see the netting hanging from the rafters let go and rain confetti down on their heads.

“No!” Karen shouted over the loud cheer that erupted, and stomped her feet. "That wasn't supposed to happen yet!” 

She glared up at the ceiling where the confetti had let loose, and then at each person standing in the circle, sans Joyce. 

Then she glared at her fiancé. 

"Ted!”

Ted sighed, knowing what was expected of him just by the sound of her voice. 

“How about a dance, my love?”

“Yes, please! Joyce,” Karen called out over her shoulder. “Let’s get outta here before Jim’s idiot friends get us all thrown out!”

Joyce watched the pair walk off to the dancefloor with a wistful gaze, and then nudged Hopper with a smile 

“Can we?“

Benny snorted back a laugh, and Hopper glowered at him over Joyce's head, turning to follow her friends. Reputation be damned -- he wouldn't let it ruin his perfect night for Joyce.

"Have fun James,” Benny teased, calling out after his friend before turning to Martin with a sad head shake for their fallen soldier. 

"I told ya it wouldn't take long. She's already got him wrapped 'round her little finger."

Chapter Text

Halfway through the night — after they had Hand-Jived and Twisted and Watutsi'd themselves into a hot, sweaty mess — two young lovebirds finally snuck outside to their spot under the steps to take a breather. Neither had much to say right then, just enjoying the cool night air and each other's company, any awkwardness about their first date long vanished. Now they were just having some plain old fun. 

Joyce could feel her cheeks burning as she passed Hopper a cigarette, but it wasn’t just from the dancing. 

His fingers brushed against hers, his blue eyes burning into her, cheeky grin pulling at his perfectly kissable lips. There were those butterflies again… 

It looked like he wanted to say something, and Joyce was about to tell him to spit it out when they both heard their names echoing down in the halls, grabbing their attention.

"Hey! Have you seen Hopper? Or Joyce?"

Bob Newby was out of breath, running the halls looking for them. Hopper poked his head back in the school to call over the flailing Newby. 

"Brain! What's shakin’?” 

Bob stopped on a dime by the door, relieved to see them. 

"You're up! They're calling your names! You're King and Queen!" he shouted, looking more panicked than excited.

Joyce's mouth dropped open, and Hopper coughed, choking on the smoke he inhaled. Both heads snapped to look at Bob as they spoke in unison. 

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up—"

"No fucking way—"

Karen's little joke had suddenly gone way too far. 

"No time! There's no time!" Bob wheezed and shook his head at them, grabbing both by their arms and pulling them back into the school. 

The trio ran down the hallways, careening off the lockers, with Joyce barely getting her footing and twice, nearly breaking an ankle on the way towards the gym. Hopper shook Bob off after the last corner and let him run up ahead of them to give the Principal a heads-up he had found the missing highschool royalty.

"I don't know — no, I don't think they knew—“ Principal Jones said off-side to the Vice Principal, his words muffled, holding his hand over the mic at center stage. “Oh, here we go… yes, thank you, Bob. Alright. That's enough. No need for whispers!" 

The Principal tapped the microphone to grab everyone's attention again and heads snapped back toward the stage. 

“I’ve just been told the King and Queen are in the building. Ladies and Gentlemen — your Prom King and Queen of 1965: the late Jim Hopper and Joyce Horowitz!" 

Their classmates cheered and whistled, at peak elation for the night, collectively turning to watch the spotlight operated by Bob hit them head-on. 

They walked into the gym, lit up like deer in the headlights. Blinded and bewildered, the pair made their way to the center of the room to meet the Principal, all eyes on them. Joyce could hear someone cackling to her right and squinted into the crowd to see Karen next to the stage, waving at them and jumping up and down next to a bored looking Ted. 

“Yup. That's my best friend," Joyce mumbled under her breath, shaking her head at Karen. "I'll get her back for this, I swear."

"You better," Hopper mumbled back. "I don't know if I can live this down."

"Oh shut up," Joyce smacked him with a smirk as they approached the middle of the gymnasium and turned to the crowd, a single spotlight trained on them. 

The Principal approached Hopper first, granting him the coveted Hawkins High tiger head scepter and a royal blue sash with the word KING emblazoned on the front. Seizing the opportunity, Hopper did a little Elvis hip-wiggle that made some of the girl's shriek, and Principal Jones slap him on the back of the head. He couldn't help but laugh when he saw Joyce blush and roll her eyes at his antics.

Next, the Vice Principal placed a matching QUEEN sash over Joyce and handed Hopper the tiara — a chintzy piece of costume jewelry donated to the school sometime in the early 50s. Joyce held it in her hands earlier that day and had wrinkled her nose at how old fashioned it was, but now the baby blue crystal twinkled under the lights, transforming it into a star-spangled crown fit for Ms. America. Hopper placed it on her head delicately, and Joyce's hands guided him down to be mindful of her coif. 

Time seemed to slow down at that moment, the last of the silver confetti falling from the rafters like snowflakes in a perfect silence settling over the gym. All Joyce could hear was her heartbeat; all she could see was Hopper, and she took a steady breath, wondering what the hell they were even doing up there. Neither were very popular, though she could admit they got along well with mostly everyone in their class. 

The King held his hand out to his Queen and she took it, hesitant at first, feeling nervous until his fingers laced with hers. 

Every eye was on them as he guided her to the center of the dancefloor. The pair had rarely danced in front of an audience — usually just fooling around at Benny's after dark by the jukebox, when it was just them and their friends. But now the whole school was watching, and Joyce wondered if anything could ever be the same after this.

The band started to play the opening beats of their class song, and the lead singer leaned into the microphone to belt out the tune. 

At first the dance was stiff, awkward as they struggled to find the groove, neither one used to a slower melody or so many spectators. Joyce tried taking the lead, making a face at him when he refused. Hopper shook his head at her, grinning like a fool as he took a step forward, dancing closer to her than ever before.

Hopper pulled Joyce tight in towards him, his hand firm on her lower back, leading her in their little waltz around the floor. Adrenaline coursed through them, both far too buzzed from schnapps and spiked punch, and the full attention of their graduating class to care about implications of their dance. Confidence surged through Joyce as she spun and dipped and swayed in his arms, feeling just like the Ginger to his Fred.

And when his arms were crossed over her head, her back to him, he lowered his head to her ear and asked, "Want to give 'em a show?"

Seventeen year-old Joyce Darlene Horowitz — who was raised on a healthy diet of Debbie Reynolds, Doris Day and Judy Garland — never could resist a chance to show off her moves. 

“Just like we practiced?”

“Mhm…You know it.”

The spotlight dance ended, and Hopper got the attention of the bandleader by tossing him the scepter. Joyce felt a twinge of nervousness as he made his request. She slowly took in the crowd cheering and clapping and shouting their congratulations all around them. The band leader winked and shouted a name to his bandmates as Hopper walked back to Joyce, hand outstretched once again; this time, in the mood for something a bit faster.

"Lucille!"

The heavy rhythm got everyone on the dance floor now. 

Joyce resisted Hop's hand at first, kicking off her heels and took the tiara off, passing it over to Karen through the crowd who wore it proudly. Joyce quickly fell into step with her dance partner and it didn't take long before they attracted a small circle, the other couples more interested in watching their King and Queen’s shameless version of the lindy hop than on their own dance steps. Hopper and Joyce knew this song like the back of their hands — hell, they'd probably spent five bucks in nickels at the jukebox in the last year just getting their routine right. 

Hopper swung Joyce around, spinning and then flipping her over his shoulder with ease. They were so caught up in the dance, they could barely hear the crowd give a cheer when she landed the move and went right into another.

When the song finished and everyone was catching their breath, getting ready for the next number, Hopper pulled Joyce in close.

"Look at how happy they all are," he said, panting, looking around them at their smiling classmates and then pointedly back down at the girl in his arms. "You did that. Well, you and Karen… But I know it was mostly you. Next time you ever think about doubting yourself, even a little, I want you to remember this moment. Okay?"

Joyce, taken back by his praise, beamed up at him and slowly nodded over hitched breath. She wanted to kiss him, more than anything she'd ever wanted before, and she could tell he did too. 

But not here — not in front of everyone. 

And so when another song started up, and no one was looking, she pointed his attention to the side exit, and they ducked out, leaving their friends behind in a search for a bit more privacy.

Joyce's giggles filled the night air as they made their swift exit out the side gymnasium doors. She pulled at the sash and let it go in the breeze. Hop had taken out the flask again and was waving it in the air singing along to the music fading behind them. 

They strolled to his car, in no rush to get to the far end of the parking lot. Crickets chirruped in time with the fireflies that lighted their path along the edge of the football field, while the milky way glowed above. The scent of the gardenia on her wrist floated sweet on the night air. Joyce felt like a total lush, hypnotized by her surroundings in this exact moment, and by the boy beside her. Never had she ever felt this way before, and now that she had a taste… she wanted him even more as crazy as it was to admit. 

Her hand found Hopper's easily, and they spoke of the night's events, laughing until they were both in tears about the mutual embarrassment Karen had inflicted on them. 

"Despite what she did, tonight was kinda… perfect," Joyce sighed as they reached his car, and she found a comfy spot to sit. Hopper leaned against the hood so she could rest her head on his chest, and he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. 

"Well, it's not over yet," Hopper chuckled, showing her his watch. "It's barely eleven, and I don't have to have you home until midnight."

Joyce grinned, and Hop sighed, planting a kiss on her temple, something he’d never done before. Then he moved in closer, a bit awkward at first, leaning his head down more until his lips were on her cheek. His breath smelled of schnapps and tobacco, and a lingering scent of Old Spice aftershave.

 Joyce's whole body tingled when she realized what was happening: he was leaning in to kiss her. Then she froze. Did she really want this? Hell yes. But did she understand the consequences? What this could do to their friendship?

Did he? 

In that exact moment, Joyce didn't care. Everything else faded away, there was only him. Hopper cupped her cheek and tilted her head up to meet him halfway, his lips grazing hers, testing the waters. It didn't take long before she felt herself move with him, lips brushing and barely touching in an agonizing dance, building momentum. His hand found the back of her neck, and he pulled her further into the embrace, smiling into their kiss when a little moan escaped her. 

Holy shit — her eyes flew open as she realized — she was kissing Jim Hopper! And she liked it!!

It wasn't the very first time, of course. There was that short but sweet peck on the lips playing spin the bottle at Karen's eleventh birthday party, being cheered on by their friends to their mutual horror. 

Hell, it wasn’t even the second time… Seven Minutes in Heaven (aka the broom closet at Joe Harrington’s fifteenth birthday) took that title. Yet another prank played on them by Karen, trying to push them together but the joke was on her — nothing much came of that kiss, either.

Maybe the third time was the charm?

This kiss was certainly different. It sent delicious shivers from Joyce's head down to her toes and back again and she melted into him, his lips tasting as sweet as cinnamon; his wandering hands making her weak in the knees.

Hop's tongue dipped into her mouth, and she let him explore it further. His kiss was soft but eager all the same, like he was desperately trying to hold himself back. She didn't know it could be so different from Lonnie or the other boys she'd kissed before, who'd always just forced themselves on her, never taking the time to give her what she wanted or go slow to make sure she was enjoying it, too.

Hopper's hands slipped down to her waist, where he stopped, pulling away then, just barely. Letting his kiss hover around her lips. Fast, shallow breath pacing hers. He took his time, playing with the hem of her dress, pausing to silently ask permission. 

Joyce pressed her whole body up and into his embrace with a new energy, wrapping her legs around him, pulling him close to her — his official invitation.

Hopper's smile played at his lips, and he slipped his hands up underneath her dress, fingers tickling their way up her thighs until they reached lace. He played with her garters, slipping under the ribbon, suddenly exploring new territory.  

Joyce was so lost in it all, that she didn't hear the footsteps approaching.

"What the fuck is going on here?"

Hopper and Joyce broke away, turning to see a distraught looking shadow, standing there not ten feet from the GTO. 

"Joyce?" 

Lonnie's voice betrayed his heartbreak, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. 

"Lonnie!? What are you doing here?" 

Joyce instinctively brought her hand to her mouth, trying to obscure any evidence of what had happened, though it was no use — pale pink lipstick smeared around her lips and Hopper’s too. The world was spinning around her, and she braced herself against the car. As she waited for Lonnie to reply, her stomach churned. She didn't know if it was from seeing him, the liquor, or the adrenaline of being caught in the heat of the moment. Maybe all three.

Lonnie swayed and stumbled a bit as he took a step forward into the light, and he looked down at the beer bottle in his hand and back at Joyce. He was dressed up in a formal suit coat with a skinny tie over his usual jeans. His arms hung by his side in a look of defeat, a corsage box in his left hand dangling by his fingertips.

"I went to your house ‘round eight to pick you up, but your Ma… she said you already left."

"Lonnie, I—" Joyce started to plead her case, but she didn't get to finish.

"I thought you wanted me to go with you to this stupid thing?” he asked, tossing the corsage on the ground at her feet, a wasted effort. 

Joyce glanced at the box, guilt creeping in at the sight of it. She could feel Hopper’s hand grazing her lower back, as if he could read her thoughts and it reminded her she had nothing to feel bad about.

“I figure, okay, maybe I fucked up the time, so I come here to find you… with Hopper? Seriously?" Lonnie continued, his anger mounting at the realization of who was wearing his girl's lipstick. “I fucking knew it! I knew there was a reason you stopped being my friend. Y’know, out of all the dudes, I trusted you with her the most, man!"  

Lonnie growled his words at Hopper, dark eyes shining with a fury Joyce hadn't seen on him before. 

"And I trusted her with you!" Hopper stood up now, puffing his chest out. His brow furrowed, jaw set.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Making her walk back to town from the Starlite? That's cold, Lon. Even for you."

"Is that what she told you? Really? She wanted to walk. Told me to screw off," Lonnie said, stepping closer towards Joyce. "Tell him, Joyce!"

Hopper stood his ground, taking a step toward Lonnie to get in front of Joyce.

"Just own up to it, man. You're an asshole."

Joyce held her hand up to interrupt, not ready to let Hopper fight her battles just yet. Both guys stopped and turned to look at her, allowing her a chance to speak.

"Lonnie,” Joyce said his name and then took a deep breath before she laid into him. "What the hell are you even doing here? I’m pretty sure I broke up with you last week. No— let me talk! This is exactly why we can't be together. You don't listen to me. You never have! Dating you has been like… dating Dr. Jekel! I never knew when I'd be getting Hyde—" 

"What the hell are you going on about now?” Lonnie sneered, interrupting anyway.

"Ugh! Read a book, Lonnie!" Joyce sneered back, giving up and settling for rolling her eyes at her ex.

"Let me know when I can knock his teeth in, Joy," Hopper muttered under his breath to her, perfectly aware Lonnie could hear him, and never taking his eyes off the increasing threat. 

"Oh yeah. Look at this tough guy. You think 'cause you got a shiny new car, you can just steal my girl? You really wanna take me on?” 

Lonnie was pacing now, his fist tightening around the neck of the bottle still in his hand. He chuckled to himself, staring his opponent down. 

“No. We're not doing this," Hopper said, sounding tired as he crossed his arms. He didn’t want to fight Lonnie, not after everything he went through to make tonight perfect for Joyce. Of course, Lonnie would be the one to threaten it all.

"What are you gonna do? Call your old man to come save you? Gonna have him arrest me?" Lonnie wagged the empty bottle in front of his face, glaring at his childhood friend turned new worst enemy, old wounds reopening under the influence. "Hey, you think your Pops still remembers when he arrested my old man, right in front of me?"

Hopper cocked his head. 

"Which time?"

Lonnie growled, whipping the bottle at Hopper's head. Hopper ducked, and it smashed off the wheel well of the car, dark glass barely missing Joyce's bare legs. Rage flashed red across Hopper's face, and the fight was on. 

He lunged at Lonnie, only to have Lonnie's knuckles shoot up at the last second and connect with his jaw, thoroughly ringing Hopper’s bell. He saw stars and heard Joyce cry out as he pitched forward, trying hard to keep his balance. When he threw all his weight forward in a blind swing, and with a little bit of luck, he hit Lonnie square in the face, feeling the other guy’s nose break under the velocity of his fist. 

Lonnie took the punch surprisingly well in his stupor — he didn't even cry out as bones crunched and blood sprayed from his nose. Rushing forward with a growl, he tackled Hopper, knocking him clean off his feet.

“Christ, almighty. Stop it! Right now!” Joyce hollered at them, keeping her distance from the two young bucks, as a new visceral violence took over. 

This wasn't one of their usual tussles, where they’d walk away before it got out of hand leaving with a few bruises and damaged egos. Neither one was holding back now. It looked more like they were getting ready to kill each other, all in Joyce's honor. 

She would've been more flattered if it weren't so horrifying to watch.

Blood was dripping off the end of Lonnie's battered nose as he jumped on top of Hopper, holding him down against the pavement, getting ready to continue the beating with an unfair advantage. 

"Lonnie, stop!"

The sharp sound of Joyce's voice rang out across the empty parking lot, grabbing Bob's attention. He'd been sent out to track them down, and was feeling annoyed that they had run off again. 

This time, he needed to take their picture for the yearbook, and of course, after only the first few dances, they were nowhere to be seen. He had seen them duck out the side door so he looked there first, only finding the discarded Prom Queen sash on the steps behind the gymnasium. That led him out to the parking lot where he saw Joyce standing over two grunting, cussing shadows tussling on the pavement.

"Joyce!" Bob called out to her, but it was useless — she couldn't hear him. He looked around him in a panic, before he realized he couldn’t do anything too heroic. The best he could do was grab the nearest teacher and the attention of some classmates.

And, so Bob waved his arms and shouted. 

"Hey! There's a fight. In the parking lot!"

He didn't bother to wait before running back in time to see Joyce in her pretty blue dress, leaning over a tangle of arms and fists, yelling at the top of her lungs for the two boys to stop. As he moved closer, he watched helplessly as the scene played out in front of him, unable to help, and somewhat aware that a crowd was forming behind him on the sidewalk now. They were chanting.

Fight! 

     Fight! 

           Fight! 

Lonnie drew back his fist, teeing up Hopper's nose in retribution when he felt his knuckles unexpectedly connect behind his head. Joyce cried out in pain as Lonnie hit her in the face. The force sent her careening back into the car with a cry, the heel snapping off her stiletto as her ankle rolled. 

That was what it took for both boys to stop wrestling with each other and they both watched the girl they loved fall to the ground, broken, like a little porcelain doll. 

Hopper was the first to move, pushing Lonnie off of him and calling out her name as he scrambled to his feet. Lonnie got up off the ground, watching them with a sickened look as the Hopper tenderly checked Joyce’s face and then her ankle.

"Hop," Joyce whined quietly, reaching for him with one hand and touching her face gingerly with the other. 

She was hurt. 

Hopper glared up at Lonnie — he was gonna have to pay for that one. 

He ran at Lonnie, grabbing him by the collar. Lonnie swung at him with all his might, but Hopper held him at a distance, dodging his shots, getting ready for another round.

"Joyce! Oh my God!” 

Karen flew out of nowhere and rushed forward to help pick Joyce up off the ground, Ted standing guard just behind, fists at his side. 

That's when Joyce noticed their audience… The entirety of the Hawkins Class of 1965 had spilled out of the gymnasium at the news of a fight breaking out and now they surrounded the GTO in the parking lot, witness to Lonnie and Hopper beating the crap outta each other. Both were utterly oblivious to the growing crowd as they traded blows and curse words. 

“Hopper!" Joyce called out to him again, desperate, trying to get his attention when she realized that they were in trouble.

Someone else noticed too and yelled over the crowd to a roar of laughter and jeers.

"Everybody act cool! Teachers!" 

Mr. Cooper came storming out between the students, waving his hands, as if that would stop the fisticuffs.

"Hey! Hey, break it up!"

"What is going on out here?" 

Principal Jones' voice boomed like a drill sergeant over the din, the only thing to grab their attention. Both boys froze at the sound and then backed off, realizing they were done for. Hopper stood still, backed on the edge of the shadows as Lonnie paced under the lights like a wild animal waiting to be tossed in a cage.

"Nothing much, Jonesy,” Lonnie spat at the Principal’s feet and gave the old man a bloody grin. “Just admiring Hopper’s new wheels.”

At the sight of the delinquent, Principal Jones stood his ground, narrowing his eyes on Lonnie, disgust or maybe disappointment written all over his face.

"Mr. Byers! You were warned about being on school property."

That seemed to knock Lonnie down a peg or two. He straightened up, and wiped his nose with a grimace and turned to go.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going. No need to call the pigs,“ Lonnie glowered, realizing he had no right to argue now. He raised his hands in the air, stating his innocence and Joyce finally let go of the breath she was holding.

But Lonnie slowed down as he passed by the car, getting a good look at it now and for a moment, it looked like he wanted to say something to Joyce. Karen and Ted stood in the way, shaking their heads at him to back off.

Lonnie smirked and he couldn't help himself, so he turned to his other target.

“Lookie what Daddy bought his precious James. Who knew being a Pig paid so well?“ he taunted Hopper, letting out a low whistle. “That is one primo ride, man.”

Hopper wiped the blood off his mouth with his knuckles and then cracked them.

"Yeah, your girlfriend's a primo ride in the back seat, too,” he muttered with a smug smile, despite the heat coming off his split lip. Hopper knew what he said wasn't right — Joyce hadn't been in the backseat (…yet), but he had a hunch it would get under Lonnie's skin all the same. 

And he was right. Lonnie lunged for him once more.

“Damnit, Jim!" Joyce hollered his name to make him stop, but there was no use. 

The fight started up again to the roar of the crowd, their peers cheering them on despite the teachers trying to break them up. 

"Please… stop!” Joyce called out again, wincing, holding onto Karen, hobbling on her bad ankle towards the fight, but Ted held her back.

That's when the Principal and Mr. Cooper finally stepped in to break them up. A few other teachers and parents shooed the rest of the disappointed crowd away.

Lonnie managed to slink away without anyone seeing, except Joyce, who watched him cross the dark football field. She almost feeling sorry for him until he passed the group of students smoking under the scoreboard. A few gave him some high fives, another a beer and a light, and then Debbie Wiser stepped out from the group and sidled up to him in her unmistakable little red wiggle-dress, wrapping herself around Lonnie. The other girl fawned over Lonnie's broken face as they walked off in the dark across the field, and Joyce felt like puking again.

"Well, well, if it isn't the Prom King. Mister Hopper!" Principal Jones turned toward the group by the GTO then. "Why am I not even remotely surprised? I'm sure your father will have something to say about this." 

Hopper’s eyes went wide at the prospect of his old man picking him up from Prom and the whoopin' he was sure to get when he found out he’d been fighting with the Byers boy again. The Principal stepped closer, showing some empathy, he continued, to Hopper's great relief: 

"I won't call him tonight, but I want you to come see me in my office first thing Monday morning. We can discuss how we are going to handle this. As adults.“ 

"Yessir," Hopper lowered his head, thankful for small miracles, not even bothering to try to get out of it this time.

"You too, Miss Horowitz." Principal Jones locked eyes with Joyce, who was still clutching her cheek, and Hopper watched her face cloud over.

"Miss Dawson?" 

"I'm just taking care of Joyce!" Karen squeaked. 

"She wasn't here when this happened. Sir," Ted spoke up, throwing an arm around his little lady and giving the older man a polite nod.

"Who the hell are you now?" Jones asked, squinting at Ted over his glasses, before sputtering his disapproval of everyone standing in front of him. "Never mind, I don't care. You two, see me in my office, Monday, eight-thirty sharp."

The King and Queen of Hawkins shared a worried look between their broken faces. The perfect night was over; their fates were sealed — and it was all thanks to Lonnie-fucking-Byers.

Chapter Text

Hopper dropped Joyce off at her front door at midnight on the dot. She asked him to help her inside so she didn’t wake up her mom, and he ended up sleeping over — just as a “friend” — in his old sleeping bag spread out on her bedroom floor. 

That “friend” also didn’t have pajamas that fit him there, so he opted to shamelessly strip down to his boxers. 

Joyce had turned away to give him some privacy as he crawled inside, but she couldn’t help herself. A simple glance at the mirror from where she sat on the bed was enough to make her turn fifty shades of red and hide her face under her blanket until her cheeks stopped burning. Between the constant ache from her injuries, the thoughts racing through her head, and the temptation to call him up on the bed with her right then and there, Joyce barely got a wink of sleep that night. 

Once Annette saw her daughter hobbling to the kitchen early the next morning and the shiner that was forming under Joyce’s left eye, she loaded her into the car and took her straight to the doctor. A quick diagnosis of a sprained ankle and a trip to the pharmacy for Aspirin, saw Joyce back at home on the couch before eleven am where she got settled in front of the television with a bag of frozen peas on her ankle and an icepack on her face, feeling quite sorry for herself. 

Hopper stumbled down the stairs soon after the Horowitz women got home from the doctor around eleven. Annette acted surprised to see him coming down despite the fact his car had been parked in the driveway next to hers that morning. Joyce just rolled her eyes at her mother’s theatrics and asked her to make her special french toast brunch for them as they settled into a cloud of blankets on the couch to watch T.V.

“What’d your mom say when you told her what happened?” Hopper asked Joyce after brunch.

She shrugged. 

“Not much, just ‘boys will be boys.’ She was proud of you for sticking up for me, though. Gave me shit for getting in between you two.”

“She mad about her shoe?”

“Nah,” Joyce waved a hand. “Gives her an excuse to shop. Randy’s taking her to Indy this afternoon to buy a new pair or two with his fancy-schmancy credit at Ayr-Way.”

As if on cue, her mother appeared in the entryway, clipping on her earrings and adjusting her hat in the mirror, looking like Holly Golightly trapped in middle America. A horn honked outside, and Annette blew kisses to her two bruised hooligans on the couch before she left, leaving them alone for the rest of the day. 

They were silent until they heard the car pull out of the driveway, and that’s when Hopper grabbed the remote out of her hand to switch the channel. Joyce tried to snatch it back, but he kept it out of her reach.

“I’m watching Bewitched! Hop!” she squealed, desperate to find out what happened to Darrin and Samantha. 

Hopper tried not to laugh as she struggled against him to get the remote back with her limited mobility, and without losing her balance on the couch.

“Joyce. We need to watch Bonanza.” 

She went for his ticklish spot, right under the ribs, and he tried to squirm away, keeping the clicker out of her reach, knocking her leg off his lap in the process. 

“Ow!” Joyce whined, giving him a dirty look.

“Oops!” Hopper smirked. “Want me to kiss it better for you?”

She started to laugh but stopped, unsure if he was messing with her or not. Then she smirked too and gave a little nod, calling his bluff. Sure enough, he lifted the bag of peas off her foot and bent his head down to gingerly press his lips to the top of her bandaged foot, careful to avoid the tender spot on her ankle. Joyce shivered at his touch, and he felt it, glancing up to catch her looking flushed and a little embarrassed. 

Joyce reached for him and brushed her finger over the cut on his lip. He winced, and she grimaced.

“Poor baby... Does it hurt?”

He frowned. 

“Not as much as my pride. Man, I’d really like to punch Lonnie’s lights out for good. Maybe you could call him over this afternoon, and we can finish what we started… see who the real King of Hawkins is.”

She poked him in the mouth to get him to shut up and he winced again, before slinging her a dirty look back. 

“Ouch.”

“Want me to kiss it better?” she asked, an eyebrow raised. 

Joyce wasn’t about to ask Hopper twice, so she leaned forward slowly and gently pressed her lips to his, peppering soft little kisses all around the hurt Lonnie had caused, hoping that he got the hint. 

Hopper won, and Lonnie lost, and that was that. 

Soft, tantalizing kisses turned into the eagerly anticipated sequel to the night before. His kiss. His touch. The way his blue eyes gleamed when he looked down at her in his arms. It brought back those damn butterflies in the best possible way and captured them in a net in her chest, where she never wanted to let them go. She was really starting to love the idea of being Hop’s girl. 

And right there on her couch, without even thinking twice, Joyce Horowitz passed second base and rounded in on third with Jim Hopper.

A few hours later, after a well-deserved nap on the couch, Hopper woke to the afternoon sun setting, a muted television and Joyce staring blankly out the front window, chewing on her thumbnail.

“What’s wrong?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes and pushing himself up to get a better look at her.

“Nothing,” she replied, not looking at him, hiding a frown behind her hand. “Just worried about Monday.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Never been called to the office before.”

“Pft, it’s a cakewalk, trust me. There might be some ass-kissing and admitting we were wrong, but just follow my lead, and you’ll be fine. It’s not like they’re gonna suspend us with one day left. So, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Right,” Joyce breathed. And Hop was right — the year was over. They’d likely get a stern tongue lashing from Jones, be required to write an apology letter or something equally annoying, and then they’d be free. At least that’s what she hoped.

Joyce took a deeper breath.

“Your dad’s standing on your driveway looking over here, y’know.” 

Hopper perked up.

“Yeah? How’s he look?”

“Pissed,” she said pointedly.

“Good,” Hopper grinned and motioned for Joyce to join him on the couch. “C’mere.” 

Joyce wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible come Monday morning. Her mission was to get in and get out, finish up her last day of school with as little fanfare as possible and forget the last week ever happened — but that mission was practically impossible when she walked in after eight am. 

Everyone from the teachers to the support staff, right down to the wide-eyed freshmen, they all turned to look as she walked through the side door. Her fellow seniors -- all the first-hand witnesses to the Fight of the Year -- were fueling the fire and fanning flames. Joyce could see them, people she used to call friends, pointing and whispering as the older students gave the younger ones a play by play of what they missed on Friday night. They might as well have robbed a bank at gunpoint Bonnie and Clyde style with all the attention this was getting.

Debbie seemed to be waiting for Joyce across from her locker when she walked up. The tall brunette sneered, amused by the sight of the shorter girl hobbling over, nursing her bad ankle.

“Your majesty,” Debbie said, giving Joyce her best curtsy with a side of sass. “Queen of Hawkins…”

The chatty Cathies and some stray tag-a-longs snickered behind her, and Debbie watched with glee as Joyce fought back the words she wanted to say. But when Joyce refused to bite, Debbie instantly got bored.

“Lonnie said to say hi,” she said, snapping her gum at Joyce and moving on to her next target. 

Joyce sank back into the lockers next to Karen, her bookbag pressed tight to her chest, fighting the sinking feeling that accompanied her new notoriety. 

“Yeesh," she winced, “I didn’t realize I was so popular.” Looking to the magnetic mirror in Karen’s locker, she brushed her bangs to the side and down to hide the lingering welt on her cheekbone. 

“Here,” Karen sighed, passing Joyce her makeup compact. “Blend.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“Yes, and… I am so sorry,” Karen said, looking white as a ghost as Joyce tapped the makeup over her cheek. “I never meant for the whole Prom court nomination thing to get out of hand…”

“No! Oh my god, Karen,” Joyce sighed, wanting to shake her sweet dear friend for thinking that way. “Lonnie was the unexpected and very unwelcome surprise of the night. You didn’t cause this mess, trust me. As mortifying as it was, winning ended up being the highlight of my night. And it kinda led into a perfect weekend too, so… I can’t believe I’m saying this, but thank you.”

“Oh. You mean like… you and Jim?” Karen’s eyes went wide. “Well, then. Maybe you should tell me all about it? Sleepover at my place tonight?”

“Sure,” Joyce breathed, thankful Karen just wanted to talk about something normal and forget the whole Lonnie thing happened. 

“Hey, it’s time for our date.” Hopper interrupted, coming up behind Karen and grabbing Joyce to escort her to her very first and last visit to the Principal’s office. “Gotta go get our hands strapped. See ya ‘round, Karen.”

“Wish us luck,” Joyce mumbled as they turned to go.

“Luck!” Karen called out after them cheerily, feeling amused, but a bit perplexed. Turning back to cleaning out her locker, she spoke aloud to no one in particular. “What an odd couple.”

They were sitting in the chairs in silence, listening to the muffled strains of the Star-Spangled Banner playing throughout the classrooms as they waited in the front office to be called in to see the Principal. Joyce rolled her eyes while Hopper yawned and cracked his neck, neither interested in standing for the anthem or pledging allegiance on their last day. It was eight-thirty on the dot when the door swung open in front of them.

“Morning, Joyce. Jim.”

Both sat up a bit straighter until they realized who it was.

“Oh, hey, Bob.” Joyce relaxed a bit at the sight of him. “What are you doing here?”

He raised the paper in his hand and pointed to the microphone sitting on the desk. 

“Here to read the announcements. As per usual.”

Joyce breathed a sigh of relief. Of course, he was here to read announcements… Bob might’ve been witness to their fight, but he wasn’t the type to rat someone out.

“What’re you doing here?” Bob asked, sitting down at the desk and then realized. “Oh. I uh—”

“It’s okay.” Joyce shrugged, feeling a wave of nausea hit her again. She didn’t want to talk about it, so she just repeated, “We’re okay.”

“Sorry,” Bob winced. Joyce forced a small smile at her classmate and then stole a glance at her partner in crime, who was leaning back in his chair, counting tiles on the ceiling now, oblivious to the exchange going on.

“James?” Ms. Driscoll, the older school secretary, motioned for Hopper to follow her.

“I— uh, I thought we’d be going in together.” Hopper straightened up and looked to Joyce. 

“No, Principal Jones wants to speak to you. Ms. Garcia will be seeing Joyce in a minute or two.”

The squirmy ball of nausea that had crawled up Joyce’s chest finally dropped down to the pit of her stomach. 

“Ms. Garcia?” she squeaked out.

“Yes,” Driscoll nodded matter of fact. “James, follow me.”

Hopper stood up and gave Joyce a sorry look before he disappeared down the hall.

Three chimes sounded, and Bob cleared his throat before turning the microphone on.

“Good moooooorning, Tigers! Welcome to the last day of school, and for most of us seniors, that means forever,” Bob spoke, pausing as a cheer rang out across the hall from a senior homeroom.

“Even though today is the official last day of school, the staff kindly remind you that lockers must be cleaned out by this Thursday. If you wait ’til Friday, it’s no longer considered yours…

“Prom Committee would like to thank the teacher and parent volunteers for all their help last Friday night. Prom was… an absolute success. Sincere thanks go out to both the Pep Club and Committee from Hawkin’s Seniors for making it a night to remember.” Bob winced at his prewritten words biting him in the ass and throwing a glance at Joyce, who was thankfully lost in thought.

He continued, “If you haven’t signed up for the charity blood drive happening tomorrow afternoon at the senior fun fare in the parking lot, you have until noon today. See Nurse Patricia for details…” 

“Joyce?” The younger secretary approached with a whisper, motioning for the girl to follow her. “Ms. Garcia will see you in Vice Principal Miller’s office now.”

Bob looked over to Joyce and caught her eye as she stood up to go in. She gave him another half-shrug as if to say ‘don’t worry about it.’ He could only offer her his simple, reassuring smile as he finished the rest of the announcements, reading off-script.

“Looks like this will be my last announcement for the year and well… ever, I guess,” Bob chuckled softly to himself, speaking to his captive audience. “Now, I know some of you might be happy about the fact this gets me outta your ear, but for me, it’s a bit of a heartfelt moment. I just have to say it one last time… Go Tigers!” 

Then he took a breath before signing off, once and for all. 

“This is Bob Newby, President of the Hawkins AV Club. Over and out.”

Ms. Garcia had only arrived at Hawkins’ in the second half of junior year, but she transformed high school for a lot of her art students. For Joyce, in particular, it became something more than just an easy elective to fill in her grades. The silly little crafts she had worked on in her free time at home suddenly transformed into beautiful and unusual installations, creations she was darn proud of. She threw herself into her artwork, an outlet for all the teen angst bullshit, and quickly rose to the top of the class, all in thanks to the teacher.

The youngest of the faculty, Ms. Garcia was positively en vogue compared to the rest of the teachers at Hawkins High. Her clothes were always beatnik cool. She was never without her cat-eye glasses and a bright pop of color on her lips, to the great displeasure of the older staff. A strong woman who wore her passions on her sleeve, she fought the patriarchy regularly, either by organizing the small local rallies and marches, or through her own art, which she proudly displayed behind her desk. No man told Carmen Garcia what to do.

Needless to say, she was Joyce’s favorite teacher. Which only made this punishment worse.

Ms. Garcia looked different today though. Her typically red lips were bare, her short brown bob pulled up in a bun on her head, and she wore a troubled look as Joyce took a seat across from her in the Vice Principal’s office. 

“Joyce,” she started, looking over the rim of her black cat-eyes with a confused look on her face. “What happened?”

Joyce couldn’t help it and she started to blubber, hating to think she had disappointed her mentor in such a way. But Ms. Garcia quickly defied her expectations and stepped around the desk, her bright white handkerchief at the ready, to kneel down beside Joyce. 

“Oh, sweetie, no. Don’t cry. Just tell me what happened.”

Joyce took her hanky and wiped her eyes. Then she sniffed, throwing the teacher a worried look. 

“I only heard about it from Principal Jones’ perspective. I haven’t heard your side of the story yet, and I’d like to hear it.” Ms. Garcia leveled with her. “Please?”

So Joyce recounted the night of Prom briefly for her, tracing the yellow daffodil embroidery of the handkerchief over and over in her hands as she glossed over the details, until they got to the part where Lonnie ruined everything. 

“I feel partially responsible here.” Ms. Garcia stood up and sighed, pacing around the small office. “I knew that boy was trouble, but I didn’t feel it was my place to say anything. But I could see the warning signs a mile away, and I should have stepped in when I had a chance. I know I failed you in that regard, Joyce.

“And that’s why I’m so… terribly… sorry that I have to do this.” Ms. Garcia took a deep breath and sat down at the Vice Principal’s chair and shuffled the paperwork in front of her — a dark blue file with Joyce’s name and student I.D. number on the front. 

“As far as the school is concerned, you and James are solely to blame here since we have no real jurisdiction over the Byers boy anymore. The Principal is considering charging him with trespassing, but that’s as far as he can take it.

“As for you two, the school board had to be consulted on the punishment since this was an… unusual circumstance, what with it being the end of the year and all. Normally, it’s a three-day suspension which would go on your permanent file for fighting on school property —”

“But I wasn’t fighting, Ms. Garcia,” Joyce pleaded, a last-ditch effort before her sentence was imposed upon her. 

Ms. Garcia held up her hand. 

“I know that Joyce, but this is beyond debate now. It’s what the school board has decided. Which brings me to why Principal Jones has asked me to speak to you this morning. Even though they can’t issue a suspension, they have still decided to put a note on your file, which normally isn't a big deal. I tried advocating on your behalf but…  it’s because of that note the school board had to formally withdraw your scholarship to Herron, effective this morning.” 

Ms. Garcia paused here to let it sink in for Joyce and give her a moment before she continued. 

“I’ve also been asked to assign you some cleanup duty, so please report to the art room before the end of the day, okay? I’ll leave you a list of tasks to be done.”

There was a sad, subdued look on the teacher’s face as she finished giving one of her favorite students the bad news, but Joyce didn’t react, completely blindsided by it all.

After a moment, Ms. Garcia asked, “Joyce, do you understand what I’ve said here?”

Joyce nodded, slowly, too in shock to do anything else. 

“Do you have any questions?”

She shook her head, no. Joyce could feel the weight of it all creeping up on her. She needed to get out of that room — ASAP. 

The walls were starting to close in. She couldn’t breathe.

“If you want to talk, cry, scream, whatever -- I’m here for you. But if not… you’re free to go,” Ms. Garcia lamented, already knowing which option Joyce would take just by looking at her. The poor girl was squirming in her seat, looking like she was fighting back a tsunami of tears. 

“Thank you,” was all Joyce could get out as she ran out the door toward the front office. She was drowning, until she saw Hopper waiting for her, sitting in a chair when she rounded the corner. He perked up when he saw her. 

“Phew! Glad to get that over with,” he sighed and stood, opening the office door for Joyce and waving to a scandalized Ms. Driscoll and the other office staff. “Sayonara, suckers!”

“What did you get?” Joyce asked him, catching her breath and suddenly feeling strangely numb.

“Chalkboard cleanup duty and yet another black mark on my permanent record, in lieu of suspension,” Hopper rolled his eyes and wiggled his fingers in the air as if he were talking about the boogeyman. “Oh, goody. What about you?”

“Same.” Joyce gulped. “I have to clean up the art room for Ms. Garcia.”

“So? Why’d you look like the dog died?”

Joyce shrugged, staring off into the distance down the hall as she made her way back to her locker to put her bag away and head to homeroom. She didn’t really feel like explaining to Hopper right then why the black mark on her record was such a big deal. She wasn’t even sure she had fully processed the news yet herself.

After their last class, Bonnie and Clyde of ’65 teamed up once more before tackling their punishment. Between that and all the whispers and shady looks she got that morning, Joyce was ready to run and never look back, even if it meant leaving high school on a sour note.

She met Hopper at his locker, impatient to get their chores over and done with so they could go home and start putting the past behind them. He grabbed his jacket out of the otherwise empty locker and slammed the door shut for the last time just as she walked up.

“Jesus, how’d you clean your locker out so fast?” she asked, knowing full-well what it looked like before. She wouldn’t be surprised if he just dumped it all in the nearest garbage can.

“Oh shit, I checked outta here in April,” Hopper said with a knowing smirk, tapping his forehead as they walked. "Gotta think ahead."

Joyce looked amused for half a second, but then her face darkened. Two of Lonnie’s friends were loitering outside the cafeteria entrance. The shortest one, Joey Nichols leered at her from across the hall. 

“Hey Joyce, wanna hitch a ride with me after school today?” He nudged his lanky buddy, Sandy, who was choking on a laugh. “I heard you like to go fast.”

“Excuse me?” Joyce’s mouth dropped open, and Hopper spun to face the little twerp.

“Wanna repeat what you just said?” he asked, crossing the hall in short time, stooping down to get in Nichols little weasel face. Sandy took a good ten steps back and watched from the sidelines, wanting nothing to do with it.

“Oh, heya Jim. Didn’t see ya there…” Nichols shriveled into himself as Hopper towered over him, an imposing form next to his short stature. 

“What were you asking my girl?” Hopper growled.

“Your girl?” he peeped, quickly backtracking. “I didn’t know you were going together, I swear! Lonnie just said that—”

“What did Lonnie say?” Joyce asked, her arms crossed, getting in his face now too.

Nichols shook his head violently, his lips sealed. “Nothin’. Never mind.”

Hopper raised a fist at the shorter guy. 

“Get the fuck outta here, Joey.” 

A gaggle of junior girls watched the exchange from their side of the hall, covering their mouths and laughing before Joyce glared at them too, and they hurried away, their cackles echoing down the hall.

“C’mon,” Hopper grabbed her by the shoulders and navigated her down the hall.

“Where are we going now?” she asked. 

“Getting this nightmare over with. It’ll go by faster if you help me first. We’ll be outta here by five at the latest, I promise.”

But Hopper underestimated just how many classrooms there were. 

By the time they had clapped all the erasers, boxed up the chalk, and wiped down the blackboards, it was quarter to five, and they still had to tackle the art room. Both were covered in chalk dust, feeling annoyed with each other, and ready to call it a day — a lackluster end to their entire high school career. Thankfully by that time, the halls were a ghost town save for a lone straggler or two: an old friend who waved; a teacher that looked horrified to see them in the halls so late on the last day of school. The Janitor, Mr. Svensen yelled at Hopper for riding his janitorial cart like a pushbike down the halls.

Ms. Garcia wasn’t in her studio when they arrived, and Joyce let out an audible sigh of relief when she saw the teacher had already left for the school year, leaving her list and handwritten note set aside for Joyce on her desk. She stuffed the letter in her pocket before Hopper could see. 

For the first half of the to-do list, Joyce was mostly quiet, only speaking up to give Hopper direction for what art supplies belonged to which cupboard. It bothered him to see the dark clouds billowing around her, but she wouldn’t tell him what was so wrong. Instinct told him to tease her until she gave in and talked to him, but he could tell she wasn’t in the mood, so he let her stew in silence as they made their way around the room, Joyce becoming more and more aggravated as they went.

When she moved to the darkroom, he followed close behind, ready to help her as best he could without getting in her way. He’d never been in the darkroom before — the red light threw him off at first before she switched it over to the full lights. He could tell something was making her super upset as she rinsed containers and organized the chemicals, but bless his heart, he still hadn’t put two and two together. Joyce slammed the box she carried with her down on the counter and started loading it up with cylinders and beakers, each piece of glass threatening to smash as she loaded the box. That’s when he decided to speak up.

“Everything okay there, Groucho Marx?” 

He thought she might brush him off again, but this time her bottom lip trembled, and he stepped forward towards her as she braced herself against the sink.

“Why do I feel like we live in a shittier version of Peyton Place? It’s like, one wrong move and they all turn on you. I know for a fact everyone else out there has done way worse. Well... maybe not everyone,” she said, thinking about Bob the Brain. Or mousy little Marissa. “I know you don’t give a shit about yours, but I worked hard to maintain my reputation,” Joyce continued, dejected. “I busted my ass to keep my grades up and win that scholarship. I volunteered for Pep Club, student council and yearbook committee all four years. For once in my life, I felt like I could really be someone… and you’re telling me that I lose it all in one fell swoop because of Lonnie Byers? How is any of that fair?”

“It’s not,” Hopper said simply, smart enough to let her vent.

“You and Lonnie got into fistfights on the regular before all of this. How many suspensions did you get for that?”

Hopper thought about it. 

“Just with Lonnie? Only one. Last year, when he tried sucker-punching me from behind in the cafeteria but got Benny sitting down instead. We all got it for that one.”

 “And Bobby Reynolds cheated on Sally Linkletter with her cousin from Bloomington… and he got her pregnant!” Joyce rattled off the recent school scandals, counting off her fingers. “Everyone knows Kathy Meyers steals her mom’s diet pills and sells them behind the portables at lunch to make a quick buck off the other girls -- Jill Stevens passed out in gym class from taking too many last month! Oh and Connie Beavers? Went all the way with pretty much the entire varsity team this year... but no one ever talks about any of that!” Joyce shook her head. “All you and I did was kiss -- after I broke up with Lonnie! He started this, so why the hell am I catching all the fallout from this?”

Hopper shrugged. “Maybe because no one expects it from you?”

“Why? Because I’m a goody-two-shoes?” she blurted, eyebrows raised in challenge, red in the face. 

“No…” Hopper scoffed, unconvincing, trying desperately to change gears before she blew a gasket. “But who gives a shit what they think? You’ll probably never see most of these people ever again. Remember? You’re moving to the city, going to art school, leaving me behind in our shitty Peyton Place—” He said it as a joke, but he didn’t realize…

Her face fell instantly, and the tears came hot and fast as she threw herself into his arms. 

“Woah, hey, what is it? What’s the matter?” he asked, bewildered at her sudden mood swing.

But she still wouldn’t say, and he didn’t know what else to do but hold her tight while she sobbed into his tee-shirt, stroking her hair and letting her cry. When her tears subsided a long moment later, she sniffed and wiped her eyes on the edge of his shirt sleeve and finally caved. 

“I’m not going to art school anymore,” Joyce told him, miserable. “They took the scholarship away and gave it to the runner up this morning, the second the fight went on my permanent record. Ms. Garcia said it was formality, and I guess she tried to pull some strings with Jones not to make it a big deal, but it was a big deal! My whole future just changed in a blink of an eye, because I had a hot head with Lonnie — I can’t believe it. I screwed everything up. Royally!” 

Her face scrunched up as more tears fell.

“No,” Hopper said and looked her in the eye. “You didn’t screw up. This isn’t your fault this happened, Joyce, it’s just shitty luck. If anything, it’s my fault. I’m the one that threw punches, not you. No, hey no more tears! We’ll figure it out. If you really wanna go to art school, we can work on it together, okay? Maybe not this year, but we can save up and… you can go next year.”

Joyce stopped crying to look up at him, her eyes as big as saucers. Did he really mean that? 

“Okay,” she sniffed, still clutching at the fabric of his shirt. “Next year.”

He tilted her chin up the rest of the way to give her a soft kiss, salty and wet from her tears. 

“Atta girl,” he murmured against her lips with an easy smile. Then he pulled away and looked around them, trying to lighten the mood for her. “I can’t believe I didn’t know this place was here this whole time. Dark, quiet. Perfect make-out spot…” 

Joyce’s tears turned to giggles, and she let him kiss her again before she pushed him off.

“Come on, dummy, let’s finish up. I wanna go home. We can make out there,” Joyce said, her mood lifting already.

Joyce finally got the courage to read Ms. Garcia’s letter later that week. It was short and sweet, words of encouragement that she would undoubtedly cherish for a long time, with a special note at the end, one only she would understand. 

The letter was signed “Carmen,” and it was worth so much more to Joyce than a silly high school diploma.

Commencements seemed like a total waste of time at that point. Joyce and Hopper knew they had graduated and would get their diplomas whether they showed up or not. There was nothing more to celebrate, and certainly no need to walk across the stage to Pomp and Circumstance in front of prying eyes. Both were just eager to turn the page, looking forward to leaving this chapter behind them. 

Joyce had worked herself up into a small frenzy the night before convocation and told Karen she was going to skip it. But at the last minute, feeling remorse for missing such a huge moment in their lives, and to appease their respective parents, Joyce called Hopper up the next morning, saying that she would only go if he did. 

He relented, and they showed up fashionably late to the ceremony, parents in tow. They joined the crowd, Annette snapping photos as the two little lovebirds fixed their mortarboards and climbed over their peers to find their seats on the football field; two chairs, side by side in the H’s, smack dab in the middle of all the other graduates. 

Later, as they walked across the stage and accepted their diplomas, that strange feeling overcame Joyce again. It was a monstrous, looming shadow overhead — the prospect of adulthood, an abrupt loss of childhood and of all the uncertainty for their future. Their entire world had slowly started to turn upside down over the last week, and now it felt like an impossible force they couldn’t fight back against. 

Chapter Text

Joyce bounced back from the slap on her wrist and the disastrous end to her high school senior year with a grace that even Audrey Hepburn would envy. She'd quickly embraced a newfound laissez-faire outlook on life, choosing to look through rose-colored glasses and live for the moment instead of focusing on the giant mess she left behind her at Hawkins High. The moping lasted less than a week in total, and the sting of losing the scholarship wore off faster than anyone expected. Her ankle healed up nice, and even the black eye faded swiftly. 

Lonnie quickly became a faded memory too; the brief time spent with him both a loss and painful lesson wrapped up in one. Joyce was relieved to hear he'd ditched town the day after prom, headed to the big city all by his lonesome, and hadn't been seen around Hawkins since. 

Hopper was the sole reason for the sudden change in Joyce's attitude. Feeling the weight of her lost-scholarship on his shoulders, he took his duty as her boyfriend very seriously. He did his very best to distract her whenever she started worrying needlessly again. Whether it was about her open-ended future or the troubled state of the world, or even something rude someone said to her once in seventh grade -- some fixations were harder to distract her from than others… Still, he tried his damned best to keep her busy. Fishing for rainbow trout in Tippecanoe off the docks; matinee double dates at the Hawk; a camp-out at his grandpa's old hunting cabin in the woods outside of town.

Karen occasionally needed help planning her wedding too, and Joyce happily obliged her with that, spending what little time away from Hopper she had with the Bride-to-be. Joyce wasn't quite a bridesmaid since Karen had to put her sister and new sister-in-law, and her cousins in the wedding party instead, but Joyce was thrilled to play Girl Friday all the same. In turn, she let Karen fill her head with frivolous things — fluffy, pastel visions of bouquets and dresses and veils, reception dinners, and dances. She started to think about her own wedding and the fact that maybe her future could be perfectly content raising a family in Hawkins. As Karen liked to remind her regularly, there was nothing wrong with that. 

One afternoon, Joyce had tagged along with Karen to Kokomo to put a deposit down on the wedding cake at the little town bakery. 

Karen was up at the counter, being her usual Karen-self with the head baker. While her friend was busy being bossy, Joyce allowed herself to slowly stroll along the display case to gaze longingly at all the beautiful cakes and their little decorations and toppers, and she admired them each, one by one. One in particular caught her unaware, and Joyce stopped in her tracks to stare at it — a tiny brunette bride with her tall, blond groom at her side. The silly little sugar sculpture made her stomach flip and cheeks burn like she'd never felt before — a sublime feeling she couldn't possibly begin to describe. It came over her in a wave, making her giddy and incredibly happy all at once. It was like all those Ronette songs she'd been singing along to on the radio suddenly made perfect sense.

"What's got you all flustered?" Karen had asked nosily as they walked out of the bakery that day. "You look like Mick Jagger just walked by…"

Joyce could only shrug with a sly smile.

She couldn't quite put her finger on what that feeling was exactly, but she did know she wanted more of it. Floating around town for the next week, she was practically on cloud nine at the thought of planning her own nuptials someday (soon?) — Mrs. Joyce Hopper has a nice ring to it, don't you think?

Ever since they'd started officially dating after graduation, things were positively groovy with Hopper. She hoped that Karen's wedding in August would convince him that it was the most logical next step for them, too. She couldn't wait until they could take the next steps and it was her turn to be the happiest girl in the whole USA. She crossed her fingers and toes that it would happen sooner than later. 

In a strange and twisted way, she got her wish. Even if it was only for the summer.

Annette announced early on in June she planned to spend most of the season at Randy's lakehouse on Lake Michigan, which would leave Joyce unsupervised and fending for herself until the end of August. Joyce had been left alone by her mother before, but never for months like this. At first, she thought Annette had lost her marbles, but thinking about a whole summer without parental supervision, Joyce quickly realized what needed to happen. It didn't take long after her Ma blew her daughter a kiss from Randy's Mercury for Joyce to call up Hopper and ask if he wanted to crash at her place for a quote-unquote "sleepover." 

He was there that evening… and never left. 

It only took five days of dodging Mr. and Mrs. Hopper until they got the hint that their son wasn't coming home to sleep anymore. Kid-Joyce thought it was great -- a whole summer of sleepovers with her best friend. Teen-Joyce thought her mother had lost her damned mind, leaving her alone, as if she didn't know this would happen. And young-adult-Joyce viewed it as a trial run for the future Mr. & Mrs. Hopper. It was pure, marital bliss without all the pesky obligations. 

The best part of that summer was every happy memory she had with him seemed to come with its own soundtrack. There'd be that one perfect song that when she heard it again later on at various times throughout her life, it would be like a spell was cast, and it'd all come rushing back in vivid flashes.

Like the time Hopper installed a used 8-Track deck in the GTO, and they wore out the tape on Out of Our Heads, driving around Roane county looking for sunshine and good times (and there was plenty of that to go around that summer…) 

Or the jukebox dances with the gang at the diner, cutting a rug under the neon light until well past closing time… 

Listening to their friends play guitar and bongos, singing and carrying-on down on the shores of Lover's Lake — those lazy days when all that mattered was the sun at their backs and sand between their toes… 

Dancing wild and barefoot on the carpet in the living room at home with their favorite records cranked up for just the two of them…

Waking up to each other in her double bed, blearily welcoming another sunshiney day together. Mr. Fuzzy, the stuffed bear and a Davy Jones poster, the only witnesses to perfect mornings; when the sunlight filtered into her bedroom through the sugar maple outside, and Patsy Cline quietly sang her blues on the AM country station…

They were playing house, living in an endless honeymoon day-dream, but yet, there was that odd feeling that was holding Joyce back. Like she knew deep down, it couldn't last forever. 

It was easy for her to ignore the feeling at first, so she did.

 "Cherry or Coke?” 

"Hm, gimme both. Mix 'em together." 

"Can you do that?" Joyce asked, eyebrows shooting up as if a lightbulb had just turned on over her head. "Is it even allowed?"

"Guess you're 'bout find out," Hopper replied with a saccharine-sweet country twang, throwing her a teasing smile over the car's hood. "And tell 'em I want five bucks on pump four."

Joyce snapped her gum with a nod and trotted over to the 7-Eleven. She told the attendant five-on-four and then headed straight for the Slurpee machine, waiting her turn in line behind a group of boisterous twelve-year-old boys talking a mile a minute about the carnival on the outskirts of town. Scanning the magazine rack, Joyce pretended she didn't notice them sneaking peeks at her while waiting for their turn, which was when she realized Hop had undone the top two buttons of her blouse on the drive over to the gas station. 

Joyce discreetly put herself back together and finally had the Slurpees and a bag of red licorice in hand, headed up to the counter to pay when something caught her eye that stopped her dead in her tracks — some hot little redhead in short shorts, and a barely-there halter was hitting on her man. 

Her heart sank momentarily, having flashbacks to Lonnie until she remembered who she was dating. Thank heaven, Joyce didn't have to worry about this boyfriend like she did with the last one. She sighed and put her items up on the counter to be rung up, but still didn't take her eyes off the scene unfolding outside.

When the redhead turned to lean up against the car, Joyce snorted back a laugh. 

Chrissy Carpenter. Of course. She must've just walked out of the beauty parlor across the street and saw Hopper pumping gas and went over to show off her new 'do. 

Joyce didn't know what Hopper had ever seen in someone like Chrissy. That girl was like a cat that desperately wanted your attention and would do anything to get it… until you gave it to her. It had been, what? a month and a half since Chrissy had told Hopper not to bother calling her (for the third time). And now here she was again…

Chrissy was getting closer and closer to him now, touching the car first and then his bicep. She tossed her fresh auburn waves to and fro as she spoke, trying to get him to look at her. Hopper just stared at the gas pump and shook his head ever so slightly, trying to move out of Chrissy's grasp without stopping what he was doing. 

Joyce watched the scene unfold from inside the store while she paid for the Slurpees and the gas, and she felt a tickle of amusement. It was especially hilarious because she didn't feel a lick of jealousy from what she was witnessing. Chrissy and Hopper might've been an item at one point, but it was evident from his body language he wanted nothing to do with her now.

Joyce popped out of the 7-Eleven and bounced over to the GTO just in time to hear Chrissy ask him, "So, are you going to be at the fireworks tonight?"

An unmistakable look of relief came over Hopper when he noticed Joyce had come to his rescue. 

Joyce smirked and handed him his drink, taking a sip of her own and then chewing on the straw as she greeted her competition cheerily. 

"Hi, Chrissy! Love the hair. Very Ann-Margret." 

"Oh. Hi, Joyce. Thanks." Chrissy's disappointment was plain as day. "Sooo… you two are really a thing now, huh?"

"Mhmm, you betcha!" 

Joyce took the wad of bubblegum out of her mouth, stuck it on the side of her cup, and, with the cement step's height advantage, tiptoed to kiss Hopper. She practically stuck her tongue down his throat in the process to make a point, announcing it not just to Chrissy Carpenter, but the entire parking lot too. 

Let all of Hawkins know, 'Lil Joycie and Jimmy H. are all grow'd up and officially-official! 

The preteen boys getting on their bikes whistled and cheered them on, while a mother covered her children's eyes, aghast by the indecent display. Two skeevy old men nudged each other and watched. Chrissy made a noise in her throat like she was gasping and choking at the same time. 

Joyce finally pulled away with a grin for a flustered Hopper and turned to see the other girl's mouth drop open. Joyce popped the bubblegum back in her mouth with a satisfied chew as Chrissy stormed off in a huff. 

"Nice seeing you!" Her smile was a thousand watts as she watched the younger girl retreat. Then she called out after her with a wave, "Bye now!"

Watching Chrissy scurry off made Joyce both relieved and thankful it had been his ex and not hers they had run into. Lord knows, Lonnie would not be so easily dismissed. 

Hopper put the gas nozzle back, still looking at his girlfriend, dumbstruck. "I kept telling her I was dating you now, but she didn't believe me…. said that she'd know about it if it were true."

"Well, I'd say she knows now," Joyce shrugged, pulling him back in for a more chaste kiss this time. 

"Yeah, and so does the whole damn town," he mumbled against her lips.

Laughter and screams filled the balmy night air, and the familiar scent of heat coming off the grass, mixed with popcorn, funnel cakes, and other deep-fried delights carried on the breeze. A dazzling display of neon lights pushed back the darkness surrounding Hawkins that night. Joyce had never seen the carnival so jammed packed before, not once in the fifteen years she'd been coming to watch the fireworks. It looked like all of Roane county, and then some showed up to celebrate the fourth of July — the double-date night she and Karen had planned with the boys had turned into a date with the whole damn town and then some. 

They were backed up against the side of the Haunted Mansion — three levels of TERROR and FUN — waiting for their snacks and watching waves of people line up at the rides and games along the midway. The line for the funhouse went past the tilt-a-whirl on the other side, and they watched the groups of teens running, screaming and laughing, as they came out the other side. A witch laughed behind them, the animatronic beckoning them closer to the spooky entrance. 

"This is so weird."

"What?" Joyce turned to Karen as she nibbled on a corndog, trying not to burn her mouth, while she juggled her lemonade and a teddy bear that Hop had won her in her arms. 

Karen pointed at Joyce and then Hopper, who was paying the man at the concession stand. 

"This. You two. Being together. I mean, it makes sense on paper, but seeing it in action is like watching a side-show or something. It's just... odd!" She turned to her fiance for confirmation. "Isn't it, Ted?"

Ted, who was picking at Karen's cotton candy, nodded. "Like seeing Rocky and Bullwinkle on a date."

Hopper choked back a laugh, not about to admit Ted was being funny. Joyce pursed her lips.

"Hey, we're not a side-show!" Joyce leaned back into her boyfriend and tilted her head up to look up at him, upside-down. "But he's definitely my Bullwinkle."

He wasn't even paying attention, tapping her shoulder, and he spoke between bites. "Let's go on that ride next!" 

"Again?" Joyce whined, cementing her in the role of Rocky.

"Yup." Hopper gulped down hot dog number one of two.

"Looks like you have your hands full with this one," Karen smirked and patted Ted's shoulder as if he were a prized pedigree. "Ted doesn't like those kinds of rides, do you Ted?"

"Well, ah…" Ted started and then took a long sip of lemonade.

Karen continued, "You know, I'd like one of those little bears that Jim got Joyce before the night's over."

"Okay, dear." Ted was a man defeated.

A face they recognized rounded the corner and passed them with her usual clique in tow, hot on the trail of a group of frat boys from Indiana State. Joyce clucked her tongue at the sight.

"Looks like Debbie is trolling for arm candy tonight. Do you think she knows that skirt rides up in the back? Maybe I should tell her…"

"Do you have a death wish?" Karen giggled. "Of course, she knows." 

"Cripes, you two are catty," Hopper interjected, working on corndog, part two.

Joyce shook her head, sipped at her drink, and blinked, wide-eyed and innocent. 

"Nuh-uh, not me. Just Karen."

"You're just realizing this now? It's like you don't even know me at all, Jim Hopper," Karen scoffed, and they all laughed, Ted included.

"Hey, do you think we have enough tickets to go on the carousel swings again?" Joyce piped up.

Hopper groaned and turned to his one ally against the girls. "No more swings… Tilt-a-Whirl! Whaddya-say Ted, old buddy, old pal?" 

Karen handed Ted her cotton candy and purse, shoving it at him and flicked her bangs out of her eyes, with an expectant look.

"I think I'd like to go on the ferris wheel next." 

Ted exchanged an eye-roll with Hopper above his fiancee's head.

"If that is what m' lady desires." 

"She does." Karen grabbed his arm and started pulling him with a satisfied smirk. Joyce checked her watch. 

"It's half an hour to the fireworks," she reminded them. "Meet us there?"

"Sure thing," Karen said over her shoulder as they walked off toward the other end of the fairgrounds.

"Tilt-a-Whirl?" 

Joyce tossed her trash in the nearest can and repositioned the teddy bear in her arms before turning to her relentless boyfriend and wiped a spot of mustard off the scruff of a beard he was trying to grow.

"Yes, Tilt-a-Whirl." she grabbed his hand, flashing a grin. "Oh, wait. Look, the crowd cleared up on this one. Let's go here first, then we can go on your ride."

Hopper dug his feet into the dirt like an overgrown child. 

"No way," he shook his head. "I hate those things."

"What? Fun houses? Tough cookies, I like 'em!" Joyce pulled, but he remained a stick in the mud. 

"Bully for you. I'm not going. Nope." Hopper shook his head again, this time slowly. "You can go, I'll wait here."

Joyce squeezed his hand. 

"I think you'll like this one," she said, an eyebrow lifting to entice him. "Trust me."

He gave in, rolling his eyes in defeat as she led him to the entrance where the witch was still cackling. They gave the attendant their tickets and stepped inside, hand-in-hand.

The entrance was small, and a fake wrought iron gate opened and closed in front of them, a gaping maw inviting them to enter if they dare, one patron at a time. Joyce snuck in close behind Hopper, pressing up against him, so they didn't get separated, and he tightened his grip on her hand as the gate closed behind them with barely an inch to spare. Another door opened and shut ahead — this one rolling back to reveal the haunted tunnels they had to go through to get to the second level. A cool mist sprayed out from behind a casket covered in cobwebs, and Joyce shivered when the cold humidity dampened her sunkissed skin and left her with goosebumps. 

Hopper was still ahead of her, and he led her through the tunnels under a dim blue light, through the fake creepy-crawlies and zombies and overgrown vines. There was something admirable about the way he was clutching at her hand, yet bravely leading her through the dark. It was evident he was a little bit scared, but Joyce could tell by the way he held himself that his top priority was still making sure she was okay. 

She was used to Hopper treating her like one of the boys. When they were little, he used to protect her — when Lonnie or Benny would pull her pigtails or shove her in the mud, or kick her out of the treehouse just for being a girl — but as they got older, Joyce proved that she could hold her own and wouldn't let him stand up for her anymore, even if he wanted to. Hopper had reluctantly taken a step back to let her fight her own battles, and she didn't realize how much she missed his protective streak until just now, as he held her hand, guiding them through fake cobwebs and graves and monsters. Even the fight with Lonnie at Prom, as much as it hurt her to admit it, was admirable. It was easy to see how much he cared for her in his actions and jestures, however big or small. As they made their way cautiously through the tunnels, following the red arrows on the floor every ten feet, she smiled at his back in the dark until her cheeks ached.

They finally emerged from the "haunted" tunnels into a small room made to look like an old Victorian parlor abandoned for a hundred years. Thunder boomed from the sound system, and lightning flashed through the fake windows next to where a skeleton was rocking wildly in a chair, lit up by the strobe. Hopper flinched at the sight, and Joyce gave his hand a tiny squeeze, while she tried her best to stifle a laugh. A circular staircase lit up ahead, and they continued on. 

"This is so bunk, Horowitz," Hopper muttered back down to her over his shoulder as he climbed the staircase made to look rickety and old like it might give way at any second. "I can't believe you convinced me to do this."

Joyce slapped at his backside and teetered up the stairs after him until he stopped dead in his tracks.

The top of the staircase revealed a long and disorienting hall, which narrowed toward a mirrored wall at the very end, giving the illusion it went on forever and ever. Doors along the moving, tilted floor opened and shut on their own, revealing terrifying occupants: Frankenstein's monster being shocked to life; A laughing, evil clown; Dracula entrancing a beautiful raven-haired victim. Joyce knew it was all cheap tricks — the proportions were meant to be off to give you an awful, sick feeling, but the look on Hopper's face told her he wasn't thinking about it that way. He stood still, holding onto the staircase's hand railing for dear life, looking determined, annoyed, nauseous, and scared at the same time.

"Have I told you, I hate funhouses?" he gulped and looked pleadingly down at Joyce. "Why is the floor moving?"

"Because it's spooky and haunted!" She pushed past his frozen form, still holding his hand, and she took the lead. "C'mon, you big scairdy-cat."

Wind howled and the frightening animatronics each added their own sound effects to the scene. Hopper stayed hot on Joyce's tail and followed her footsteps as she maneuvered the heaving floor like a boat on open water. When they got to the mirrored-end of the hallway without incident, Hopper let out a big sigh. Joyce didn't stop, though, and she quickly turned left, bringing them into the Hall of Mirrors, finally slamming on the brakes as she realized she was about to run them head-on into themselves. Hopper steadied her on her feet and then groaned at the sign that welcomed them into the maze. Joyce just smiled at their distorted reflections and turned to him. 

"And now for something we hope you'll really like…" she said, in her best Rocky J. Squirrel voice.

Joyce pulled at Hopper like he was a statue, letting go of his hand when he didn't budge at first. He finally shuffled his feet behind her, and she waved him on, speeding up ahead, ducking to the right, hoping he'd follow. She led them into a false nook — a tiny triangular room made to confuse, astound and amaze as the mirrors and their reflections went on and on, towards infinity. He walked past where she had turned, and Joyce reached out to tug at his shirt, pulling him into the nook with her, letting him stumble in, his weight pressing her against the mirror. She gazed up at him, a pert smile on her lips.

The lights in the mirror maze flashed a rainbow display of colors, and he looked around at their never-ending reflections before looking back down at her. Joyce's hazel eyes teased him in the dark, inviting him in. Hopper bent down to kiss her, watching all his reflections do the same out of the corner of his eyes — a million other Hopper's mimicking his movement as his hands slipped down to her waist and then up under her red tee shirt. Hopper let out a low growl deep in the back of his throat. He lifted Joyce up easily, leaning into her, letting the mirror do most of the hard work while she wrapped her bare legs around him.

There was a scream below them — one that wasn't pre-recorded — and it made them put a pause the heavy petting session. Joyce unwrapped herself from him and dropped to the ground with a satisfied little smirk.

"Someone's coming," she stated the obvious. 

"So?" he asked, panting a little, quirking a brow as if to ask: since when do you care? He bit his bottom lip and swooped down for another kiss.

Joyce shook her head and pulled back, giggling, before running off again, leaving him there.

"Hey!" he shouted after her. “Not cool! Joyce!"

The giggles turned to full-on laughter as she swiftly moved through the mirrors, holding her hands out to navigate the shadows between the flashes of neon lights, to ensure she didn't take a wrong turn into a wall or a glass pane. She could hear Hopper behind her, muttering obscenities to himself, cursing her name, and occasionally she saw him in the mirrors, stumbling into a wall as he got all turned around. She slowed down then, knowing she'd have at least a minute before he caught up. As she turned the corner, the next arrow appeared on the last mirror, leading her up another set of stairs and out into the night air on the third story balcony at the front of the funhouse. 

From up here, Joyce could see the whole fair and even part of Hawkins, the town lights holding up the star-spangled velvet night. She took a deep breath, riding the high coursing through her veins and waited for her boyfriend to figure out the maze and find her. 

Scanning the crowd below, her eyes fell on a familiar tall, dark, and somewhat menacing figure and her heart which had been skipping a delicious beat, slowly started to creep up into her throat. 

Lonnie strolled through the carnival entrance with his best buds, Ray, Dan, and Lewis trailing not far behind. A couple of rowdy teen girls, who couldn't have been much older than Joyce were hanging off Lewis and Dan's every word. She didn't recognize the clingers, but it was easy to tell by how they dressed that they came from the city. Lonnie was looking around, taking in the attractions and talking with Ray. He took a long drag from his rolled cigarette when he caught her watching him from the balcony, almost like he knew she was there. The gig was up. Like the ghouls in the Haunted Mansion, Lonnie's face morphed from jovial to sad, angry to amused in a split second. 

Joyce's heart plunged to the pit of her stomach. Lonnie tossed the rest of the cigarette on the ground with a funny little smile and stomped on it before waving his friends over to the funhouse entrance, disappearing under the balcony. Hopper jumped out behind her a second later, giving her a startle. 

"Jesus, I thought you left me in there. Why'd you run away? I was just starting to have fun." He grinned and bent down to nibble her ear, pressing her back into the railing, ready for round two.

Joyce put her hands on his chest to slow him down.

"So was I," she sighed, her mood ruined. "Lonnie's here with the boys."

Hopper straightened up and frowned, scanning the crowds below. "Where?"

"Right there," Joyce pointed beneath them. "He just walked into the funhouse."

"Did he see you?"

Joyce nodded, and she didn't have to say another word. 

With a frown, Hopper took her hand and led her across the balcony, following the red arrows towards the exit down below. They tripped over their feet, down the moving staircase, colliding into each other as they jumped across the spinning tunnel on their way out. At the very end, just as they could see the exit and feel the cool night breeze promising freedom, a sheet-faced ghost on a wire rig flew down towards them, letting out it's pre-recorded shriek. Joyce jumped and let out a yelp as Hopper punched it, knocking the ghoul clean off the line, securing their escape. 

Hopper took Joyce to a quiet corner once they were safe outside, hidden away by a carnival game. He scanned her face, brows knitted with worry. 

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she took a deep breath.

"You look like you saw a ghost…" He was trying to be cute with her, but Joyce felt like she'd seen one too. The look Lonnie gave her as she stood upon the balcony had sent chills down her spine. 

Hopper brushed her bangs out of her eyes and offered his hand. 

"C'mon, don't worry about him. Let's hit up the sharpshooter game again. I'll win you another teddy bear. Bigger this time!" 

Joyce hesitated, looking back to the funhouse. 

"I don't know… Can we just go? He's here, and he looked kinda…" (heartbroken, mad, deranged, take your pick…) "I don't want any trouble tonight. Karen and Ted'll understand."

At first, it seemed like Hopper might try to convince her to stay, but when he saw how shaken she was, he put his arm around her instead and guided her towards the exit.

"Okay, but we’re not missing the fireworks. We can take the car and park. I know just the perfect spot, up by the quarry."

Joyce nodded and took one last look at the haunted funhouse, searching for the ghost of her ex inside. Maybe Lonnie could run into Debbie and forget all about Joyce again? She only hoped that'd be the case, especially after seeing that look he'd given her. With a little sigh, Joyce made a wish that Lonnie could find someone who made him as happy as Hop made her so he could move on, too. 

Leaving her haunted past behind at the fair, Joyce let Hopper escort her to the car, feeling safer than ever in his arms.

Chapter Text

Independence day rolled on by, and the allowance Annette had left Joyce to run the house while she was away had suddenly and "mysteriously" dried up. After their adventure-filled date night at the carnival, Hopper was also beginning to feel the pinch to his wallet. Since he couldn't exactly ask his dad for help (unless he wanted Jack's foot wedged firmly up his ass), Hopper resolved to follow through with his not-a-plan after-grad plan and get a job, the easiest way he knew how. 

He dragged Joyce to the diner that Friday afternoon to speak to Mr. Hammond about working the busy weekend shifts. He figured it'd be easy for him to learn to work the grill with his friend Benny to show him the ropes, and everyone already knew Joyce could make a mean chocolate malt. Benny Sr. didn't need too much convincing, and they started that same night, busting their butts for $1.25 an hour plus tips. 

Benny's was organized chaos on a Friday night, but the two of them moved like a well-oiled machine, gliding around the kitchen and bar like a dancefloor to keep the drinks and fries flowing for half of Hawkins. It surprised them how well they worked together, especially when the place was jam-packed. 

However, when there was downtime, they found new and exciting ways to butt heads…

Hopper'd get in trouble for scorching the burgers, distracted by how Joyce looked in her little uniform of a tight white tee and orange hot pants. Or for threatening to beat up some rude patrons who were also distracted by said hot pants and couldn't understand how to look without touching. 

Joyce went out of her way to tease and push Hopper's buttons, playing his most hated songs on the jukebox and singing along obnoxiously when they were all alone. She loved how I Got You, Babe made him cover his ears and hide in the walk-in freezer until she promised to stop. Every. Single. Time. 

Then there was the world's longest-running game of Jinx (Hop still owed her a coke for that one.) 

Regardless of the frequency, their little public tiffs were just that — never about anything too serious. They also never lasted very long. It was all fun and games that they played to drive each other up the wall. Sometimes it seemed like they only fought as an excuse to kiss and make up, though they'd both deny it till the day they died. 

But if there was a lot of silly arguing going on in public, it was a different story behind closed doors… 

"I think I'm falling for you, Hop." 

She half-whispered, half-mumbled the words into his chest as they sat, and parked at the quarry after he brought up the fact they still needed to christen the GTO's back seat. Fireworks from the fairgrounds lit them up in patriotic shades of blues and reds as she fiddled with the buttons on his shirt, not meeting his gaze.

"And it kinda scares me how much I'm falling…"

"Scares you? In a good way..?" he asked dubiously.

"Yes, of course, in a good way… Really good. Crazy good. I just think that maybe…" Joyce paused and sighed, a barely-there tremble creeping into her voice. "I want our first time together to be special. Like, if we wait for the right moment, maybe it won't be something either of us has to regret?"

Hopper was patient as a saint after that and never ever rushed her, even though she imagined it was killing him inside. He didn't beg her like Lonnie did, coercing her into something she wasn't comfortable with. And he certainly never forced himself on her like that slime Charlie  did in the tenth grade. Hopper was the perfect gentleman, which made it so much harder for Joyce to stick to her guns and not give in to temptation. There was something about delaying the gratification with him, though — she knew it'd be worth the wait. 

Waiting for that special moment didn't stop them from exploring other avenues of their relationship, though, and even if the GTO had yet to be properly christened, it certainly saw its fair share of action. They fumbled in the backseat towards ecstasy, equal sparring partners in a professional level game of foreplay, getting creative when needed to avoid breaking Joyce's one little rule. 

Hopper was ravenous for her, but she insisted on teasing the main course. They were an insatiable, inseparable pair. It wasn't long before they were regularly showing up late to work or double dates with lipstick on his collar and hickeys on her neck, earning them a reputation around town. His friends had even started calling him "Don't-Stop-Hop" much to Joyce's utter mortification — the guys would never let her live that one down!

They should've capitalized on it, done something productive with all that pent up energy… if only they could keep their hands to themselves.

"How's that popsicle working out for ya?" His voice carried over to her across the yard, but it didn't catch her attention right away. 

It was their first day off from the diner and hotter than hell (a record-breaker, the radio said), so they'd spent the day being as lazy and half-dressed as possible.

Joyce and Hopper's morning — aka late afternoon to the rest of the world — was spent waking up slowly, entwined in each other, comfy in her bed until the sun creeped in and the heat got unbearable. Then they moved out to the backyard where he found the old kiddie pool they used to play in years ago at the back of the shed and filled it up with the hose just so they could dip their feet in and cool off. 

She suntanned. He napped. She'd wake him up to turn over before he burned. He brought her iced tea and popsicles from the icebox. If it weren't so flippin' hot, it would've been a perfect summer's day.

As they desperately waited for the sun to set, Joyce was lounging on a towel in the shade, her back pressed up against a tree, flipping through the latest Cosmopolitan, completely unaware that Hopper was staring at her. She was wearing her new bikini — a little itty bitty buttercream number she crocheted that didn't seem to cover very much — and was slowly sucking on a Bomb pop, enthralled by whichever salacious cover story she was reading: 

Either "World's Greatest Lover — and what it's like to be seduced by him" (yeah, hello? Joyce was already dating him.) Or maybe it was: "The New Pill that promises to make women more responsive" (to what?) 

"Earth to Joyce!" Hopper leaned into her field of view with a cheeky grin.  

"Huh?" 

Her tongue stopped it's sultry little dance up and down the ol' red-white-and-blue before recognizing the look he was giving her. She closed her mouth around the top of the frozen treat and wiggled her eyebrows with her own little grin.

He licked his lips and gestured to her stomach. 

"You uh, have a little mess going on there." 

Bright purple popsicle juice ran down her curves toward her belly button and bikini bottoms, threatening to ruin the swimsuit. She closed the Cosmo and put it down in the grass.

"Oops… Maybe you could help me clean that up?"

Hopper's eyes darted to the house instinctively, before she reminded him they were alone, and the old maple they sat under would keep them well hidden from prying eyes. 

Joyce said his name and looked over her sunglasses at him, leaning against the tree.

"I'm getting sticky," she said, feeling bold. When she bit her bottom lip, he came running. 

Turned out the rumors were true — Jim Hopper was exceptionally talented with his tongue, in more ways than one.

Those hot summer nights in July, Joyce finally felt what it meant to be alive. She could be anything, say anything, do anything she wanted for the first time in her life because she was young, wild, and free… and Hop was by her side.

It was the same feeling she had the first time they smoked a joint behind the diner after they finished their shift late one Saturday night. They passed it back and forth in the parking lot, just as the sun threatened to peek over the horizon. At first, she was paranoid they'd get caught, that someone would see them and rat. Or his dad would show up to take them away in handcuffs ("To teach you two idiots a lesson," he'd say.) Eventually, she mellowed out under Hop's gentle reassurance that it was no big deal. He held her hand, fingers laced, and Joyce leaned on his shoulder as he navigated them home. They took the long way, driving slow and steady along the rows of corn, fog settling over the fields as the sky swirled in shades of a cotton candy twilight morning, and the telephone wires sizzled overhead. 

That was it. Right there in Hopper's pretty blue Pontiac, she had died and gone to heaven. Joyce wanted to save that feeling and keep it with her forever, but it was like trying to catch lightning in a bottle as it turned out… So she chased it.

When they did stupid shit, like trespass in the back meadows of the old Hess Farm at midnight to camp out and gaze up at the stars just to feel small, it made her feel brave. Making out on a bed of wild violets, she felt free under the fading light of the milky way. And when Hopper pulled her in close and traced circles on the small of her back, mumbling sweet-nothings against the top of her head, she felt love. True love. 

This wasn't just a silly schoolgirl crush or the weird-fascination kind of puppy-love like she had with Lonnie. No-sir-ee Bob — Jim Hopper was looking to be the real McCoy. It frightened her how deep he ran through her, and so suddenly too. If you'd have told Joyce a year earlier this would happen, that she'd be falling in love with Jim Hopper, she'd have laughed in your face or maybe ran away screaming, but looking at it from the other side now, she couldn't imagine it happening any other way. 

Still, there was that nagging feeling deep down inside, pulling at her. Tugging at her hem. Telling her to slow down. Reminding her that nothing could last forever. It lingered on the horizon like a storm threatened to blow in on the wind and ruin a perfectly lovely sunny day.

The screen door slammed, and Joyce, who was cooking breakfast for their dinner, jumped at the sudden sound. He'd been gone when she woke up just after two, but here he was now at ten to five, storming into her kitchen like a bull looking for its matador. 

"Whatdya know, Joe?" Joyce mumbled, the last half of a cigarette sparking around her lips as she spoke.

"Nothing," Hopper growled behind her. Joyce took the smoke out of her mouth and turned to look at him.

"I missed you when I woke up. Where'd you go?" Joyce asked him with a pleasant lilt in her voice, trying to counteract his mood. 

"Across the street," he grumbled. He threw a small stack of envelopes and papers on the table. 

"Oh, is that the mail? I keep forgetting to get that." 

"Yeah," he said with a sigh. "It's the mail."

Joyce spoke, turning back to the stove, carefully flipping the bacon and ashing her cigarette into the sink at the same time. 

"Can you put it over by the phone, so I can tell Ma how much Randy needs to pay next time she calls?"

"Sure," he muttered and did just that, stopping by the garbage can on the way and slamming the lid on that too.

Dinner was served, and as they sat down on the couch to eat, the TV was already on, the news just starting. The lead-in was more of the usual: troops and tension in Vietnam and what America might have to do to stop it.

"Do we have to watch this shit while we're eating?" Hopper growled through a mouthful of food, glaring at the screen.

"No," Joyce replied quietly. She reached for the remote and changed the channel to something lighter. 

Hopper chewed, brow furrowed, and Joyce watched him, ignoring her own meal for a second. He was clearly upset. She hadn't seen him this mad… maybe ever.

"Wanna talk about it?" she asked, cautiously. 

"No," was his curt reply. 

He didn't talk for the rest of dinner and barely spoke a word when they cleaned up. He was off in his own little pissed-off world, and Joyce simply wasn't invited that evening. That was fine because she'd been neglecting her hobbies lately and had just got her hands on some new charcoal she wanted to try out before they had to go to work. She took her sketchpad out and stared at him, squiggling an outline in the paper's corner, taking him in, feature by feature. 

A strong jaw. Perfect, kissable lips. A smile that curled at the corners and a nose that crinkled when he belly laughed… and those steady, starry eyes in the deepest shade of blue she'd ever seen.

Hopper must've felt her eyes on him when he glanced over to her from the program that had captured his attention — NASA footage of the last Gemini launch. Joyce was confident he didn't understand the science behind it so much as he just thought that space was pretty far-out. She muffled a giggle.

"What?" he asked, a hint of annoyance from dinner leftover on his face.

"Nothin'." Joyce pressed her lips together, hiding her smile. Her pencil danced above the page.

"What're you doing?"

"Nothin'," she repeated, this time drawing the word out in a tease. 

"Can't be nothing if you're smirking like that," he said. "What's so funny?"

Joyce shook her head, refusing to say.

"Spill it, Horowitz. Do I have food in my teeth or something? What?" 

The thought tumbled from her mouth before she could stop herself. 

"I love you, Jim Hopper."

She snapped her mouth shut when she realized what she'd said, and then she watched Hopper closely. His cheeks flushed slightly, but he didn't show any further signs of shock at her words. 

"You do?" he finally responded, voice cracking even though he tried to play it off as cool.

Joyce felt like running upstairs to shout it from her window, ready to let the whole world know — yes, yes, yes! I love this man!! — but she stayed where she was under his inscrutable gaze.

"Yeah, I do." The smile finally broke on her face, and he matched it, dimple for dimple. That made her giggle. 

"Well," he said, taking a deep breath and patting the spot next to him on the couch. "Why don't you come over here and prove it?"

Her tummy did a somersault. She was ready for love, but was she prepared to take that next step? Right now? With half an hour until they had to be at the diner to start their shift?

He shook his head and waved her over as if reading her mind, reassuring that he didn't want what she thought he wanted.

"Lemme see what you're working on."

And so she did, cuddled up next to him, she let him flip through her notepad to see what she had done that afternoon — All the doodles, sketches of wildflowers and practiced crosshatch and clips of summertime poems here and there. 

As he admired her work, Joyce realized that he didn't say the words back, and surprisingly, it didn't hurt as bad as she thought it would. Maybe it was because the black curse of his mood had lifted with those three little words, just like a charm, but it didn't seem to bother her one bit that he didn't return them. 

He'd let it slip once before anyway when they were still kids after his grandma died, so she knew that he loved her in some way or another. But that was then, and this was now, and they weren't kids anymore. It carried a different meaning here on the cusp of adulthood, deep in summer-love, and it was okay in her mind if he couldn't say it back just yet. Her best friend had always been a stubborn creature, and she knew he'd say it only when he was good and ready. 

All that mattered was that Joyce felt it and was now confident enough to say it aloud to him, even if by accident. Even without it being reciprocated. Besides, she could tell just by his kiss alone that deep down, he felt it too.

Summer rolled on like distant thunder, and Joyce waited for lightning to strike. The Wheeler wedding was all planned and set for a month's time, and the invitation on the refrigerator reminded her daily that the big day was coming. She let it spark her imagination for her own future and didn't even bother to hide it from Hopper anymore. It was all she could think about, dream about, and talk about, especially as the days went on, and life with him became a part of her reality. "When we get married," or "When we have a place of our own..." became common phrases for her. But if it worried or bothered Hopper, he never said a thing. She’d occasionally get the old eye roll or a silly face, but for the most part, he’d let her divulge her dreams to him. 

It made Joyce wonder if maybe he wanted it all, too.

Everyday, she looked forward to the same old routine, custom-built just for the two of them: working weekend nights and staying up late after their shift, listening to records until the early morning hours. Partying on their nights off with friends, sleeping through the regular world. When Hopper taught Joyce to roll joints, it was their measly offering to the gods of Freedom. Her portable record player became their altar. Rock n' roll, their hymns. Life with Hop after highschool was all Joyce had ever hoped a true romance could be and more, and as far as she was concerned, they could've stayed like that forever. Belonging to no one but the night and each other. Spending nearly every waking minute of July together in perfect sync as if it had been this way their whole lives and the lives they lived before that, too. 

The summer of '65 would always be Joyce's happy place. The warm, hazy recollections and snapshot memories were forever imprinted on the back of her mind. Fuzzy and faded, like a Super 8 film, flickering into existence, they'd play on a loop whenever she needed a little reminder of better times — times when the world seemed a little smaller, and a hell of a lot less scary. 

Looking back on it twenty years later, it would become very apparent to Joyce that she had her head firmly and blissfully planted in the sand that entire summer. But while she was in it, living it, she was love-struck and blind to the real world. Oblivious to anything else, but him.  

Chapter Text

While the embers of summer smoldered for two young lovebirds, the conflict in the Far East was just beginning to ignite.

It became the top story on the evening news and dominated headlines overnight, from coast to coast, LA to NYC. Even sleepy little Hawkins was waking up to it, and the endless yawn of a heatwave only seemed to bring everything to a rolling boil. Tensions were slowly starting to rise; friendly townsfolk stopped holding back their polite opinions on the little matter of Saigon and one "Mister Ho Chi Minh." Despite the newspapers all saying the US would pull out — any day now, any fucking day — an old familiar word had crept back into the American vernacular. Every day that went by, more and more people were letting the word slip from their lips, casually breathing it back to life in conversations through stories of conscriptions and the sacrifice of years past.

And every day, the little red flag that pointed up on the Horowitz mailbox became a constant reminder of that same word and all the god-awful things it might entail. Stacks of pamphlets, all addressed to James E. Hopper, started showing up in his parent's mailbox shortly after graduation, and now, weeks later, they had seemingly followed him across the street.

Flyers for the Navy, Army, the Marine and Air Corps, and even the Coast Guard Auxiliary, were all hand-delivered to Hopper's new address, courtesy of his old man, Jack. 

Joyce thankfully forgot about the mail most days, so he could catch them before she could see. But it was like a bad dream — the pamphlets and flyers wouldn't stop showing up. They were stacking up in the trashcan, hiding out in the backseat of the car between the seats, anywhere he could stick them so Joyce wouldn't see. The United States government (and his father) were clearly relentless, and the message was received loud and clear: Uncle Sam wanted him. Bad.

But the time of the season was sweet on Hopper, and so was Joyce. Any thought of the military or Vietnam was pushed to the back of his mind, and right when summer felt like it might last forever, the anti-draft posters starting going up on Main street. And then the protests began.

At first, it was just a few real hippy-dippy beatniks from the university with cardboard signs parked outside city hall. "Conscientious Objectors" is what they called themselves. Within a week, those few turned into a group of about twenty, as members of the Students for a Democratic Society joined them, chanting, getting people's attention. They handed out flyers and buttons to everyone they could stop on the streets of Hawkins, especially the young men, letting them know their options for deferment should it come down to it. When his friends started bringing it up regularly, as if it were just another piece of idle chit-chat — as simple as a discussion on the weather or the ball game —Hopper started to get that horrible sinking feeling in his gut. The kind of feeling that told him it was time to stop hoping for the best and maybe begin preparing for the worst. What did Joyce call that feeling again— Intuition?

Martin Sinclair showed up at the diner one Sunday night, late in July just to cement it all together. He was there to tell his two oldest friends that he had made up his mind — he wanted to beat the draft and was shipping off, as soon as the army would have him. That's when Hopper realized that his father and that sinking feeling might be right.

"First thing tomorrow morning, I'm going," Martin said, with a proud puff to his chest. "You coming?"

Benny nodded, and Hopper just shook his head, wondering if he heard him right. He was volunteering?

"I think you've lost your damn mind, Sinclair!" Hopper exclaimed. "Why the hell would you wanna go willingly?"

Martin clicked his tongue, a disappointed look on his face.

“Don't you watch the news? Johnson's fixin' to bag him some Viet Cong, and he's gonna need lots of warm bodies to hold the gun. Masters of War have a plan, and they're coming for us…"

Hopper raised an eyebrow.

"C'mon man, you're starting to sound like one of those conspiracy nuts, talking like that. Let me guess, you think the government shot JFK too?"

"Shit, no! And I'm not talking conspiracies; we're all going, dipshit." Martin gestured between the three of them. "Black, white, red, blue, all the colors of the goddamned rainbow. The working-class poor of middle-America! And unless you're secretly smart and going to school this fall, you better plan on getting your marching orders too. I know Old Man Hopper's not gonna let you just sit at home, loafing around Hawkins like some silver-spoon-fed little bitch."

"Plans?" Hopper scoffed in Martin's face, trying hard to laugh it off even though that sinking feeling was creeping back. "I don't need no stinkin' plans!"

"Your dad'll lose his damn marbles if you don't step up, Hop," Benny spoke up, slapping him on the back as if Hopper wasn't already aware of that fact. "What're you gonna do?"

"Guess you better think of a real good excuse, huh?" Martin smirked.

"Maybe you and the little lady could get hitched?" Benny suggested, seriously. "Or hey, even easier — just stop wearing rubber and knock her up already! I heard they don't wanna draft any family men this go-around."

Joyce would've been pleased as punch with Benny for suggesting such a thing, but Hopper broke into a cold sweat thinking about rushing into something so heavy, so soon. Getting married just to get out of a draft? Having a baby when they were still babies, just starting out? When they were still waiting and hadn't even made it official yet? No — no way. It didn't feel right.

None of this felt right. War wasn't a thing to rush into… and neither was marriage.

"I don't know," Hopper muttered, lying, trying to deflect. "I don't think Joyce would go for it."

Martin side-eyed him.

"You're not actually considering that are you? Don't tell me that you'd rather sit at home with a wife and kids while your brothers are out there, laying their lives on the line! You wanna lead that cushy life while the rest of us stand up to fight? Take the coward's way out? Screw your head on straight, Hop. This is happening whether we like it or not. And I don't know 'bout you guys, but I can't just stand by while this shit is going on.

"Y'know, if we don't stop this, it won't be long till Charlie knocks on our door. I'm not about to sit around waiting for that to happen!"

Martin poked Hopper on the chest to punctuate his point. If it wasn't bad enough that his dad and girlfriend had unknowingly been playing a game of tug of war with his heart and mind all summer, now his friends were getting in on the action too.

"I'm with ya, Sinclair. ‘Better dead than red,’” Benny said. "You boys know I always wanted to put boots to the ground. I can't wait to be a Marine! What is it? A two years commitment? Then I'm out, back in Hawkins living my best life. Dad said he might have another few years in him to run this place if I go right now, and he'll have it waitin' for me when I get back." Benny pounded his chest with his fist, giving a hearty' Oohrah!

Martin rolled his eyes at Benny and focused in on a sullen-looking Hopper. He knocked on his big forehead to see if anyone was home.

"Hello? Are there any brains left in there, or did Lil' Missy screw them all out this summer?"

"Hey man, leave him alone," Benny clapped Martin on the shoulder, hard. "He's in love. Can't blame him for being on the fence. If I had a girl like Joyce, I wouldn't want to leave her behind, neither. Not with Lonnie Byers sniffing around for scraps."

"Hey—" Hopper stood taller, frowning at Benny.

Benny just shrugged, stating only the facts he knew. Martin, the shortest of the three, shook his head and stepped between them, narrowing his eyes on Hopper, getting him back on track.

"You do realize if we volunteer ourselves before they call us up, we get to choose where we go and what we do -- not the Man! Would you rather be rotting in jungle trenches when push comes to shove? Or sitting fat and pretty in some officer’s chair in Saigon? They're begging for recruits right now. It'd be stupid not to take this bull by the horns and beat them at their own game, especially if this shit blows up on us.

"Me? I'm gonna score a free education and career out of this. You can do what you want, but I'm not about to sit around, wasting away in a town called Hell. You listening?" Martin shook the pamphlet in front of Hopper's face again to hammer his point home: "Damn the Man, man!"

Hopper was caught off guard by Joyce as she stepped outside a second later, interrupting them. He did a double-take before he ripped the pamphlet away from Martin and shoved it into his back pocket, out of her sight.

"Yeah, yeah. I know!"

"Know what?" she perked up, passing Hopper an icy bottle of Coca-Cola. He popped the lid off with the edge of his lighter and handed it back to her, shooting his friends a death stare over her head — do not say a word.

Benny and Martin shared an uneasy look.

"Nothin'." Hopper rubbed the back of his neck and watched her closely to see how much she might've heard and if his fib would pass the test. "Sinclair's just telling us about a job he's applying for…"

Joyce toasted Martin with her soda-pop. "Ooh, congratulations! What is it?"

"Just a little stint. Overseas," Martin said with a knowing smile.

"Far out! Doing what?"

"Uh, nothing that would interest your pretty little head," Benny snorted at Joyce and looked to Hopper, who pinched his lips shut.

"Hm, thanks for the vote of confidence, Ben," Joyce grumbled and sat on the picnic table to light her smoke. "Just FYI, while you bozos were out here chatting, I was closing up — the last table left five minutes ago. I locked the front door and cashed out."

"Shit, it's past midnight already?" Martin looked at his watch. "I gotta hit the road, but I'll see you in the morning, Benny-boy! Eight, sharp."

Benny nodded as Martin disappeared around the corner, and then he turned to Hopper with a pointed look. Hopper glared back. Joyce watched the war of facial expressions between them before it seemed that Hopper lost. Benny cleared his throat with purpose and headed back to the kitchen.

"You two can head out whenever. I'll go finish up inside."

"Gee, thanks!" Hopper mumbled after him, kicking rocks and watching Benny make his exit.

"What's his deal?" Joyce scrunched her face up and took a sip off her drink, still oblivious to the heavy vibes she had stepped into moments before. Hopper stole the cigarette from between her fingers and took a puff before passing it back with a sour look.

"Nothin'," was his mumbled reply.

"Don't seem like nothin'," Joyce said, shrugging and kicked her feet out under her, watching her boyfriend closely as he shuffled the gravel underfoot like it was a bed of hot coals.

"Tell me," she pushed.

Trouble crossed Hopper's brow, and he was silent for a long moment before he spoke again, words feeling hollow as they left his mouth.

"The guys are thinking about volunteering."

"Volunteering?" Joyce echoed.

"I guess… I haven't told you." He sighed and took the flyer out of his back pocket. "But I've been getting a shit-ton of these in the mail for a few weeks now."

Joyce snatched it out of his hand and read it the cover quickly.

ENLIST NOW — it said in big olive drab font over the image of a soldier in the field, looking vaguely important with a pair of binoculars in his hands. And underneath was written: Your future, your decision — choose ARMY. She flipped it over and read the name and address on the back.

"This has Martin's name on it."

"Yeah, he got one too. We all did."

"So?"

"So…"

"So?" Joyce repeated again, looking at him with her big eyes staring directly into his soul.

"So… I was thinking maybe I should volunteer, too." He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels, waiting for her reaction. "Go and get it over with. Y'know? Rip the band-aid off?"

"That's stupid!" Joyce frowned and crumpled the flyer in her hand. "Don't be stupid."

"Why is it so stupid? Martin had a real good point: if we go now and do our part, we choose where we go or what we specialize in. I could come out of this set up with a full-fledged career, and the government will pay for it! Hell, maybe I'll go fly a plane or learn to fix helicopters or--"

"Maybe you'll go and kill so many innocent people!" Joyce rolled her eyes, a bitter look flashing across her features.

And that right there was precisely why he'd avoided bringing it up over the last week, even as the subject weighed so heavily on his mind. He knew Joyce's feelings on the subject, and he also knew she'd be vehemently opposed to him taking part in any of it. A month ago, when it was just his dad breathing down his neck and the slight annoyance that he was being cajoled down a road he wanted to avoid, Hopper probably would've said that Joyce was right, it was stupid to volunteer, and he'd take his chances on the draft. But with all the signs popping up around him, Hopper was starting to consider Martin's viewpoints. And his father's.

Joyce didn't get it, and Hopper didn't really expect her to; she'd probably never understand the feeling of being called to stand with brothers in arms. Or the immense pressure he was suddenly facing.

"I can't believe you're even considering this."

"It's my duty, Joyce," he said and squared his shoulders.

She sat up a bit straighter.

"Do you even know what's going on over there? That's not duty! It's committing murder for your country," she retorted, snapping the ash off the end of the smoke at him. "Or suicide, I don't know which."

"It's not like that over there, and you know it!" Hopper stood up a bit straighter and took the cigarette back from her, angrily puffing on it like a burly old man as he paced back and forth. "If we don't go and help the little guys like Vietnam, it won't be long until the West's being invaded too. It's a slippery slope, Joyce. You want to give up your freedom? No? Neither do I!"

She followed him with her eyes, staring at him like she wanted to penetrate his thick dumb skull so she could read his mind or maybe change it.

"And you think war is the answer? Since when has war ever solved anything, Hop?"

"It's not a war, Joyce. It's just another stupid thing that America has to go help fix. Like Korea."

Hopper snapped back, even though he knew Joyce was right, and they were arguing over semantics at this point.

"You mean, the Korean War?" Joyce retorted, with that look again. "How can you be so dense, Jim? They're killing people over there, and that's what war is: killing people. Innocent people. Women and children. What? I know you slept through history, but I learned something, at least! You think you're gonna be such a cool dude shooting up the jungles, enforcing the rules, and walking around with a big gun in the streets of Saigon? Looking like a fucking recruitment flyer?" Joyce threw the balled up paper at him.

Hopper kicked it aside. Then he tossed the last of the cigarette on the ground and stomped it out, raising his voice over her.

"If you're so goddamned passionate about Vietnam and you think you know so much about what it's like over there, why don't you volunteer, then? Since you're such a bleeding heart. They're looking for nurses, y' know. We can go together. Equality for all, right? Isn't that what you're all about anyway?"

"I'm pacifist," she sniffed, nose in the air, not missing a beat. Then she crossed her arms over her knees, walling herself off from any further criticism he might have for her.

Hopper snorted. "Oh, that's convenient."

"I don't see the big deal. You've already done your part. You've been registered with the SSO since your birthday, right? Well, if they really need you, I'm sure they'll call. Why the hell would you want to go willingly?"

The same words Hopper had said to Martin stung as they left her lips, aimed back at him.

"Because." He crossed his arms.

"Because?"

"Because there's no point in waiting around on the hope and prayer they pass me by. Not when my dad is basically the poster boy for recruitment. And my brothers are ready to lay their lives on the line."

"Brothers? Please. You're an only child, Hop."

"You know what I mean," he grumbled.

Joyce scowled.

"So, that's Martin's new job, huh? And he's taking Benny with him?"

Hopper nodded. She narrowed her eyes on him.

"And now you wanna go too?" Joyce asked, scowl deepening.

Hopper shook his head. Nope. Then he added, "I only said I was thinking 'bout it."

Joyce hugged her legs, her face turning pale under the yellow glow of the streetlights.

"But it's almost over now! I keep hearing— the newspapers…" Joyce trailed off, staring at him.

Turns out, denial wasn't just a river in Egypt for Joyce.

He shook his head again, more slowly this time, and she didn't say anything more on the matter. They sat silently for a few more minutes, listening to Benny smash around the kitchen, closing down the grill inside, and the sounds of all the crickets and frogs off in the gully beyond the parking lot.

Hopper pulled out his cigarettes and lit up, offering the pack to Joyce in stubborn silence. She declined, and he watched her watch him out of the corner of his eye.

Joyce was studying him, looking like she was thinking of what to say next. He really didn't want to fight with Joyce, but it felt like a doozy was brewing when she stared at him like that. By the time he got to the end of his smoke, she finally spoke up, and thankfully, she took a different, gentler approach than what he was expecting.

"Look, I didn't mean to snap at you,” she sighed, looking away and up to the stars above, searching for the right words to say. "I just— I don't like thinking about you going over there and participating in… all that mess."

"What am I supposed to do, Joyce? It's pretty much inevitable if they pull a draft. This would be beating them to the punch. And If I leave now, I can be back sooner… And we can get on with our lives sooner."

Joyce just shook her head.

"We can get on with our lives now.” She reached up and brushed her fingers along the scruff of his barely-there beard, giving him a small, hopeful smile. "There's still a chance you might not get called at all if it's true they're winding down."

Hopper didn't know what to say. He was too tired to argue; his mind was reeling. Yes, there was a chance. A tiny, infinitesimal chance that could happen. Could he gamble with her happiness like that? Or his, for that matter?

"Let's go home," she mumbled finally when he seemed to clam up for good. She pushed herself off the picnic table and grabbed his hand, leading him to the car, and gave a harrowed sighed. "It's getting late, and I have to be up early for Karen's dress fitting. We'll talk about it later."

But they never did talk later. And Hopper didn't go with his friends the next morning either, though the thought kept him awake, haunting him all night. His future was weighing on him, heavy as the hot, stale night air that blanketed them in her tiny double bed.

A few days later, it was a half-hour after his parent's usual bedtime when Hopper quietly opened the front door only to discover that his dad was sitting in his armchair, chewing on the end of his corncob pipe, waiting for him. The heavy smoke curled up and obscured his face under the lamplight, and Hopper couldn't read him as he walked into the room.

"You missed dinner again tonight," Jack grumbled for a greeting.

Hopper didn't reply, looking around the corner where the kitchen light shone out from under the door, seeing if they were alone or if his mother was still awake. He'd been hoping to sneak upstairs, grab a couple things to bring back to Joyce's, and be gone without being noticed like he'd done the last few weeks, but apparently, his parents were on to him.

"You can still park your car in our driveway, you know. It would be nice to see you every now and then — if you're not too busy gallivanting around town, that is." Jack tried his best attempt at a conversation with his son, though he couldn't keep the contempt from his voice. It must've killed him to see his son living at the Horowitz house, even if it was only for the summer.

"The car's fine parked where it is," Hopper said, confirming for himself and looking out the front window to where the GTO was parked in front of the house across the street and two doors down. He started to move towards the kitchen to find his mother when Jack grunted another question over his newspaper.

"Did you do it yet?"

"No," Hopper turned back, fully expecting that question and not bothering with a lie.

"And why not?"

"Didn't feel like it." Hopper gave a half-hearted shrug.

"It's not a matter of feelings, son. Did you see the news today? I warned you." Jack shook the paper in his hands, flashing the headline for his son to see:

JOHNSON TO AIR VIET PLANS

Hopper read it and nodded, thinking about what he wanted to say next, searching for a bone to pick.

"Hm, that's interesting. Can I ask you something? If you knew months ago that Johnson would do this, why the hell did you let Gramps buy me the car?"

"I'm not about to tell your grandfather what to do with his money." Jack sighed. "Don't worry, It will still be here for you when you get back."

"Back? When's that gonna be? Sixty-eight? Sixty-Nine? Seventy?" Hopper's voice was creeping up in volume with each word, finding it hard to keep his emotions in check. All the stress he'd been feeling over the last week finally boiling over. "When Dad? Tell me! You wanted me to have a plan, right? How the hell am I supposed to plan my life with all this horseshit going on?"

"Watch your mouth in this house, or I'll slap that foul language right out of you." Jack pointed at his son and looked frustrated when he asked, "Plan your life? I wanted you to plan for enlistment, James. You can't expect to plan your entire life around a draft. But you can always plan to volunteer."

He was beginning to sound like one of those pamphlets.

"Easy for you to say, Sir!" Hopper gave his father a sarcastic salute. "You chose the military. I didn't."

"That's… disappointing to hear." Jack's face darkened. "I had greater aspirations for you, Son."

"And what if I'm ready to get married and start a family and settle down here in Hawkins? Is that disappointing too?"

"You can't. Not right now." Jack snapped the evening addition closed on his lap.

"Why not? Don't you want that for me? Don't you want me to be happy?"

"Who're you going to marry? Her?" Jack scoffed, in both disapproval and disbelief. He leaned forward in his easy-chair as if to whisper, but the words came out louder and harsher than he realized.

Hopper looked to the kitchen, watching for his mother's shadow under the door.

"President Johnson will have that asinine Kennedy law repealed by the end of summer, you mark my words, boy! And then what's the plan after that? You gonna marry her just to leave her? Make her wait around Hawkins for you to come home? Put her in the family way on the hope-and-a-prayer they don't call your name before that nine months is up?"

Jack watched his son sputter at the questions, letting them sink in before he really laid into him.

"Then what? Tell me, son. What happens when you stay? When you start a life with her, and they call you up? What happens when you leave her behind, carrying your child, and you end up dead, just like her daddy? You really want to put that girl through that when she's already been through it all before?"

Hopper winced but didn't say anything. He could tell his father wasn't entirely done with him yet by the way Jack seemed to float out of the overstuffed armchair to bombard his son with questions he couldn't answer until his usually gruff voice cracked.

"You forget you have the luxury of forgoing that misery!" Jack spat, finally getting personal. "I didn't have the opportunities you have. Eddie and his family sure as hell didn't either."

Hopper pressed his lips firmly together. Jack took a deep breath and settled back in his chair. He looked almost shocked and disgusted by his own words as they reverberated throughout the room.

The Hopper men had a moment of silence for Edwin James — their old neighbor. Jack's childhood friend, Jim's namesake, and Joyce's real dad was shot point-blank by an unrepentant Nazi as he was on patrol in US occupied Germany, soon after the war had ended and just before Joyce was born. Not long before Annette married Mr. Horowitz. Losing Ed was still a sore spot for both his dad and Joyce, so Hop learned to tiptoe around the subject after all these years. He certainly didn't dare say anything now.

Jack cleared his throat and straightened up in his chair to continue his scolding. Speaking in a calmer tone now.

"Do that poor girl a favor, James. Break it off with her before it becomes too late. Go. Serve your country. Get it over with, and then you can come home and start a family. She'll still be here waiting — if she's a good girl. But if she's anything like her mother… Well, she wasn't worth your time to begin with. Now, don't be a goddamned idiot, and quit your pouting. I know I didn't raise a selfish, spoilt child!"

The younger Hopper sulked and eyeballed the wet bar in the corner of the room where a brandy decanter and a bucket of ice had been left sitting out. It beckoned him to walk over and pour himself a stiff drink out of defiance against his father and with the promise to numb the feelings bubbling up inside him. Still, he quickly thought better of it — feeling slightly too old to be getting cuffed on the back of the head — and instead took his dressing-down, flipping his keys back and forth in his fingers to keep him from saying something he'd regret. Not expecting his father to say what he did next.

"You're a grown man now, James. You need to realize your actions have consequences. Your mother and I trust that you will do what is expected of you — the respectable thing. I have already told you once, and I won't repeat myself after this. Pull your goddamned head out of the clouds and prepare yourself. If you're lucky, they'll call you up later this year so you can still spend the fall here at home. You can sleep wherever the hell you want and work that asinine diner job in the meantime if you feel the need to prove a point, but Monday through Thursday, I expect you to be volunteering down in Bloomington, getting some training in. No excuses."

Hopper held up a hand to stop his dad. Not only did he have to give up his girl and his life, but now he had to give up his free time to the Reserve Corps, too? He couldn't hold his tongue after that.

"Woah! "Hopper shook his head, choking on his words. "No way! That is some serious bullshit—"

Jack didn't pause, though.

"I will not allow you to continue to waste this summer, sitting on your ass, smoking dope, and running around with the little latchkey girl across the street. Don't give me that look. Florence told me she got a call about you two behind the diner last week. You're lucky she didn't think to send a patrol car to round you two up. You think I don't know what you two have been doing? I have eyes and ears all over this goddamned state, boy—"

"Her name is Joyce, Dad!" Hopper erupted, standing up to his father now. He took a step forward, inviting his old man to go head to head, but Jack remained in the chair, unmoved while his son continued. "You can say her name. I know you know it! She's going to be your daughter-in-law one day, whether you like it or not, so you better put your shit with Annette to rest and get used to the idea now!"

Hopper's words hit their mark and stung Jack, but the pain was wiped off his face a moment later when they were interrupted.

"Dear, who are you—? Oh, Jimmy! Darling, you're late." Helen Hopper walked into the room just then, glancing between her husband and her son with a pale look. "I put your dinner away already. We waited…" she said cautiously, trying to read the room, unsure of what she walked into.

"Mom," Hopper softened at the sight of his mother looking worried and immediately took a step back from his father. "It's okay, we're just— we were having a discussion. I'll be right in. It smells fantastic!"

He shooed his mom off with a kiss on her cheek and then turned back to his old man, jaw set, steely now.

"Fine. You win," Hopper glowered, "I'll do it. I'll enlist, only if it gets you off my ass for the rest of summer.”

Jack tucked his newspaper under his arm, hiding the smug smile from his lips, knowing he’d won this battle. 

"First thing, tomorrow morning. I'll drive you—"

"I'll drive myself, thanks. But I won't bow to you anymore after this. No Reserves.”

"As long as you're under my roof—" Jack started.

"I'm not under your roof! Remember? Not anymore. You need to know this is a compromise we're making to keep the peace, mostly for Mom's sake." Hopper took a deep breath. "I will enlist. I will go if and when my country needs me to go, and I will enjoy what's left of my summer. But from now on, you call Joyce by her name. And you let her come for dinner when Mom wants to invite her next time. I will not allow you to disrespect my girlfriend again."

Jack bristled as his words, and the tables turned on him. For a moment, he looked like he might snap, and Hopper held his breath, expecting the worst. But Jack slowly seemed to recognize the determination in his son. He backed down, standing up to fix himself a nightcap from the bar instead. There was some semblance of pride in his eyes as he nodded his goodnight.

Hopper watched his old man climb the stairs and let out a deep breath once he disappeared from view at the top, heaving the weight he'd been carrying for the last two months off his shoulders. The conversation had gone better than it should've, thanks in part to his friends, who'd made the decision a little easier.

There was still a (tiny, infinitesimal) chance Joyce was right, and this whole thing would blow over soon, and he wouldn't have to follow through on all the commitments he'd just made.

And if his dad and friends were right, and the war in Vietnam was inevitable? Well, he'd do whatever was needed, whatever it took, to get him home faster.

Either way, he was casting his fate to the wind, the same way Joyce blew a spent dandelion into the breeze, watching the fluff carry off into the sky as she made her wish — taking the matter out of his hands and off his mind if he let the universe decide his fate for him.

He just didn't expect it to be decided for him so soon.

Chapter Text

If Jim Hopper was a smart man, he would’ve told her it as soon as he found out.  The day he got the letter, his father had answered the door at the Hopper house and promptly sent the SSO courier across the street to find his son. Joyce was in the kitchen when Hopper answered the door and read the message that instructed to report for Inductee Training. When she came out to ask who was at the door — he could’ve done it properly, right then and there, and been upfront about it.  

But he wasn’t a smart man. He was a bad boyfriend, a shitty friend, and occasionally, a lousy son. But a smart man? Not by a long shot. 

He’d been waiting nearly a month for the right moment to tell her, but it just never seemed to be ‘right’ no matter how hard he tried. Something always came up that prevented him from finding the opportunity: A last-minute SOS for her to cover a shift at work. One of her friends stopped by to chat. A phone call from her mother. It was always something.

And in those rare moments when he did manage to have Joyce’s full and undivided attention, he couldn’t find the words. He’d be sweating bullets, nervous and tongue-tied while he tried to work himself up to the awful news, but he couldn’t do it. For someone about to ship off to play soldier for Uncle Sam halfway around the world, he didn’t seem to have much courage. Now it was T minus ten days before he was to report for basic training in Kentucky and the night before her best friend’s wedding. The wedding Joyce helped plan and would be helping execute at 9am sharp the next morning. How could Hopper even begin to tell her he had to go, with dreams of white dresses still floating in her head?

All the windows at the Horowitz house were wide open as he pulled into the driveway. The music was blaring, and Hopper heard shrieking coming from somewhere inside the house. As he stepped out of the car, a bevy of babes piled up around the door to spy the lone male and as he approached the front step. 

Hopper was either a dead man walking or raw meat. Take your pick.

“Hey, who ordered the beefcake?”

“Ooh, yeah, he’s cute.”

“Please tell me that’s the entertainment tonight!”

“No! That’s Jim — Joyce’s live-in honey.” Karen’s oldest cousin Sylvia chimed in, and she might as well have saved him from a pack of wild, ravenous tigers.  

“Aww,” one of the younger cousins, with her hair in rags, pouted. “Shit!”

“Bonny!” Sylvia scolded and pushed her little cousin out of the way for Hopper to walk by. She smiled and waved, and a few of the other ladies he didn’t recognize followed suit, trying to get his attention as he made his way through the house, looking for Joyce.

The coffee table and sofa in the living room were pushed to the walls, turning the space into a dancefloor. Off in the corner, a pajama party game of Twister had started up, and none of the participants had yet realized a man was in their midst as they bent and twisted in ways that made Hopper blush and turn his head. At least twenty women ranging in ages from sixteen to thirty-six were grooving along to the music. Some were drinking wine like it was water. Others hovered by the stand-up ashtray, smoking. A couple of chicks had green, sloppy mud masks on their faces, while another wore a thick layer of cold cream. The rest of the women were bopping around the room barefoot with curlers in their hair. All of them were having too much fun to care about their male intruder. 

“Hey, Jim!” Karen waved, bouncing along to the music as he walked into the living room. She adjusted the crooked paper crown perched on her head of rollers that read BRIDE in gold and pink glitter and then pointed behind her. “She’s in the kitchen.”

He nodded in thanks and continued to navigate his way through the doe party, biting his tongue when he saw Bonny drop his Yardbirds album on the carpet as she put another record on. 

“Hey!” Bonny shouted out to the party. “How many Beatles does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”

“How many?!” The group yelled back in a fit of giggles before Bonny dropped the needle and Paul McCartney counted off the song.

“A-one, two, three, four!”

Joyce was standing at the oven with her hands on her hips, counting a stack of pizza boxes, when Hopper pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen.

“Oh, hi!” she said, startled to see him.

“Hi,” Hopper said, raising his eyebrows expectantly. 

Joyce just smiled at him awkwardly, unsure of what he was expecting her to say.

“Hi.”  

“Why is the house filled with half-dressed women?” he finally had to ask. 

As if to punctuate his question, several of said women screamed from the other room.

Joyce bit her bottom lip.

“I tried giving you a heads up, but I couldn’t get through to you at the diner. That shithead Benny wouldn’t put you on the line even when I told him it was a matter of life or death!”

Hopper raised his eyebrows. This oughta be good.   

“Karen’s little cousin came down with the measles, so her aunt Georgie had to cancel Karen’s party last minute. That whole side of the family can’t even come to the wedding anymore, and Karen is beyond devastated! So… I offered up our place so she could at least save her party.”

“Did you ask your mom first?” Hopper frowned.

“Like my mom gives a hoot!” Joyce rolled her eyes at him. “But yes, I called her. Said she wishes she could be here, stay outta the liquor cabinet and to have fun. She’ll be home tomorrow, so we don’t have to worry about the mess. She also had Randy send a couple boxes of wine.” She pointed over to the kitchen table on the other side of the room, where more than a couple boxes were scattered, next to the nice crystal.

At that exact moment, Karen busted into the kitchen, now donning her veil, empty wine glasses waving in front of her like dowsing rods leading the way to water.

“There you are! What’s taking so long?” Karen hiccuped when she saw Hopper. “Oh! Right. Jim’s here!” 

She smiled, revealing her usually bright white teeth stained in deep purple. 

Joyce looked between her boyfriend-slash-roommate and the tipsy bride clumsily reaching for another box of red.

“Please don’t be mad.” She said to him.

Hopper took a deep, resigned breath.   

“I’m not. I’m just… not in the party mood.”

“Are you sure?” Joyce frowned and then had a thought. “You don’t have to stay and party with just us gals, you know! Ted’s having his bachelor party tonight.”

“At the country club!” Karen butted in with another hiccup and wagged her finger. “So don’t forget to wear a jacket and tie.”

As Karen poured herself another drink, Joyce leaned towards Hopper to mumble under her breath.

“I heard there might be exotic dancers there…” she winked at him, trying to be the encouraging girlfriend. “Naked ones."  

Hopper blew a raspberry at that idea. No way he was going to the country club when he smelled like the fry grill. Not to mention he couldn’t seem to shake the ever-creeping feeling of suffocating under the weight of responsibility, to his country and to the girl standing right in front of him. He didn’t want to be a downer, he just wanted to be alone.

“I’m pretty beat. I’ll just go upstairs and take a shower. Maybe play the HiFi on the headphones… You girls have fun.”

He turned to go when she reached out and grabbed his arm. It looked like she might say something at first, but instead, she took a plate off the counter and passed it to him.

“Well, here. Take some pizza, at least. And some wine?” Joyce offered up the other box on the kitchen table.

Hopper took the proffered pizza and paused.

“Beer?” he asked.  

“Pabst?” Joyce wrinkled her nose, knowing what his response would be. 

“Eeyuck. Fine.”

Hopper took the bait. Joyce passed him a couple cans of PBR, and that was when she wrapped her arms around him and looked up with worried eyes. She could tell something was wrong.

“Everything okay?” she asked, her voice hitching to hide the tremble there.

“Yeah. I’m just tired.” He choked, stumbling over the simple words. He shoved a thumb over his shoulder to Karen. “Put her to bed at a reasonable time. And get some water in her soon, or she’s gonna be fuckin’ miserable tomorrow.”

“More miserable than being hitched to a complete square for the rest of her life?” Joyce whispered.

Hopper chuckled, and it was the first time he smiled all day. Joyce visibly relaxed a little at the sight.

“Hey, what’s so funny?” Karen interrupted, looking concerned that her husband-to-be was the butt of another joke.

Hopper winked at them both and then disappeared out into the party, headed for the stairs.

“Have fun, ladies!” he called out to the rowdy crowd.  

His fan club called out after him as he made his exit.

“No! Don’t go!”

“Stay! Have fun with us…”

“Aw, bummer. Where’s he going?”

“More importantly, does he have any weed?”

“Bonny!”

Hopper snuck up the stairs and slipped out of sight, out of mind. Joyce quietly gloated to herself in the caterwauling, grinning from ear to ear because it was her man getting all that attention for once.  

“Hey, who has my smokes?” she asked the crowd to distract them from harassing Hopper further. Someone tossed the pack of Camels just as Karen followed Joyce out of the kitchen, making her entrance like the Queen of England, slurring to her ladies in waiting.

“More wine, anyone?” 

After a quick shower, Hopper managed to avoid any further catcalls and snuck past the stairs back to Joyce’s room — the only room in the house off-limits to the party, thankfully. He got dressed for bed and then got the sound system going, plugged the headphones in, and listened to the last few Dylan records one by one. He picked at the pizza and drank his beer, and then crawled out the bedroom window onto the rooftop above the porch. The glow from Hawkins spread out over the area and illuminated what felt like his entire life right before his eyes. Up above the tree line, beyond the town lights, the sky faded away to black nothingness. Kind of how he felt right then and there.
He listened to the muffled hoots and hollers from the first floor over the music and smoked a cigarette and then a joint. He was honestly surprised the neighbors hadn’t called in a noise complaint yet, or called his dad directly. Little blessings in disguise…  

Jack Hopper had made his feelings very clear about their ‘little cohabitation’ over the past few weeks. His son was practically living in sin now that he’d admitted out loud that he’d moved out and didn’t intend on coming back. Truth be told, after being explicit directions on the next steps in his life, Hopper didn’t give a shit what his father thought anymore — the man who had only been around for the last six years of his life, when he wasn’t too busy running Hawkins PD, that is. Before that, Hopper only knew of his father via letters from the DMZ and the occasional brief phone call from Seoul on birthdays and Christmas. At best, Jack was an absentee father, so it made no sense to Hopper why he suddenly cared so much about what his son did in his free time. And with whom.

Moving in with Joyce was his middle finger salute to it all, at first — the military; responsibility; authority — everything his father stood for. Bute eventually, he realized it was inevitable and Hopper just wanted to be with Joyce as much as possible before it all caught up to him and worry about the rest later. Even if they were rushing headlong into something bigger than the both of them but he didn’t know what he could do. He just didn’t want to lose what they had. Whatever that was…

It was clear him and Joyce were no longer on the same page, let alone the same book. Joyce’s new fixation with all things nuptial had blinded her to anything else going on around her. In fact, despite her initiative at the end of the school year, she’d been perfectly content to drift through the summer with Hopper. There was no denying it was his fault. He was the one who encouraged it. But it bothered him how easily she’d just given up on all her hard work in school to get that scholarship. Even though he outright admitted he didn’t have a plan himself, she didn’t seem to care about her own future anymore either. And unless he took the lead, Joyce had always struggled without a plan. Now he was leaving her, just as summer was ending and reality was setting in.

Between the draft talk around town and the headlines over the last month -- he could tell Joyce was getting anxious again. Their world was changing, too much, too soon, especially between them as they navigated the new stages of their relationship. When her anxiety attacked, she became flighty and restless. Joyce couldn’t focus when she was worried, and she would start to forget things, like where she left her keys all the way up to full-on conversations they’d had. Her brain would go into overdrive, switching from topic to topic like she was switching television channels as she tried not to fret about the worst-case scenario, no matter how irrational it might be. 

Hopper couldn’t bear to think that he might be the one to make her anxiety worse than it already was.

From friends to roommates, boyfriend and girlfriend, to almost-lovers and now maybe more… He only knew of one way to keep the good thing they had going and possibly avoid giving her a nervous breakdown. Even though the thought of marriage scared the shit out of him (maybe even worse than shipping off to war), it could be the permanent solution to their temporary problem. 

But the worst part was, he knew Joyce would say yes, without even thinking of the repercussions. That wasn’t how he wanted that to go. Not at all.

And then what if his dad was right again and the Kennedy law was repealed? He’d still have to go away despite it all. But at least they’d have a tether, something to keep them together across the miles. 

And there was no doubt she’d stay true and wait for him. But that wasn’t fair to her... How could Hopper ask Joyce to wait for him, put her life on hold, when they were just getting started? He didn’t know how long this would take. He could be gone for years and years, if he even came back at all. He’d heard the stories from his dad and pals about Korea and now, rumors from Vietnam… Laos… Cambodia.  The landmines that pockmarked the countryside. It didn’t take much to die in war now, nosiree. It could be your first step in the jungle and--KABOOM!

His father’s voice echoed in his head, reminding him. “—She’s already been through it all before…  

The music downstairs finally stopped, and the voices died down too. The bachelorette party was coming to an end, and he watched the front lawn as the foyer light switched off, knowing Joyce was heading up the stairs any second now.

And in that sudden, quiet moment, it became crystal clear to him. As crystal as the stars sparkling in the night sky above his head. Hopper swallowed the lump in his throat. 

Now he knew what he had to do. 

The sound of the bedroom door inside clicking shut pulled him back out of the darkness. 

  “Hey! What are you doing out here?” Joyce poked her head out the window a moment later, grabbing the bright red headphones sitting out on the ledge to put them back with her records.

“Just thinkin’.” Hopper shrugged and turned to watch her struggle to get up over the window sill.

She held her hand out to him, and he lifted her easily over the edge. As she stepped foot out onto the roof above the porch, she saw what he’d been staring at. Why had she never done this before? She could see almost all of Hawkins from up here. 

“Woah! Nice view.” She smiled and shuffled down next to him over the shingles.

“Yep,” he said, trying not to stare at her cleavage as she leaned forward to find her balance and sit down next to him on the incline. 

Joyce smirked when she caught him, looking guilty.

“Are you stoned?”

“Oh yeah,” Hopper said, rolling his head up to face the indigo night. “Just finished a joint.”

“What were you thinking about? You looked so far away a minute ago.” She leaned against his shoulder and looked up at him. 

He rubbed his nose and then quickly wiped at his red eyes, still not looking at her.

“Everything.”

Joyce sighed.

“Tell me about it. I have so much stuff to do before 3pm tomorrow.”

Hopper swallowed, raked his hand over his beard, and finally glanced her way, shifting his entire demeanor suddenly. 

“How did it go tonight?”

“Fine,” Joyce said, too tired to notice the shift. “Karen was in bed by eleven-thirty. Passed out, mind you, but in bed all the same. One of the younger girls got sick, but the rest of them held it together just fine.”

“Did she have fun?”

Joyce shrugged and made a face.

“Well… she locked herself in my mom’s room and cried about marrying Ted for about an hour before she finally crashed.”

“Tragic.”

“Oh, totally. But I think she still had fun. Kinda?”

“What’s with the Stetson?” he asked, thumbing at the cream-colored cowboy hat sitting behind them on her dresser, grasping at straws to keep the conversation going with anything but what they should be talking about…

“Oh! That’s for you.” Joyce smirked. “It’s Country Formal tomorrow at the Ranch. Karen brought it for you to wear and said it’s non-negotiable.”

“Are you serious?” he raised an eyebrow. “Ted’s not into all that…”

“Not at all, but his grandparents are still super old-school. And they’re paying for the wedding. Ted’s not happy about it, either if that makes you feel any better.”

It didn’t. Hopper was the absolute opposite of thrilled having to dress like his grandpa for the night. But they were all committed now to Karen’s Perfect Day, so he had to play along. None of them had a choice in the matter if they valued their lives.

“You should see what Karen has me wearing,” Joyce continued, trying not to laugh.

“That pink frilly-lookin’ thing on the bed?” 

She nodded solemnly. “Bows from here to the Mason-Dixon. I’m gonna look like a pastel Scarlet O’Hara.” 

Hopper snorted, “I guess that’d make me Clark Gable, huh?”

“I suppose so,” Joyce giggled, “and ‘God as my witness, I’ll never wear pink again.’” She quipped with her best ‘Southern-Belle’ and a wink for him. Then she saw his watch, turning his wrist closer towards her to get a better look in the dark. “Ugh, is that the time? I gotta go to bed. Big day… You coming?” She stifled a yawn and started to turn and climb back through the window into her bedroom.

“Wait. Joyce—” Hopper’s voice was hollow. “There’s something that I’ve been meaning to tell you…”  

Joyce sat back down, staring at him with big hazel eyes where he could see all the possibilities of what he might say flashing through her head. None of those possibilities were actually what Hopper was thinking, of course, but she didn’t know that. She couldn’t — she was so caught up there in la-la land, it would take a surface-to-air missile to bring her back down to earth.

“What’s up?” she asked with a smile.

Hopper blinked, nerves getting the best of him.

“Hop, what is it?” 

His cobalt blue eyes twinkled, and he softly bit down his bottom lip as he stared at her. The glassy eyes were back, and Joyce wondered if he had been telling the truth about smoking a joint before. It looked more like he was on the verge of tears now. He was looking at her like—

“What?” she prodded.

Before she could say anything more, he swooped in with a kiss. 

Hands cupped her cheeks as he drew her in closer, fingers weaving through her hair at the nape of her neck. She opened her mouth to him slowly, and his tongue teased her, desperate for her kiss back. It was a heavy, devastating french kiss, and it left her wanting more… more… more. At the apex, it took her breath away. Hopper was always a good kisser, but this kiss was on another level entirely. It felt like she was floating on air, and for a second, she almost forgot where they were and nearly ended up in actual midair, via the steep pitch of the roof.

She grabbed at his hands tangled up in her loose curls and pulled away just enough to get him to pause. 

“Let’s go inside,” she whispered against his lips.

Was now the right time for their first? When the house was bursting at the seams with Karen’s friends and relatives? She had it all planned for tomorrow night but she wasn’t about to think twice when he was propositioning her like this.

Hopper helped Joyce back through the window, keeping his hands on her as they stumbled across the room together. She pushed him back on the bed and crawled into his lap, wiggling her hips as she moved into his arms, which only made him moan. Yet despite what his body was telling her, he put up his hands to stop her.

“Joyce, wait. Wait. They might hear…” he murmured, suddenly getting cold feet.

  Joyce groaned. They’d been waiting what felt like forever for this exact moment, and that was what he was worried about?

“So? Let them be jealous. I want this. I want you.”

“Right now?” He asked, his eyebrows jumping up, struggling with the thought.

“Yes. I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been telling you to be patient. Wait for that one perfect moment to make it special, but I just-- I feel like there’s never going to be a right time. And I should know by now that no matter when or how it’s gonna be special regardless. Because it’s you.” She looked at him through her lashes and gave him the sweetest smile. His frown melted just a bit, and he smiled too. The sight made her heart skip a beat. 

She moved in for another kiss, but Hopper stopped her, slowly shook his head, and started to pull away.

“I don’t— I don’t think tonight’s the right time either.” Then he added in a lighter tone, trying to deflect: “I mean— what if Karen hears and she gets jealous that your first time with me is so much better than all the times with Ted combined?”

Joyce looked at him like he’d sprouted another head.

“Are you feeling okay? I’m telling you I want to take this to the next level, and you’re telling me that you don’t want to make Karen jealous?” Her fingertips danced across his chest, tapping at him for an answer.

He grabbed her hand and held it to his chest, keeping her fingers still. 

“Yeah, I’m fine!” his grin seemed forced. “I just don’t feel up to it tonight. Okay?”

“‘Kay,” she said abruptly and climbed off of him onto the mattress, feeling a bit stunned by his sudden change in demeanor. He was sure acting out of sorts. 

Hopper crawled into the bed, and he turned the bedside lamp off, casting them into pitch-black where she couldn’t read him anymore, even if she tried. After a moment, Joyce found her way in the dark to her side of the bed, found his hand under the sheets, and squeezed it.    

“Hey,” she whispered and kissed his shoulder. Then she held her breath, hoping this time would be different. “I love you.”

“I know,” Hopper replied with a sigh and rolled over, pulling away from her. 

Joyce laid there and listened to him breathing, wondering if she should say something more, prod him for a reason why he’d turn her down when he could barely keep his hands off her the rest of the summer. Still, she resisted the urge knowing that it would only end in a fight and a sleepless night — a recipe for disaster. 

Twice now, she had said the L-word, and Hopper didn’t say it back. Joyce didn’t know what she was doing! He was the first person she ever said ‘I love you’ to. Was she even saying it right? Who the hell knows? 

Maybe she waited too long? Sent too many mixed signals? Or what if all the “Forever” talk over the summer was finally scaring him off... The trouble was, she’d been so preoccupied with Karen’s wedding and keeping her head above the clouds the entire time they’d been together, she hadn’t noticed that something was definitely wrong.  

Her mind started to race, heart beating faster and faster. She tossed and turned, resisting the urge to talk to Hopper,  knowing that prying at him right now would only start a fight. It took him longer than usual to drift off, but eventually, he began to snore in deep, jagged breaths. 

Joyce couldn’t sleep, though. The unmistakable feeling of dread she’d felt at the end of the school year had made its way back to the pit of her stomach. It gnawed at her, keeping her awake until the wee hours of the morning. 

As she listened to his restless sleep, and stared at the moonlight dancing off the ceiling in the early morning twilight, she thought back on the last few weeks with her boyfriend. They’d been different from the weeks before. All the times in the past ten days where he’d been short with her, or pulled away just when she thought they were ready to take it to the next level — it all came flooding back. Slowly, sleeplessly, Joyce tried to put the puzzle together. 

“The world’s changing so fast,” she observed in a moment of clarity one evening in early August. She sat cross-legged on the couch, anxious over a bowl of cereal and the news with Walter Cronkite. 

A riot had broken out in Los Angeles, and one of the CBS reporters was there on location, right in the thick of it. Protests and looting and screams of righteous anger filled the living room, blasting through the speakers. 

Hopper walked over to the television with a scowl on his face, dropped to his knees, and turned the dial to more real-life nightmares: newsreel of Vietnam, the USAF dropping defoliant on unsuspecting villages, while the newscaster discussed the use of Rainbow Herbicides with a General in the studio.

“So, you’re saying there’s no chance of toxicity in a human population with overuse of these chemicals?”

“We can assure the public here at home that there is no cause for concern. The chemicals used are intended to kill plants, making it easier for our soldiers to spot their targets in heavy foliage and avoid killing civilians…"

Hopper quickly switched the channel again, this time to the Andy Griffith’s show instead. In one click, he had saved them, shutting all the chaos of the world out of their happy little home. If only it could be that easy.

Joyce continued talking to his back as he reached for the tuner to adjust the signal. There was that anxious need to talk bubbling up out of her, again — the words tumbling out of her before she could process them.   

“Maybe that’s what worries me, Hop. Why I think I hold back sometimes. The world’s changing so fast…” She trailed off quietly. “I don’t want us to change with it, too.”  

Hopper didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just when she was about sure he didn’t even hear her over Barney Fife’s antics, he spoke.

“Sure, why not? Then we can be like Mayberry, right? Where everything is perfect and nothing ever happens, we can stay the same forever and never have to grow up.” 

Joyce pushed the last Cheerio around in her bowl with a scowl, and Hopper stood up and walked over to the television set.

“Everything changes, Joyce,” he said, frustrated, matter-of-fact. Then he smacked the old black and white on the top to clear the static. “That’s just life.”

“So, what happens when everything changes and we wake up one day, and don’t recognize each other anymore?” she asked stubbornly.

Hopper just shrugged in response. He didn’t have a smart answer for her for once in his life, not even a sarcastic reply. And that was what worried her the most. 

Chapter Text

The clock read 6:49, and she hadn’t slept a wink.

Joyce heard a door close somewhere in the house, and some of the girls started to chatter. By the reflection of her vanity, she could see the sky was already a perfect blue outside, stretching endlessly out over the great state of Indiana. Whispering a thankful little prayer for good weather, Joyce kicked her feet over the edge of the bed before looking over to see that Hopper was still rolled over to his side, back to her, snoring away. His shoulders were shrugged up by his ears, and he gripped the pillow under his head tight, jaw clenched. Even sleeping, it was evident he was still in a sour mood.

Padding around the room, Joyce gathered everything she needed for the wedding in her back pack and headed toward the door. Then she paused, hand resting on the knob -- should she leave a note or let him know she was going? She weighed her options and then slowly, quietly, set her bag by the door and moved to sit down on his side of the bed.

“Hey,” Joyce whispered, reaching out to stroke his hair and wake him up as gently as possible. “I gotta go with Karen to Kokomo to get ready. I’ll see you later?”

Hopper woke up just enough to blink at her blearily and murmured something about giving them a ride.

“No, no, you sleep. We’ll catch a ride with Sylvia. Just try to be at the ranch by three, okay…” she said, hesitating. He didn’t open his eyes or say anything more, so she stood up to leave, thinking that was that.

“Wait.” 

His hand reached out, and his fingers briefly wrapped around hers as she looked back down at him. 

“Have a good day,” he mumbled through a bleary smile.

Joyce felt a grin spread across her face, despite the sleep deprivation and the worry growing in her heart. Whatever was haunting Hopper, whatever it was that was pulling him away from her, it couldn’t hide behind the sincerity — no matter what, it was evident he still cared.

“Don’t forget to bring your dancing shoes,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

Hopper gave her a sleepy wink before settling back into his pillow with a grin.

“Hope you’re ready to two-step,” he mumbled in a silly southern drawl. 

That single moment put a smile on Joyce’s face and kept her going through the rest of her never-ending morning of bridal duties…

She yawned through a quick, brisk shower before she got Karen up and at ’em, and pushed her through the shower too, still half asleep herself. Joyce fixed a face mask from the icebox for Karen’s puffy, cried out eyes from the night before, and when she emerged from the bathroom, the Bride donned the frozen mask proudly as if she hadn’t developed a bad case of cold feet the night before. Cousin Sylvia had Karen’s hair blow-dried and in tight rollers before eight am while Joyce fixed breakfast for the rag-tag group of girls — toast and jam, and coffee (which she got none of) — and then they hit the road. 

The caterers and cleaners were already at the ranch house when they arrived outside of Kokomo an hour later. Joyce immediately found refuge in the massive coffee percolator and tray of muffins they had set up for the workers in the house’s entrance, or rather — the manor’s foyer. Joyce tried not to stare at the opulence surrounding her at the palatial Old-Money estate, but it was hard not to. Coming from her modest three-bedroom, one bath on Evergreen, this was the ultimate lap of luxury, something she knew she could only ever dream of. 

“It’s Greek Revival, built in 1838, I think. And this wing was built in 19-oh-whatever. Look out that window, and you can see the stables where Aunt Mildred keeps her racing thoroughbreds. The rest of the horses and cattle are out in the pastures over there. Oh, and this is the bridal suite where we can get ready. No, I’m kidding, really. It’s just a normal guest suite with a private bath and a balcony overlooking the gardens.”

Joyce and Sylvia shared a look as they walked behind Karen as she giddily gave them the grand tour, proving herself quite comfortable in the estate as she pointed out exquisite Wheeler family heirlooms and art on the walls as if they were hers already. 

Then she showed the girls their own, much smaller rooms, where they’d be staying that night and introduced them to Aunt Mildred's staff if they needed anything. Most of the cleaning and decorating had been done by the time they arrived, so Joyce and (the official maid of honor) Sylvia were left to the rest: Get the wedding dress ready for the bride, figure out how to keep her cool in the layers of tulle and satin, and finally coordinate with the caterers, and the band is setting up in the ballroom.

It was half-past two when Hopper showed up looking quite debonair in his cowboy hat, bouquets in hand, and a smile for his girl, who was still in her pedal pushers and crop top despite a full face of makeup and a head of curls. 

“Oh, thank god! Karen’s having a total meltdown. We’re running behind, and you know how impatient she gets. But you’re early, and this… this will make her happy!” Joyce smiled, giving him a kiss and then leaning forward to smell the big bouquet in the center of the box. She counted the flowers, double-checking the order. Two dozen roses and long tendrils of baby’s breath for the bride and several smaller bouquets for the bridesmaids. 

“Wait,” Joyce paused. “There’s an extra in here?”

Hopper pulled out the single gardenia corsage and slipped it over her wrist. 

Blushing, Joyce brought it up to her face and inhaled the delicate scent.

“Saw it and thought of you,” he mumbled, suddenly looking a bit sheepish. “Felt like an ass when I woke up this morning. I didn’t mean to go to bed mad… I’m sorry.”

Joyce melted, and it wasn’t just from the heat. In their entire relationship, friendship, and all the way back to kindergarten, James Hopper never ever apologized first. 

The smile on her face told him he was in the clear, and Hopper exhaled in relief. 

Joyce got up on her tip-toes to give him a kiss, but her lips had just begun to graze his when the sweet moment was rudely interrupted.

“Hey! Lovebirds! We’re on a deadline here!” Sylvia clapped at them from across the room, blowing the moment. “Save it for the bedroom!”

Joyce’s face turned a deeper shade of red. Hopper coughed and adjusted his hat.

“Why— why don’t you run these up to her, and I’ll take over from here?”

“Sure! I’ll just meet you at our seats in a bit. Wait, do you even know how to set a formal table?” Joyce asked him before handing over a heavy silver fork skeptically.

“Yeah. Sure. I mean, I think I can figure it out?”

“Just watch what everyone else is doing, or ask Syl. I’m sure she’ll be happy to help!” Joyce said with a sardonic grin.

“Hey,” he called out after her as she ran off. “You look… really hot.”

The words sounded so innocent coming out of his mouth, but Joyce picked up on the flirtation in his voice right away. She snuck a look to the others in the dining room to see if anyone else had noticed, but they were still focused on setting tables, Sylvia included. 

Joyce spun on her heel to wink at him and fanned herself like a proper damsel before disappearing upstairs to get ready. She took the stairs two at a time, heart racing, a good feeling coming over her — tonight was finally going to be their lucky night.

Now it was Joyce’s turn to wait impatiently, as they all gathered in the “bridal” suite, watching Karen as she finished getting ready and waiting for the ceremony to start. The older Dawson women were in their Sunday Best (though it was a Saturday) and fawned over the young bride, giving her advice for the matrimonial night, much to Karen’s abject horror… and the rest of the girls’ delight.

“Don’t forget to let him carry you over the threshold for good luck!”

“Only if you want a happy marriage and bushel of children, that is.”

“Yes, but— do try to be chaste until he makes the first move.”

“Do you need any advice for the big night, darling?”

“No!” Karen said suddenly, jumping up and shooing them off of her. “No, no. I’m fine. Thank you aunties, and grandmama. I’m sure I’ll figure it out,” she said while looking for a good excuse to end the conversation. “Oh darn, I think my veil is crooked! Joyce?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.” Joyce put her mimosa down and rushed over to rescue her friend as the old bitties moved to the balcony to admire the garden from above.

“They still think you’re a virgin, huh?” Joyce asked under her breath when she got close enough, a hint of laughter in her voice. “That’s cute.”

Karen waited until her aunts were completely out of earshot before she spoke again.

“I don’t have the heart to tell them I already slept with the groom.”

Bonnie and a few of the other younger cousins giggled behind them.

“You slept with Ted?” Joyce asked, ignoring the girls. She knew Karen had gone around with a few guys before, but she would’ve bet good money that Ted was a bit more conservative than the majority of the high school football team.

Karen scoffed.

“Ted is a Wheeler, Joyce. I know you don’t know what that means because you never leave Hawkins, but the Wheelers are like… midwestern royalty. Of course, I slept with him right away! I needed to lock him in early. Oh please -- don’t give me that look! You know how long I’ve wanted this. Clearly, it was worth it.” she gestured to her dress, puffed up around her like a cloud of whipped cream. “Even if he is kinda plain in bed…” she added as an afterthought. “But I think I can fix that!”

“Plain?” Joyce asked absently, contemplating how to fix the lace and comb without ruining the hairdo.

“Like a vanilla malt.” Karen frowned at her reflection. “Hold the cherry.” 

Joyce couldn’t hold back her snort though she tried to stifle it as she took the veil off of Karen’s head and collected the bobby pins in her palm. Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the fact she was still salty from being rejected the night before, but she offered it up without thinking:

“Jeez… And here I don’t even have a dessert to compare Hopper to yet.”

“Wait. What?” Karen’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean you haven’t….”

Joyce paused, cheeks flushed once she realized what she had just confessed to.

“Not yet. I mean— Well, it… almost happened last night.”

Karen’s eyebrows shot up, but Joyce quickly thought better about it and skipped the details, even though she was desperate to talk to her best girlfriend about what happened with her best guy friend just the night before. 

“But I told him I wanted to wait,” Joyce said quickly instead, settling for a half-truth. 

Karen’s head dropped to get a better look at her friend’s face in the mirror. 

“You’re serious. Why? How? You two can’t stop… fondling each other in public. How have you not had done it yet?” 

Karen’s voice rose as she spoke until she remembered where they were, and not wanting to catch Aunt Mildred’s cane in the shin again, she whispered the last few words as if she were in church. It didn’t matter much, since her youngest cousins still heard her and squawked behind their bridesmaids’ bouquets.

Joyce danced around the answer for a moment or two, grabbing another couple of pins and sticking them in wherever she could around Karen’s crown, giving the veil something to hold on to, choosing her words carefully before she spilled the beans. 

“I mean, we've fooled around plenty, of course."

"Of course." Karen smirked.

"And he gave me my first... well... y'know." Joyce pressed her lips together, trying hard to be subtle with their little audience behind them. Then she puffed her cheeks out in exasperation. "But we haven't gotten past third yet! I just wanted it to mean something, I guess? Charlie Benson was too fast, too soon...” 

“Too sloppy.” Karen reminded her with a click of her tongue. “It’s a good thing you didn’t get a bun in the oven after that one.”

“Or VD.” Joyce winced, reliving the not-so-distant memory of losing her virginity in the fall of ’63. “And then with Lonnie… he just pressured and pawed at me. It felt like being trapped in one of those seedy skin flicks. Like he wanted me to be his own personal Bettie Page or something? And that’s not really me.” She paused and caught Karen’s eye in their reflection, sighing deeply. “I just want my first time with Jim to be… Oh, I don’t know? Special?”

“Oh Joyce, honey.” Karen clapped her hands to her chest as if Joyce was the most pitiful soul she’d ever laid eyes on. “You really like him, don’t you?” she asked, her brows knitted in concern. 

Joyce half shrugged this time, rolling her eyes dramatically. 

“Maybe.”

“Oh… Shit.” 

It was all Karen could say, going pale, despite all the makeup she wore.  

“What?”

“I didn’t realize how serious it was between you two. I thought you guys were just… having fun? I mean, it seemed like a joke at first. I only teased you for so long over him because I didn’t actually think it would happen! You two are certainly not what I imagined for each other, but I guess you kind of work well together?”

Joyce tried to shrug it off, but she could see herself in the mirror and there was no hiding the feelings bubbling up to the surface. She placed the veil back onto Karen's head, sliding the beaded comb into place as she chose her words.

“Well, we were just having fun at first. But then Hop sorta moved in when Ma left for summer, and we just… fell into it.”

“Into what?” 

Joyce winced, regretting the word before it even left her mouth. 

“Love?”  

“Shit,” Karen said again.

Joyce couldn’t read her friend anymore. 

“What?”

But Karen wouldn’t look at Joyce. 

“Nothing! It’s just….”

“You don’t think we’re good together?”

Karen heaved a long, complicated sigh. 

“I think… you should do whatever makes you happy, with or without him.”

Joyce scrunched up her face as she took in the strange advice, a heavy feeling settling in her chest, the same feeling she had the night before when Hopper changed his tune so abruptly. But before she could question Karen’s cryptic choice of words, they were interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Karen, darling. They’re ready for you!” 

Mrs. Dawson poked her head in the room and twittered in a sing-song, and the sudden heavy topic of discussion was thankfully pushed aside. Karen bounced in her seat, smiling so hard Joyce thought her cheeks might explode before she took a breath and composed herself.

“Is it okay?” she asked Joyce, but she didn’t wait for an answer before fidgeting with the veil and pulling it down to cover her face excitedly. “How do I look?”

“Oh Karen, you look just like Grace Kelly!” Sylvia exclaimed from across the room, tapping her cigarette over the ashtray. All the other girls agreed, while Sylvia quickly took a snapshot of the moment with her new camera. 

“I’ll get the quartet ready.” Mrs. Dawson clapped her hands.

Slapping Karen’s hands away from the veil, Joyce began to hum a familiar melody as she put the finishing touch on her friend’s ‘do. The bride squealed in delight when she recognized the tune and the two girls broke into song at the same time, singing louder and louder, giddy with excitement. The moment they’d been waiting for all summer had finally arrived… 

“…And we’re go-ing to the chap-el of looooove!”

Chapter Text

The ceremony was perfect. The dinner was divine. The cake had been cut, and now, the party was just getting started. 

The foursome sat at one of the regular tables, closest to the dancefloor, watching all the older couples twirl around the room to yet another waltz. Karen had all but abandoned the head table de rigueur, exhausted by the formality of it all. She was ready to cut loose and celebrate, enjoy her night, not entertain another boring bout of pleasantries with some second cousin, twice removed from the Wheeler clan. There was only so much pomp Karen was willing to endure and even Ted was starting to look bored.

Joyce and Hopper’s table had been the perfect escape. Not too far from the action, but just far enough away that the new bride and groom could hide for a while in the shadows and relax while they enjoyed their cake in peace.

“Jeez… I think I might bust out of my corset if I eat another bite. Here,” Karen said, sticking her fork in. She handed the rest of her cake over Ted, to Joyce, who passed it off for Hopper to finish. 

Joyce was leaning against Hopper’s chest, tapping her foot along to Glenn Miller when Karen leaned over and gave her a look.

“Ladies’ room?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Joyce waved her away, content where she was.

Karen cleared her throat and gave her best friend a pointed look, hitting her with the train of her dress.

“Ah! Yes. Of course! What was I thinking? Excuse us, gentleman, the bride needs me to hold her dress up while she pees.”

Karen’s mouth dropped, and this time she swatted at Joyce, landing a blow square in the shoulder. 

Joyce just laughed her off while the boys shared a slightly horrified look. After leaving them at the table, Ted looked to Hopper and swirled his tumbler, showing he had more ice than liquor left. 

“Drinks?” 

Hopper examined his own glass, half-empty, and shrugged. Why the hell not. As they wandered up to the bar, he cleared his throat, unsure how to broach the subject weighing heavy on his mind now the two men were finally alone. 

“Can I ask you something, Ted?” 

Ted tilted his head toward the other man, and Hopper took that as his invitation to proceed. 

“How did you know that this… this is what you wanted?”

Ted furrowed his brow. 

“What do you mean?”

“How did you know you wanted to get married?” Hopper asked more directly the second time, shrugging nonchalantly but then quickly adding, “Or be an accountant? I mean, did you always want to be an accountant?”

“No,” Ted chuckled and bowed his head, leaning against the bar now. “No, I can’t say I ever wanted to be a comptroller. I didn’t make that choice for myself. My dad did. And his dad did before him. You know how that goes, don’t you?”

Hopper frowned into the ice at the bottom of his glass.

“Boy, do I ever.”

Ted scrunched his face in sympathy and looked like he was about to say something insightful, some piece of wisdom only an older, well-respected married man could dole out…

“To be honest, I wanted to be a fireman was I was a kid. Well, actually — I wanted to be a firetruck until I was five, but then when I realized that was pretty much impossible — a fireman.”

Hopper quirked an eyebrow at the strange aside, but Ted continued.

“And when I was thirteen, Aunt Mildred tried to convince me to be a cowboy but turns out — I’m allergic to horses. So then at fifteen, I decided I was going to be a prosecution lawyer. Fight the good fight, you know? But my father,” Ted paused here to look over his shoulder and lean into Hopper just in case someone was listening, “he told me that I didn’t have the guts or know-how, and I should stick to what I do know — numbers. The rest of it just… followed. The career, a pretty wife, and next will be the family, I’m sure.” Ted frowned into the dregs of his drink now, too. “Let me guess? Joyce is putting the pressure on you?”

“Something like that,” Hopper mumbled, taking a swig off the last of his drink. Thankfully, he didn’t have time to elaborate for Ted. A small herd of country club jocks rounded up on the bar in chaotic revelry.

“Found the groom!”

“Good man, Teddy!” 

“Way to dodge a bullet, ol’ pal.” Another of Ted’s friends said, slapping him on the shoulders. 

Ted’s best man, Fred, snickered and piped up. 

“Dodging a bullet? More like he just jumped out of the frying pan, straight into the fire.”

“Oh, Karen’s a fire, alright — a spitfire, that is.”

“Ah, the ol’ ball and chain.”

“I dont think so, Freddy, old pal. Have you seen his Missus? I mean, you do have eyes, dontcha?” another groomsman, Mark MacGregor, snorted.

Ted rolled his eyes and looked to Hopper, unimpressed and silently apologizing for his rowdy, drunk friends.

Hopper had only just met them earlier that evening, but as he brushed shoulders next to him now at the bar, he could tell they weren’t exactly his type of pals. He was suddenly missing Benny, a real pal, who was painfully absent at the moment. Woefully outnumbered by Ted’s snobbish jerk friends, Hopper opted to crunch on his ice to pass the time until the girls came back.

“Wheeler’s smart, though,” Mark kept yapping, his back turned to Hopper now, blocking him out from the conversation. “Marry a missile to dodge a bullet! He keeps his job at what — ten grand a year? Yes! Starts his legacy. A family. Lives out his perfect life firmly planted in the good ol’ US of A. He’s smart, like us.” Mark’s words carried self-important pomp. “Someone’s gotta stay behind and run the country, if you know what I mean? Let the rest of those poor halfwits out there take Johnson’s marching orders, mucking around the Orient.”

“Halfwits?” Hopper asked, butting in now, but purposely leaving out that first word. He knew better than to get into it with the country club crowd regarding their careless use of the word ‘poor.’ 

Mark turned toward Hopper like the help had just addressed him, and he glanced at Ted first, who gave a slight nod before responding.

“Yeah, you know? The morons signing their lives away for a country that doesn’t even know we exist? Why anyone would go over there willingly is beyond me….”

Hopper narrowed his eyes on Mark, suddenly feeling a bit hot under the collar.

“You don’t have a sense of duty? That when your country calls, you answer?” he asked pointedly.

Mark guffawed and looked to Ted and Fred to join him, but they both looked away. Ted suddenly became very interested in the bottom of his glass and swirled the leftover ice. Fred lit a cigar. 

Mark finally dropped the overdone smile.

“It’s not America’s problem if those people actually want communism. That shithole is not our country, and it’s none of our business. Wouldn’t you say, sport?” Mark asked, curt. 

Hopper started to answer, the words hot on his tongue, but Ted cleared his throat and spoke up first.

“I’m sure what Jim is saying is that it’s simply a matter of obligation. Some men feel obligated to family and their careers. Others are obligated to their pride, for their country and themselves. I can’t say it’s for me in this lifetime, but I do admire someone who would go so willingly for a cause.” 

“I heard,” Fred chipped in, placing a hand on Mark’s shoulder, “that the ones going in now are getting the cushy jobs, anyway. Practically a paid vacation from the wife — doesn’t sound so bad to me. And I suppose, if you had no other option like some certain folk, it’s not that bad. The real morons are the men out there that have their head in the sand, the ones who think this won’t touch them a world away.” 

Fred looked pointedly at Mark, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Low life bums with no career, no school, no wife, no kids — gonna get the shock of their lives when they really start drafting,” Mark muttered, pushing Fred’s hand away, not really listening anymore as he took the last swallow off his drink and gruffly ordered another.

Hopper briefly thought of Lonnie — low-life extraordinaire — and it made him feel a little better knowing Byers’ would be in the same boat if Hopper was about to leave Joyce behind. 

“Say, how ’bout another round there, Ted?” Mark tapped the bottom of his glass to Ted’s. “Looking a bit empty there!” 

“Ah, no, thank you. I promised Karen I wouldn’t get too sauced for our wedding night.”

Mark wolf-whistled at the thought, and the political talk was instantly dropped. The country club men took turns slapping Ted on the back before ordering another round for themselves and disappearing to find their own wives, much to Hopper’s relief. It wouldn’t have been a good look for him drifting Ted’s friend, even if Ted looked like he was on the verge of encouraging it. 

Once his friends were out of earshot, Ted shook his head and motioned to the bartender for another round. 

“Sorry about Mark. I’d say he’s not usually so brash but—“

Hopper shook his head too, frowning, and offered up his apology.

“No, it’s me. I’m just on edge right now. I should’ve known better to keep my yap shut.”

“You haven’t told her yet, have you?” Ted asked, the question seemingly coming out of nowhere. 

Hopper didn’t know that Ted knew; he didn’t even want to know how Ted knew. He sucked in a breath and held it for a long moment before replying.

“Nope.”

Ted could only wince for the other man. 

“Godspeed, Jim Hopper,” he said, with a pat on the shoulder. “You’re a brave man… in more ways than one.”

By that time, the girls had made their way back from the lavatory, picking through the wedding guests to find them at the bar, looking refreshed and ready for another drink themselves. 

“Ah, well, hello there, Mister Wheeler.” Karen slid up next to Ted and into his open arms.

“Well, hello, Missus Wheeler.” Ted smiled down to his bride and kissed her on the cheek. “You know, I think I’m the luckiest man in this room.”

Karen giggled and made a half-hearted attempt to push him away. 

“Oh, you!”

Joyce sidled up to her man, all the while staring at the newlyweds longingly. Hopper had to tap her on the arm to get her attention.

“Can I buy you a drink, Miss?”

Joyce smirked and shook her head at him.

“Nice try, but it’s an open bar.”

“Well, I guess that makes you a cheap date then. C’mon, lemme get you another,” he prodded. “Bartender’s not carding me tonight with this beauty.” He ran a hand over his beard and mugged for her. 

Joyce giggled again, her hand finding his and guiding it under her dress to the top of her thigh-high.

“Only if you promise me another dance,” she said, leaning in to entice him with a kiss. A sly smile teased at her lips as she watched his reaction.

Hopper gulped down the last of his drink and ordered two more before turning back to her, playing it cool with a wink.

“Well, my card’s looking a little full, but I think I can sneak you in.”

He tried not to notice Ted giving him a knowing look over Joyce’s shoulder. 

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

The girls were taking a much-needed break from the dancefloor, watching the party start to wind down around them, when Joyce worked up the courage to corner the bride.

“Hm? Shoot!” Karen said. 

Joyce pursed her lips and leaned forward, taking a deep breath.

“You said something earlier, before the wedding. About Hopper. You said I should try to be happy, with or without him.”

“Did I?” Karen shrugged but refused to meet Joyce’s eyes, watching her sloppy bridesmaids attempting to dance in a haphazard bunny hop across the ballroom instead.

“What did you mean by that?” Joyce asked.

“Oh, well…” Karen waved. “I don’t know. I was a bit lightheaded before the ceremony. Jitters, y’know?”

Joyce watched her friend closely, leaning in to try and catch her gaze. 

“You’d tell me if you knew something, right, Karen?”

“Joyce! Of course.” 

Karen was positively stoic in her response. She still wouldn’t look at her, and Joyce didn’t want to pry, so she let Karen change the subject with a laugh.

“Would you look at that? She’s gonna wear his feet right off.”

Karen pointed across the room to the dancefloor, where an unusual pair were showing everyone how it was done. Nine-year-old Rebecca, another one of her cousins, was dancing with Hopper, getting a ride on his shoes as he spun her around the floor to the Locomotion. 

“Oh brother!” Joyce allowed herself a half-smile at the image. “That must be their fifth dance tonight.”

It was cute, the way little kids looked up to Hopper, and Rebecca looked practically starry-eyed as the tall man with boyish good looks spun her around the room like a ballerina while he begrudgingly danced along to another bubblegum song. Joyce’s heart swelled at the thought it invoked — that he would someday make a great dad to some lucky little girl.

When the song ended, the band leader thanked the crowd of mostly girls and told the room he would slow things down a bit with their next song. Hopper quickly looked up to find Joyce, catching her eye across the room, and it was clear he was hoping to avoid a sixth dance with Rebecca. 

Joyce nodded in understanding and gave the rest of her drink to Karen. Then she walked over to the pair on the dancefloor and tapped the little girl on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, miss,” Joyce said with a quick curtsy. “May I cut in?”

Rebecca shrugged and jumped off Hopper’s feet, much to his great relief, and smiled.

“Sure! My feet are getting sore anyway. You’re a good dancer, mister!”

Hopper snapped his fingers at her through a wince.

“Right back at ya, Becky!”

Maybe it was the cocktails or the party or a combination of both, but Joyce felt a giggle creep up on her, and she grabbed his hand as the music started back up again and the dancefloor cleared. With the lights low and the night breeze floating in from the verandah, the band seemed to be playing only for them. A beautiful unchained melody echoed throughout the ballroom, and Joyce sighed as Hopper pulled her close, breathing her in.

There was a whisper in the air telling Joyce to relax and forget about the worries muddling her mind, even if it was just for one song. Enjoy the moment, it was saying. For once, she decided to listen. 

It was easy to slip into a state with the pleasant buzz she had going on. Hopper must have felt the same as she felt his body relax as she sank into him, resting her head on his chest.

“Having fun?” he asked, his voice quiet against the music, just loud enough for her to hear.

“Yeah,” she murmured, resting her head against his broad chest and taking a deep breath too. 

“Me too,” he leaned down and whispered against her ear, kissing her softly there. 

A shiver rushed down her spine, and she knew right then that this moment would be forever etched in her mind. A Hopeless Romantic couldn’t ever forget something like this. 

Slowly, softly, Hopper spun Joyce around the room. If anyone else was dancing, they didn’t seem to notice. That song, this moment… was made just for them. 

The song was over, and they were one step closer to the end of the night. Joyce’s heart was beating heavy in her chest when they parted. Biting her bottom lip, she leaned in and grabbed both his hands. It was time to seize the moment. He couldn’t possibly turn her down two nights in a row, not when he was being so sweet on her.

“Wanna go explore the house? I know a quiet place upstairs….”

Hopper shook his head, his brow furrowing slightly.

“How about we go for a walk instead?”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere private,” Hopper looked around them. “Outside?”

“Sure, I could use some fresh air.” Joyce tried not to look too disappointed or nervous as she nodded, reminding herself that anticipation should be half the fun. She was starting to feel a bit lightheaded between the booze and her nerves though, so she let Hopper lead her through the party, out to the foyer, and towards the double doors, which led out to the quiet porch covered in ivy where they were finally alone for the first time that evening.

Chapter Text

“The stars look amazing tonight,” Joyce said, leaning against the banister out on the manor’s porch, head tilted up to take it all in. 

“Yeah,” Hopper agreed, though he wasn’t bothering to look up at the night sky. Not when all he could see was her. He desperately wanted to remember her like this, forever if he could. Pretty in pink — happy and hopeful — before he ruined it all. He’d put it off for long enough now, even dragging the night out in the hopes he could avoid it altogether. But there was no escaping this. Not anymore. He knew what he had to do. 

“Joyce.”

“Yeah?” 

He pulled her back to him, bringing her in close and with his finger tilting her chin up to him, kissed her so softly. As if it were the last time. Just in case. 

There was no way she wasn’t gonna hate him for this.

“What’s gotten into you?” She pulled away and giggled nervously.

He could only give her a small, sad smile, though it felt more like a grimace as he locked his baby blues on her. He only hoped they showed how sincere his words were when he said it.

“I love you.”

The air went still between them. A breath caught in her throat, as he held his own. Her skin became electrified with goosebumps under his touch. The breeze carried the sweet scent of the linden trees that lined the yard; the music from inside the manor grew quiet while a nest of mockingbirds sang in crescendo. 

All around them, the world slowed, as if time had stopped completely. It was an otherworldly, beautiful torture watching the blissful look on her face spread to her lips in a smile, as he waited for her to say something. Anything. 

But she didn’t get a chance to respond because he decided to continue while he still had the courage.

“I just needed you to know how much before….” 

And that was when he choked.

“Before what?” Joyce asked, an eyebrow shooting up, prompting him.

Pinpricks of sweat had popped up on the back of his neck, and the bolero he wore started to feel like it was getting tighter and tighter around his neck. He looked down to his feet. 

Now or never.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, dipping her head to catch his eye. “You’ve been acting so strange…”

But he couldn’t bring himself to say it, and he didn’t have to, it seemed. It was as if Joyce read his damn mind. A coolness came over her, and Hopper pulled back, holding his breath. 

“I mean, you’re acting like….”

There was no sense in avoiding it any longer, and he knew the more and more he put it off, the worse it was gonna be for both of them. He couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine when it wasn’t. And by this point, he almost wanted her to figure it out on her own.

“Like what?” he asked, drawing out his exhale. Waiting for it.

“You’re acting like it’s the end of the world.” 

Yep. That’s exactly what it felt like. 

Hopper swallowed, his eyes darting out to the dark, rolling fields surrounding them, avoiding her gaze as he spoke.

“I have to go away for a little while.”

Joyce leaned in closer, a strained grin touching her lips as if she didn’t hear him.  

“What are you talking about?”

He forced himself to say the words, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“SSO sent me a letter. Called me up.”

“SSO? The army?” Joyce asked, confused. “They’re drafting?”

Hopper couldn’t keep the guilt from his face. Joyce ripped her hand away in disgust as she realized.

“You did it… Didn’t you?” Joyce stared at him, blinking back tears, expecting him to say something more than that, but he still couldn’t look her in the eyes. “What the hell, Hop? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was going to. I just…” There he was, struggling to find the right words again. He knew everything he wanted to say, but he just couldn’t do it. He was brave enough to march off to war, but he couldn’t say how he felt. 

“What? You just what? Spit it out!”

“I don’t know! Alright?” he shouted, turning away so she couldn’t see his face.

They stood there for a long minute, listening to the crickets chirping and the party inside. The band was still playing, and a few couples were left, still dancing, having a grand old time. 

Hopper felt sick. The pleasant buzz he’d been maintaining all night had worn off quickly and left him with a sickening hollow pit in his stomach. He could feel Joyce’s eyes burning into his back, so he finally turned to look at her. Her arms were crossed, and she was frowning at him. It would’ve been so cute, in that frilly cotton-candy-looking dress, if only she weren’t so mad.

“When?” she asked, finally.

“When what?” 

“When do you have to go?”

Hopper’s shoulders dropped. This wasn’t even close to being over yet, and here he was, in his moment of truth. 

“Friday. Next week.”

She was speechless at first, cheeks flashing a deeper shade of crimson. She shook her head, looking uncertain if she had heard him correctly. 

“When did you find out?” she finally squeaked out.

Hopper set his jaw and took a deep breath. 

“Uh…” he exhaled slowly. “About three weeks ago.”

Joyce’s eyes went wide, and all the color drained from her face. 

“You knew this whole time? And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t know how!”

That was the trigger — she finally blew her lid. 

“‘You didn’t know how?’ How freakin’ typical, Jim Hopper! Did you even think this through? Or are you even thinking at all? I mean, what exactly are you trying to prove here?” 

It was starting to feel like the Spanish inquisition, and he gritted his teeth to keep himself from saying something he’d regret.

“You don’t get it, Joyce. You don’t understand—”

“Oh no, I understand. I understand perfectly. You’re choosing some bullshit war and your friends instead of us.”

“That’s not it at all. It’s not that black and white!”

“Isn’t it? If you wanted to stay, you’d figure it out. We’d figure it out.” She gestured between them. “You don’t have to deal with this alone.”

“Yes, I do.”

“It’s not your obligation to go!” she stamped her foot, startling the birds in their nest nearby.

“Yes!” Hopper assured her. “It is! I have a duty to my country—“

“You sound just like your father,” Joyce snorted and rolled her eyes.

“Look, I made a commitment —” he tried again.

“And what about our commitment?” she interrupted again, her one-two punch.

Hopper leaned down to look her in the eyes.

“I didn’t really think we were there yet! We haven’t even slept together,” he blurted out, regretting the words instantly.

Joyce balled her fists around the fluff of her dress and threw them down like she was having a tantrum. 

“I was waiting,” she told him with a pained expression, “because it was supposed to be special. I wanted it to mean something. You were so sweet last night and then I thought— but then you got weird about it— ”

A painful look crossed her face, realizing why he’d been acting funny.

“I just thought we were on the same page,” she continued, her voice hitching as she tried to stifle the emotion bubbling up when she confessed, “I wanted to wait until tonight. Karen had a room set up for us and everything…”

She covered her face with her hands, looking utterly embarrassed now. She started to run off back inside to find refuge in the bathroom or maybe Karen’s arms, but Hopper grabbed her by the waist before she could dart off and spun her back towards him.

“No, hey — don’t. I didn’t mean to ruin tonight.”

“Well, you did!” Joyce choked on her tears and snorted them back, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, absolutely dejected and rejected. “Congratulations.” 

Hopper pulled the handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and gave it to her. He watched as she blew her nose and wiped her eyes, being careful not to smear her already smudged makeup.

He sighed.

“Look, Joyce. I just wanted to spend one last summer without responsibilities and all the shit that comes with being an adult. I didn’t expect for you and I to be together, but I kinda thought… I thought we had something good going on.”

“It was good.” Joyce sniffled.

“Because it happened naturally, and it didn’t feel like it needed to be something special. That’s what made it good, right? I was just happy being with you. And I thought you were happy with me?”

 “I am happy! And it doesn’t have to be… anything. I just thought—” Joyce looked helplessly back to the wedding going on around them. “I thought maybe you wanted it to mean something too.”

He could read the look of anxiety and desperate confusion on her face — how did they suddenly go from having a fabulous time to a full-blown fight? Frustration bubbled up at her for being so caught up in her feelings, but mostly frustration at himself, for letting it get to this point and pulling the trigger when they both had too much to drink. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

“Well, we both thought wrong I guess. And I’m sorry if I lead you on, but I don’t know what I want right now. What I do know is that I’m not ready to man-up. I can’t spend my whole life in Hawkins, Joyce! I’m not like this.” He flicked the brim of his hat, desperate for her to see. “I’m not Ted and his pals. So just let me get this out of my system. Let me go away and do what I need to do.”

She frowned, but she didn’t say anything, so he continued, finally finding the courage to speak from his heart. 

“Let me go and become the man I need to be. And then I’ll come back to you. I swear.”

Inside the other room, the band was doing the whiniest, loudest cover of The Hollies hit, their end-of-the-night song inadvertently mocking Hopper’s words from the other side of the building. 

Why don’t you staaaaaay….

Joyce’s frown deepened.

“Don’t you dare make promises you can’t keep, Jim Hopper,” she shook her finger at him and turned away in a deep frown.

“C’mon Joy. It’s not like I’m going away forever,” he told her.

Joyce rounded on him in a fresh burst of tears.

“You don’t know that! You don’t….”

Hopper saw the pain on her face and heard the hurt in her voice, and he recognized it immediately as scars leftover from childhood. She was terrified of losing him, just like she lost her father. After all, they’d been raised on a steady diet of war and the threat it was the eve of destruction their entire lives. And this time it very well could be. How could Hopper promise her that he wouldn’t die when she knew full well what he was getting himself into? There were no rules when it came to war, no promises either.

He wrapped her up in his arms before she could unravel completely, not knowing what else he could do. It never even occurred to him that this might be her reaction. 

“Hey, hey. It’s okay.” Hopper kissed her temple and held her tight, doing his best to ward off the bad thoughts. He reassured her. “It’s just two years in, and then I can come right back. Two years, that’s it. And then we can pick up right where we left off. Maybe you could even wear my ring, huh….” He looked down at her, cupping her cheeks to get her to meet his gaze. “It isn’t that long, right?”

He tried hard to sound optimistic, but his words rang hollow even to him. Two years felt like a lifetime away. 

Joyce sniffed and nodded despite all her hesitations, lifting her head up to him in earnest. She was trying to put on a brave face for him, and he thought for a second she might kiss him but pulled away instead. A funny look crossed her face like she was deep in thought.

“You don’t have to do this, you know. We can fight it, Hop,” she told him, stubborn. Determined. “We can!”

Hopper snorted at the notion, despite himself.

“Fight what? The government? The draft? We can’t stop what’s coming, Joyce. We can’t save the world.”

“We don’t have to save the whole world, Jim — just us.” She stared up at him in earnest, dark eyes lighting up. “We could get married! Tomorrow even! You don’t have to go if we get married. It’s the law — Kennedy made sure of that.” 

Hopper hesitated.

“You don’t want that, Joyce.”

She looked hurt.

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t want a shotgun, Monday morning at city hall, like some kinda court date. No rings? No dress?” Hopper swallowed hard. “Come on. You know you want this.” 

She looked back at the party behind him, through the open french doors at the happy newlyweds, but the glitz and glamour were fading fast in front of her eyes.  

Hopper scratched at the back of his neck, unsure she was following. 

“I enlisted, Joyce. I didn’t think they were gonna send me with the way the news has been and… I just did it to get the old man off my back, okay. But I can’t back out now, even if we did get married. Kennedy’s law only works if they draft, not if I volunteer.”

“Can’t you find a way to… defer?” she asked, grasping now.

“Only for so long, until they track me down. I owe them my time now.”

“Well, not if they can’t get to you, right? Your dad wouldn’t even have to know. You want to see the world? Let’s get on a plane, go to Europe or… or Russia! No one will look for us in Russia….”

Hopper held back a groan — the conversation was spiraling, and so was his patience. There was no getting through to her sometimes! 

“Now you want me to desert? Even better! That’s jail time if they catch me, Joyce. You wanna be married to a criminal?” Hopper snapped just as a few wedding guests passed by them, looking for some fresh air. They exchanged a worried side glance, and Hopper lowered his voice again, so only Joyce could hear him now. “You think my dad would stand for that? I’m not about to ruin the Hopper name by taking the coward’s way out.”

“Coward?” Joyce echoed loudly. “You think staying with someone you love makes you a coward?”

There was a flash of anger in her eyes and the words shot hot off her tongue, though she was trying her best to stay composed, knowing full well she was the one facing the party and everyone inside. 

“That’s what they’ll call me if I stay!” Hopper raised his voice, vaguely aware they were starting to cause a scene. He reigned himself in once more to plead with Joyce. He tapped her on the forehead, pleading with her to use her noggin. Knowing she was smarter than this. “Think. Logically. Please. Think about something other than white picket fairytales for once in your life. If you want this to work between us, not just now but forever, I’m gonna need my girl to stand by me through the worst of it and be there for me when I get home. I need someone with her feet on the ground. Can you handle that?”

Joyce shook her head slowly. 

“I can’t support this. You already know how I feel about it. We talked about this! Or I thought we did. And yet, you went behind my back and did it anyway.”

Hopper took a step back.

“Well, I guess I have to respect your decision. Just like you need to respect mine.”

“So that’s it? We’re through because you have some weird honor you need to scratch? Can’t sully the good Hopper name, right? Gotta make your old man proud,” Joyce sneered. “I don’t get it. He hates you, but yet you keep tripping over yourself—”

“My father doesn’t hate me, Joyce.”

“Oh no, that’s right, he just hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you—“

“Bullshit!” Joyce snapped. “This is all such… bullshit! I can’t believe you. You knew for three weeks, and you didn’t say anything to me? We tell each other everything, Hop! I tell you everything. You— you made me think…” she didn’t finish that thought, her cheeks going bright red instead, in rage or embarrassment, Hopper couldn’t tell.

He frowned, pressing his lips together and narrowing his eyes on her. He was contemplating his next words, but Joyce already had an idea of what he would say.

“Oh, let me guess this is the part where you tell me I’m overreacting and being ridiculous, I tell you to screw off, you call me a brat, and then we don’t talk for like… a week!”

He tried not to be annoyed that she called him out and that was exactly what he was thinking. It drove him insane that she knew him even better than himself sometimes. But instead of lashing out like he wanted to, he clammed up instead. The hurt on her face told him that this was no longer the time and place to hash it out. She didn’t want to talk anymore — she was shutting down. 

Out of nowhere, Karen shot out from the ballroom, looking ready to kill, and crossed the foyer in double time to where they stood just by the entrance.

“What are you two doing?” she hissed. “Everyone can hear you! Stop it. Right now. You’re embarrassing me.”

Joyce glared at Hopper and pushed past her friend to bolt upstairs. Hopper and Karen both followed to stop her, but Joyce was too fast, skipping steps as she sobbed all the way upstairs. Karen glared at Hopper too, before gathering the hem of her dress around her knees to chase after the footsteps echoing down the halls upstairs.

Hopper cursed himself and lit a cigarette while he waited in the ornate entranceway at the bottom of the stairs. He didn’t know what else to do. Running after her would just result in an even more epic blowout and catastrophic finale to the evening, so staying put was his only option for now. When Karen returned a few minutes later, he dropped his smoke butt in an empty, abandoned glass and waited for her to say something while it sizzled in the remnents of a drink. The formerly blushing bride looked suddenly very annoyed and tired.

“She told me to give you this,” she said, dropping a single, crumpled, and bruised gardenia into his hand — Joyce’s corsage, completely crushed. “She’s staying here tonight.”

Hopper bounced on his heels, feeling the urge to push Karen aside and go find his girlfriend.

“Should I…?”

Karen crossed her arms, standing eye to eye with Hopper on the second step. 

“I think you should go.”

He blinked, frozen by her words.

“Is she okay?” he asked after a stunned moment.

“She’ll live, I guess.” Karen threw her hands up and dropped them with a big sigh. “What do you want me to say, Jim? You just broke her heart. It’s gonna hurt like hell now, but she’ll survive.” She raised an eyebrow. “There. Did it make you feel better to hear that?”

Hopper shook his head, no. 

Karen glanced over his shoulder into the ballroom, where her husband was saying goodnight to his great aunt and some of the other guests getting ready to leave. Hopper followed her gaze and, without a word, held his hand out for her so she could walk down the last two steps with ease. She was about to head back into her party when she stopped and faced Hopper once more, flipping the train of her white dress behind her. 

“You had weeks to tell her. Why on earth would you do it today of all days? At my wedding, Jim? Really?”

“I didn’t mean to wait so long,” he said, his voice graveled and low. He stuck his hands in his pockets. “It just… happened.”

Karen narrowed her eyes on him but didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. 

“How did you know?” he asked before she could turn to go.

Karen shifted her weight to the other foot and gave him a narrow look.

“I ran into Benny at the Shop’n’Save last month, and he told me you boys decided to join the idiot parade.” Her hands landed on her hips, and she shook her head slowly to shame him. “How could you do this to her?”

“Why didn’t you invite Benny tonight?” he asked, going for a low blow to shame her right back.

Karen glanced back over her shoulder to make sure they were truly alone before taking a threatening step toward Hopper.

“That. Is. Complicated. And I really hope for the sake of our friendship that you never bring it up again….”

Hopper backed down after a moment, nodding, and took a deep breath, reminding himself that he couldn’t take it out on Karen. None of this was her fault. She’d known about it for the same three weeks he did, and she didn’t say a damn word to Joyce, so that made her loyal in his books.

“Well, thanks,” he said, rather lamely. “You didn’t rat me out.”

Karen blinked at him. That wasn’t her style.

“I figured you’d tell her when you were ready,” she said. “Just hoped it’d be before it was too late.”

Hopper hung his head as her words sunk in.

“I fucked up.” 

“Yeah, Jim. You sure did,” Karen said, spinning on her bustle, leaving him alone in the empty foyer with the muffled sound of a door slamming upstairs, echoing in the halls above his head. 

Chapter Text

Hitching a ride back to Hawkins in the morning, Joyce stepped out of Sylvia's beat-up old Studebaker to see her mother's pink Bel-Air parked in the driveway. Relief flooded her briefly at the sight of the ol’ Pepto-Bismol Boat. She couldn't decide if her mom being home was a good thing or not. On the one hand, it meant she didn't have to be alone with her tears and deeply depressing thoughts. On the other hand, Annette would be after her all day unless she fessed up and told her everything.

"Thanks for the ride," Joyce said to Sylvia with a deep breath, forcing a lazy grin while trying not to let the GTO parked in the driveway across the street bring her down any more than she already was.

Quietly letting herself into the house, she attempted to put on a brave face for her mom but made the mistake of glancing at herself in the hall mirror first. Her face betrayed her, shadowed with the traces of last night's makeup and heartbreak. Joyce barely made it to the kitchen table before her legs gave out. 

It felt like the world had stopped spinning at Karen's wedding. One minute she was gliding around the dance floor like Cinderella with Prince Charming, and the next minute, Prince Charming crushed every hope and dream she had for them in one swift, careless move. 

She threw her purse and the bridal bouquet down on the hall table with a huff.

Despite the delicious smell of freshly brewed coffee coming from the stove, Joyce didn’t want to think about breakfast, even though she was starving. Instead, she reached into her mother's purse to light up a Virginia Slim, and didn't care if Annette caught her. She savored the smoke as it hit the back of her throat and sank down into a chair at the kitchen table. Smoking was the only thing that seemed to make her grief tolerable for a brief moment, even if the act itself reminded her of him…

"Joyce Horowitz! In all my days!" Annette breezed into the kitchen, hair in rollers, dressing gown fluttering behind her. She swatted her deviant daughter on the back of the head with the discarded bouquet of roses. "I don't remember giving you permission to smoke my cigarettes at the kitchen table, like some cheap call girl. Look at you now!"

"Witness peak rebellion, Ma." Joyce ducked out of her mother's reach and deviously blew smoke in her direction. "This is what happens when you leave me alone for an entire summer. When did you get home, anyway?"

Annette frowned and poured herself a cup of coffee. As she stirred in her cream and sugar, she trained a steady eye on her distraught daughter, knowing the rebellion was justified instantly with one look, in a way only a mother knows. 

"Last night when you were at the wedding. I'm not going to say anything about the state you girls left this house in since I can clearly see you're in a state yourself. What's the matter, baby?" she asked with concern. 

Welp— that didn't take long, Joyce thought.

"I don't want to talk about it." Joyce felt the words get caught in her throat, and she turned her head to look outside. It was easier to distract herself with a family of cardinals that landed on the clothesline in the backyard instead. 

"Didn't you have a good time?"

Joyce glared at her mother.

"I told you—"

"You don't want to talk — okay, okay, I get it! Jiminy Christmas!" Annette frowned. She poured another coffee and set it in front of Joyce, along with one of the fancy crystal ashtrays she reserved for special company. Then she sat down next to her daughter with a deep sigh.

"Look, Joycie… sweetheart, I know I haven't been around much lately, and lord knows you're growing up way too fast, but I want you to know that you can talk to me no matter what."

Joyce puffed away, guilt creeping in with Annette's unusual bout of motherly affection. She stared at the peeling vinyl on the tabletop instead of her mother's earnest face.

Annette sighed. 

"Now, if you're pregnant, we will figure it out together, okay? Is it Jimmy's—?"

"No! Jesus, Ma!" Joyce rolled her eyes and flicked the ash piling up on the end of the cigarette with annoyance. “Not pregnant!"

Annette tapped her fingers on the table in front of Joyce impatiently. "Well, then what is it? You look like it's the end of the world, and I really don't know what could be that bad—"

"Hop’s leaving," Joyce croaked out, trying hard to hold back the floodgates. "He enlisted without telling me, and the Army called him up right away. His bus leaves Friday. They're sending him halfway around the world to die!"

"He didn't tell you? Oh honey," Annette's face fell at the news. "That doesn't sound like our Jimmy."

"He said he didn't think he'd actually have to go, not since they've been talking on the news like the war was almost over. And that he only did it to get his dad off his back, but Karen said that some of the other guys enlisted with him, and they’re all gung-ho ready to fight, and now I'm not sure what to believe. I just feel so - so insanely stupid!" Joyce's head hung, and tears streamed down her face, though she didn't sob. She didn’t have the energy. "I love him, and… he said he loves me too, but I don't know how he could do this if he actually meant it!"

Annette pursed her lips, searching for the right words to say as she held her daughter's hand, and they listened to the cardinals sing a chipper tune outside their kitchen window. 

"I'm so sorry, baby. I don't even know what to say…." She paused then to choose her words, asking the first thing that came to mind. "Does he plan to commit before he leaves?"

Joyce gave a half shrug.

"We didn't get that far into it, to be honest. I left the reception after Hop spilled the beans and ruined a perfectly good evening — I coulda killed him myself! I can't even stand to think about him right now; it's making my blood boil. How could he do something so utterly dumb without asking for my opinion? He's always wanted my opinion on everything! Joyce, what shirt looks better? Joyce, Budweiser or Schlitz? White leather interior, with gold trim or blue?" She said, mocking Hopper's gruff, dumb voice. "I'm supposed to be his girl, for chrissakes! He's supposed to include me in major life-altering decisions like this. Right?" 

Annette knitted her perfectly arched eyebrows above hazel eyes at the new news to her. 

"You're going steady?"

Joyce shot Annette a look. 

"Not officially… but we were going to, before this happened. Or so I thought.

"And that's what I don't understand! Hop had all summer to tell me. Give me a warning, or let me prepare for it. But he led me on instead. Made me think it was love. Now he's leaving in a week, and… my life is over!" Joyce stubbed out the rest of her forgotten contraband smoke and dropped her forehead to the table in a wave of teenage anguish.

Annette patted her child's messy chestnut bob and tutted. "Oh, my darling dear, your life is far from over. Just be thankful it's not a real war, like your father's… or a bad situation, like mine was." Annette looked pointedly at her daughter. "Besides, I heard this is practically a vacation paid for by Uncle Sam. There are lots of beautiful beaches and the ocean, and lots of 'R and R.' And he won't be alone. He'll have friends there—"

Joyce interjected, a sour look forming on her tear-streaked face. 

"Oh, and don't forget all the war…." 

Her mother snapped her mouth shut and went back to pursing her lips in the way Joyce knew she was minding her words.

Joyce felt sick. She didn't think she would be able to bear waiting for him while she even had an inkling of what he was getting into over there. 

"Well, you know what I'm going to say! Plenty of fish in the sea, and you're the prettiest little fish I ever did see!" Annette pursed her lips like a fish, blowing an air kiss at Joyce, and then clapped her hands together. "I think we should finish our coffee, get cleaned up, and try not to think about it for the rest of the day. I'm going to the city to get my hair done this afternoon. Why don't you come with me?" she asked, reaching out and finger-combing Joyce's unruly bed-headed mop.

Joyce sighed and sank into the chair, dejection personified. 

"I don't really feel up to it."

"Oh, come on," Annette folded Joyce's delicate hand in hers. "I got Randy's charge account, and he said I could have anything I want with it. And I want to see my baby girl smile!"

Joyce was getting lost down a one-way road, her mind going dark on her despite the blue-bird sky day and the promise of a fun afternoon. 

"What if he doesn't come back?"

What happened next surprised Joyce, as Annette was never one to embrace her maternal instincts very gracefully. Taking both of Joyce's hands in hers, Annette kissed them left then right and pressed them together between her own. 

"Then he doesn't come back. For whatever reason, that's bigger than any of us. And that's just how it was meant to be," Annette said, matter of fact.

Joyce's face fell hearing the truth before her mother continued her speech. 

"You need to take some time to digest this whole kerfuffle and really think about what you want for both of you. Give it a day or two. You said yourself you don't want to talk to him right now, anyway.

"So," Annette sighed. "The way I see it is, you have till Thursday to figure it out. But you should talk to him, Joycie. If you're this upset, I can only imagine how he feels about it, the poor child. Oh, don't give me that look. I changed both your diapers in case you forgot! 

"Let him know how his news made you feel, and I'm sure he'll understand. You love him, right? Well, sometimes you need to let the things you love go. It's the ultimate test: if they come back to you, they were meant to be yours. If they don't…."

"They were never yours in the first place," Joyce mumbled, having heard her mother give this speech before. Granted, the last time, it was about her cat that ran away in the fourth grade, but she remembered it well. 

That darn cat never did come back…

"That's right!" Annette smiled wide and patted Joyce's hand. "But the world's problems were never solved sitting around a wobbly kitchen table in last night's dress. So go put a nice summer-y something on, and fix up that face and hair as best you can… We're going to treat ourselves!"

Groaning, Joyce pushed the chair back and used up all her willpower to do as she was told. As much as she hated to admit it, her mother was right. 

Later on, that evening, just as the sun began to set, the Horowitz women returned home, looking their best after a day of well-deserved pampering. Annette pulled into the driveway a bit wide, attracting the attention of Hopper in his front yard, playing catch with little Joey Tanner, who lived next door.

 Hopper watched as Joyce's perfectly coifed head popped up as she stepped out of the car, and her eyes locked on him from across Evergreen Lane. Joyce always wore her heart on her sleeve, and that evening was no exception. She was bothered by the sight of him alone. Hopper felt the urge to run over there and apologize, spill his guts, tell her how he didn't actually want to go, that it was just something he had to do — but his foolish pride held him back. He wasn't ever very good at saying sorry. Or goodbye. 

The look of sadness dissolved on Joyce's face to one of anger and she glared before quickly stomping off towards her front door. Annette threw him a strained but friendly wave hello and refrained from saying anything about the state her daughter was in. She only looked concerned like any good mother should be, watching one of Hawkin's sons shipping off to war.

"Hop! Hey, Hop!" Joey called out from his side of the yard. "Heads up!" The kid winged the ball with all the effort of a pitcher trying to make it in the big leagues. It hit Hopper square in the chest, knocking the wind right out of him. 

There was no doubt Joyce was livid with him — more livid than he'd ever seen before in his life — and now there was a chance he might not get to say goodbye at all before he had to go. His stomach twisted, but it wasn't from the fastball. 

All those strangely happy thoughts he'd had over the summer. Going steady. Proposing. Making her a Hopper. Starting a family. It was slowly beginning to fade away, right in front of his eyes. And there was nothing he could do about it. 

He was gonna lose her before he even had her.

Hopper's duffle bag for boot camp was half-packed, but he was too distracted to keep going. That duffle was the finish line he didn't want to cross. Because once it was zipped up, that was it -- it was done. It was real. 

He couldn't stop thinking about Joyce. The look she gave him and the disappointment in her eyes at the last words they shared. It haunted him. Was he making the right choice? His eternal stubbornness told him yes, it was his time to step up and make something of himself, that he'd never amount to anything if he didn't. But his heart had other things to say…. 

Since when did he listen to his heart? A year ago, he would've laughed at the thought. But now it pulled at him. Hopper couldn't stop wondering if he should call and try to make amends. Was there any point? Joyce was just so angry. He didn't know how a phone call could even begin to make things better.

It had been five days now since they had spoken. Leaving without saying goodbye seemed wrong, but Hopper didn't know what else to do. Tomorrow was the big day, but taking that first step to pick up the phone seemed impossible. More impossible than the prospect of what he was about to go do. The word 'Goodbye' was eating him alive. But if he knew any better, that dreadful feeling wouldn't go away anytime soon. If anything, it would haunt him halfway 'round the world and until the day he died. 

He could hear his old man downstairs, gruffly explaining the evening news to his mother as she fixed him another drink. Quietly, Hopper opened his bedroom door and tip-toed across the hall to the hall table. He grabbed the phone and dragged it back into his room, leaving only the phone line as evidence. Hopefully, Mom didn't pick up the other line to call her sister or something.

His heart thundered in his chest as he slipped his fingers in the rotary and dialed the only digits he didn't think he could ever forget. He knew them better than his own home phone number. To think this might be the last time he listened to the familiar pattern of clicks as the dial spun around… he chewed on his top lip and focused. Maybe she'd answer. Maybe she wouldn't be mad anymore, and maybe everything would be okay. 

Maybe…

Annette answered the phone on the seventh ring. 

"Hi, Mrs. H — it's…." 

Her voice was clipped at first when she realized who was calling, and he imagined Joyce was right there, listening in to hear who it was. Hopper could practically see her face in his mind's eye as he heard Annette cover the receiver, likely whispering to her daughter, who was on the line. Then Hopper didn't even have to imagine it. He could feel Joyce's wrath emanating from across the street. 

"Uhm… Is Joyce around? Oh," he paused, unsure of how to proceed when he got a negative. 

He felt foolish. Of course, she didn't want to talk to him. 

"Look, I need someone to help me get to the bus depot in Indy tomorrow. I wanted to take the GTO out for one last rip down the interstate before— and well, I need someone I trust to drive 'er back for me. No…" Hopper sighed. "The old man said I need to find my own damn way there. Yeah, tell me about it." 

He snorted at Annette's choice of words for his dad before continuing. 

"Look, can you just tell Joyce… tell her she's the only one I trust to drive my car. And tell her that I really want to see her, and I need to apologize for — for fucking it all up. Sorry Annette — language, I know. Just…" He pulled the receiver away from his mouth, swallowing the lump forming in the back of his throat. Then he took a breath and spoke clearly. 

"Tell her I love her, and I'm sorry. Okay. Yes, I will. Thank you, Ma'am." 

Hopper forced himself not to shed a single damn tear as he hung his head in shame and hung up the phone on his lap. That was it. The ball was in her court now. 

It took him a long while to get up and put the phone back in its place on the hall table. When he finally stood up and looked out the window, he recognized a familiar petite shadow standing at her own window across the street and somehow knew that was the last time he’d see her standing there.

Chapter Text

A hard knock on the door shook Hopper out of the dark thoughts consuming him. His dad didn't even bother to wait for him to answer before he pushed the door open.

"Your mother would like you to join us for dinner," he said, stern, before turning to head back downstairs. 

Hopper cleared his throat and spoke up before he got to the top of the staircase. 

"I'm not really hungry."

Jack froze. He didn't bother to turn around, speaking over his shoulder.

"I don't care what kind of diet you're on, son. She made your favorite, so you'll be joining us for dinner."

Hopper frowned at his old man's back.

"Yessir."

His mom had indeed gone all out making his favorite: a Sunday roast, even though it was Thursday. Try as he might for dear old mom, he couldn't find his appetite and pushed the mashed potatoes and beef around his plate. It felt too much like a Last Meal for him to enjoy it. He tried his best to put on a brave face for his mother, but he could tell he was failing by the disappointment written on his father's face.

Helen kept the dinner conversation light, asking about his friends and their plans for the evening. The guys were planning to celebrate their last night of freedom with a couple of six-packs down at Skull Rock, but he wasn't about to divulge that information knowing his dad would delight in breaking that party up. Then Helen started asking about Joyce, much to Jack's disapproval. Hopper just shrugged his way through her questions until she got the hint. He wasn't exactly in the mood to pretend it was just another night around the dinner table. 

He excused himself before his parents finished and gave his mother a kiss goodnight on the cheek, not wanting to make a big deal out of it, before sneaking upstairs to mope.

The phone rang around seven or so, and his heart jumped into his throat. Nearly tripping over his feet, he dashed for the phone, only to find it was Benny telling him to meet him and the gang at the diner first. Hopper gave him the lamest of excuses, that he had to clean his room, and promised to meet them at the Greyhound station in the morning instead. 

Later that evening, it started to rain, heavy, coming down in sheets, the steady beat of war drums pounding against his bedroom window. With the packed duffle sitting on the foot of his bed, he cleaned his room, picked up clothes, reorganized the shelf above his desk, and folded laundry. He put more effort into it this time than usual. Just in case…. The thought of his mother having to clean out his messy room in the event he came home in a box was far more traumatizing than he could admit to himself. 

Thunder rolled in the distance right before a barely-there tapping sound at the window caught his attention and snapped him back from bleak thoughts. Just as he was about to look out the window, it opened, and Joyce tumbled in with a grunt. Soaking wet, she grasped for the windowsill in a clumsy attempt to steady herself. She'd climbed the lattice up to the second floor in the pouring rain, something she hadn't done in a very long time, and it showed.

"Couldn't use the front door like a normal person?" He meant it to sound light and funny, but she didn't take it that way.

"Didn't want to piss your dad off while he's having his nightcap," she frowned, chip quite obviously still on her shoulder. 

Hopper nodded in solidarity. He was trying to avoid that too. 

"Hi," she said, brushing herself off, standing up straight. All the emotions bled out of her like an open wound in just that one raw word. 

"Hi," he echoed, staring back, hiding his own emotions behind a steel wall.  

Joyce shifted her weight and held her breath, waiting for Hopper to say something, but when he didn't, she prompted him. 

"Ma said you needed a ride tomorrow. And that you had something important to say to me? I thought you might want to say it face to face instead of over the phone."

It was evident she was holding back, her words coming out clipped like she wanted to cry and scream at him at the same time. 

"Yeah, I guess." 

He wasn't sure now if Annette told her daughter everything he had said or if he needed to repeat it. There was no way he could summon the courage to say it again, especially now that she was staring him down.

Joyce was dripping wet from head to toe. Dark curls clung to her cheeks, and she shivered so hard her teeth chattered. Hopper wanted to offer her a towel, but he had a feeling he was about to get his ass chewed one last time, so he bit his tongue and continued the neverending task of cleaning up his room. He couldn't look at her standing there like a drowned little mouse. She was so upset, and he didn't know what to say to make it better. 

"It's raining pretty hard out there, huh?" he offered instead.

Joyce's eyebrows shot up, and she ruffled up her wet bangs. 

"What gave it away?"

Hopper smirked at her remark, but Joyce just scowled. She wasn't trying to be funny.

"Don't!" she said, pointing a finger at him.

"Don't what?" 

"Don't pretend like we didn't just spend a week on opposite sides of the street — not talking!" 

Hopper shrugged and sniffed a teeshirt he picked off the floor before throwing it in the hamper by the door with a sour look.

"I'm not pretending anything," he said after a moment, turning to her. "You wanna talk? Let's talk."

Joyce grunted her disapproval at his nonchalant attitude and moved to sit on his bed, pushing the duffle bag out of the way with a look of utter scorn. She leaned forward and wrung out her sopping curls over the carpet before he finally handed her the towel hanging off the back of his closet door. Joyce took the towel with thanks and watched him work, moving around his room in silence, tidying in his usual lackadaisical Hopper way, waiting for him to start talking. When a few minutes went by, and he didn't say a word, she spoke up, getting right to the point. 

"Is this because I said I love you first?"

"No!" Hopper sputtered, the word coming out an octave higher than he meant to sound. He cleared his throat and shook his head, focusing on folding his clothes now with a bit more focus than usual. "No, it's not that."

Joyce shifted her weight and narrowed her eyes on him until he looked at her. Truth?

"Honest!"

Her glance slipped away, and she focused on his transistor radio sitting on the desk next to her. Turning the dials, she put some music on for a distraction, and for a moment, he thought that might be if — she was going to move on from the subject. Just as the local country station crackled into existence and Patsy Cline lamented, Joyce turned back to lock in on him again.

"Then why didn't you say it back until last week?" she asked, dipping her head to avoid looking at him. "Why the hell are you leaving? And why didn't you tell me until it was too late?" 

Hopper chewed on his top lip for a second. He hadn't been expecting that first question. Why didn't he say it back that first time at her house? It was something he'd been bothered by himself weeks ago until the other 'thing' had taken precedence in their lives. It was time to level with her and himself. He dared to stand up and fight for his country, among others, but where was his courage to just… Say. The. Damn. Words? 

"Look, Joyce… it's just," he stated, "You're my best friend. And I didn't want to lose you."

"Lose me?" Joyce didn't even let him finish. "I love you, Hop. You're never gonna lose me."

Hopper sucked in his breath before he spoke. 

"I love you, too. You know I've always loved you…." 

"But you're not 'in love' with me," she finished for him, keeping her gaze steady, watching him intently. “If you were, you'd be fighting to stay."

He exhaled, relieved that she said the hard part for him. Joyce crossed her arms when she saw confirmation she was right.

“You’ve been holding back this whole time with me, haven’t you?”

"I just don't want to ruin what we have," Hopper admitted.

The look on her face told him that it was already too late.

"You leaving is ruining what we have, dummy!" She crossed her arms, throwing sass. Despite himself and the utter exhaustion he was fighting about the whole situation, it riled him up even more. 

"I don't exactly have a choice in the matter," he growled, voice low so his parents wouldn't hear. "How many more times do I have to say that to you before it starts to sink in?"

"But you do! You do have a choice! You just don't want to take a chance."

"No, I had a choice, and I've already made it. I have to go now, and that's that."

"Why? To get your dad off your back? Or is it because all your friends want to play GI Joe? Let me guess, if they jumped off a cliff, you'd jump too."

"Did you just come over here to fight because--"

"No!"

"Sure seems like it to me." He gave her a pointed look. “You should know by now that most of the guys are only signing up now to skip the inevitable. Everyone knows what comes next, Joyce."

"What's next?"

"The draft. A real war."

"Says who?"

"Says the government. Says history. See? Now you know I didn't sleep in Cooper's class all the time."

Joyce furrowed her brow as Hopper went on.

"Martin figures if he goes now, he can home a hero with a paid education or as a decent insurance cheque for his mom. Yeah, that's right. He figures he's worth more to his folks face down dead in the muck over there than pushing broom or flipping burgers here in Hawkins, earning a buck just to help his family get by."

Joyce looked positively sick as the weight of his words hit her — it was clear she never looked at it that way, that the Sinclairs didn't have the nearly same privilege they were afforded. Hopper continued, though, not bothering to stop and let it sink in.

"Benny had his goddamned heartbroken. But he won't man up and admit it…."

But then he trailed off, realizing he had let the cat out of the bag. But Joyce seemed to already know.

"Karen?"

Hopper grimaced. 

"It's easier for him to run away to get over her than stay and watch her be a wife to someone else." 

Joyce frowned. 

“Woah. I didn't see that one coming." 

"Same here," Hopper grunted.

Apparently, they'd both been so absorbed in their own after-school drama that they missed a complete relationship between Karen and Benny. Some friends they were! 

To catch his eye, Joyce heaved a deep sigh and stood up in front of Hopper, high on her tippy-toes. Her hands reached out to grasp his, and even though she could feel he wanted to pull away, her fingers laced with his.

"And you? Why do you have to go?"

Hopper's eyes darted up over her head, searching for the words. And when they came, he kept his voice steady so she would know it was the God Honest Truth.

"Look, I'm doing it for us, okay? The sooner I go and get it over with, the sooner I can come home. I’m trying to be smart about it. Rumor has it that the ones going now are getting off easy anyway. Old man thinks he can pull some strings and get me in as an officer, which means there's a damn good chance they'll keep me out of combat. If I wait or do something stupid, like defer, not so much. I just need to prove myself to him, show him that I'm not the lazy piece of shit he thinks I am. And then, well, maybe he'll get off my case—"

"Not likely," Joyce mumbled.

"—and I can come home and be with you, without his judgment."

Her bottom lip quivered and jutted out just a bit as she took his words in with a deep breath. 

"I wish you would've told me sooner."

Hopper sighed, and his shoulders dropped.

"I wanted to tell you, I just…." His hands flew up in a defeated shrug, the explanation coming easily to him now. "I didn't know how! You were so damn happy, and I didn't know how to tell you and not hurt you." 

"You hurt me anyways."

"I know. I fucked it all up,” he said, clenching his hands by his side. He felt so stupid for thinking it could have been any different. He should never have let it get this far with her. He had to have known he’d only break her heart. “Maybe… it's best if we pretend this summer never happened."

Joyce winced.

"How can you say that? This was the best summer of my life! And I know it was for you too, so don't even think about lying to me."

His face fell, and he said her name, the words spilling from his mouth. 

"I'm sorry."

Joyce pressed her lips together and rolled her teary eyes up to the ceiling to avoid crying more than she already had that day. There was no need for tears; they were finally getting through to each other.

"I know you are" She took a deep breath and stepped closer to Hopper. "And I came over here to tell you that you're forgiven. I guess. Just don't do it again."

He put an arm around her and pulled her in for a hug, pressing his lips to her wet hair, relieved to hear those words come out of her mouth. 

"Thank you," he said. "I needed to hear that tonight."

"I know. I didn't want you to leave thinking I was still mad at you. I mean, I am. Crazy mad. But I think I'll get over it."

Hopper laughed and then rubbed her arms, trying to warm her up. "God, you're soaked."

"Yeah," Joyce sniffed and shivered, tugging at the hem of her wet sweater as if just realizing herself. "I wasn't really thinking straight when I left my house."

"Here. Put this on," Hopper said, tossing her a teeshirt from the clean pile.

She caught it and stared at the green and yellow varsity shirt. She'd been trying to steal it from him for the last year, but he had kept it hidden away from her, saying it was his favorite and she could take it from his cold dead…

"What?" he asked when she didn't move for a second.

Joyce shook her head. 

"Nothing," she smiled hazily and thanked him.

As she started to get undressed, something she'd done without thought all summer, a shyness overcame her. The feeling was clearly mutual as Hopper turned away busying himself with cleaning out his desk now, allowing her some privacy. Joyce suddenly felt more mature than her seventeen-going-on-eighteen, and as she pulled his teeshirt over her head and wiggled off her cut-offs to let them dry, she felt like a new woman. She wasn't angry anymore or embarrassed. Only sad and nostalgic for a time when they didn't have to worry about horrifying things teenagers shouldn't have to worry about, like war or the rest of their lives.

If only there was such a thing as superpowers… she wished they could turn back the clock.

Hopper continued to fold and organize his closet, and she helped, refolding and reorganizing after him. Just like they were kids again and he was trying to avoid a grounding, they chatted as they went, listening to music and forgetting about the world outside his bedroom window for a blissful short while. 

"So, I looked into what it would take to get into community college, and I think I could manage tuition for next year if I pick up more shifts at the diner."

"Hey, that's great news!" He grinned at her, and it gave her a boost to see it.

"Yeah. I guess. It’s not exactly Herron, but it’s something.” Joyce grinned too and sighed. "Just seems so far away."

"Tell me about it." He started to chuckle but stopped when she got a faraway look in her eyes again. "It'll go by fast," he offered instead. She could tell he was trying hard to keep things positive, and God love him for it.

"Sure." She sat back on the bed, leaning against his headboard with a forced grin and stared at his packed bag sitting at her feet. 

He threw down the last of his dirty laundry in the basket by the door, turned the light off, and crawled up on the bed with her, his big frame making her bounce on the old spring mattress. 

"It won't be so bad," he said, cradling her hand in his without thought. "When I get back, you'll be finishing up your first year. I'll have some experience under my belt. Maybe you can transfer out of state, and we can get the hell outta Hawkins? Figure out somewhere we wanna be. The world will be our oyster," he said with a shrug.

"Gross," she wrinkled her nose. "What does that phrase even mean? Who'd want to live in an oyster?"

"I don't know," he chuckled. "It's just a saying."

"Have you ever had an oyster?"

"No," he said. "But neither have you."

"And I don't intend to." Joyce feigned a disgusted look and rested her head on his shoulder, relishing the simplicity of just being next to him at that moment, as if it were just another ordinary night. 

"Hm, well, I heard they're an aphrodisiac…." He mumbled into her hair, close to her ear, sending a shiver up her spine.

"As if we need that!" she giggled, slapping his chest, where he caught her tiny hand in his.

She could feel his heart beat faster and faster under her palm, quickening in time with her own pulse. Her cheeks felt flush, and her whole body tingled in a wave of anticipation. Looking up to him in indigo light, her heart skipped a beat. Hopper was staring, taking her in slowly, feature by feature. When he got to her lips, he licked his own before slowly leaning in towards her. Forgetting herself for a moment, Joyce responded to his kiss eagerly. She let her body soften in his arms, letting out a soft moan into his mouth. But then, just as things started to get hot and heavy, she broke it off.

"Do you want to…" Hopper started to ask. He usually wasn't so nervous when it came to this stuff with other girls. He gave Joyce a confused look and awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, unsure if being with him was something she still wanted after he essentially stomped on her heart.

Joyce bit her lip. Now it was her turn to hold back. 

"No," she said after a long pause, "Not tonight." She moved to kiss him again, but this time on the cheek, feeling more mature by the minute. "I think… I still want to wait. Tonight is about two friends saying goodbye."

Hopper nodded, and ever the gentleman, settled for a hug. Joyce wrapped her arms around his broad middle, nestled tightly in the crook of his arm, and she rested her head on his chest, listening to his slowing heartbeat. 

"Hop?" she asked a few quiet minutes later. Her fingers danced on his chest in anticipation of her question.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think two friends… could ever be in love?"

"Of course." He kissed her forehead in the dark. "Friends fall in love all the time."

Joyce opened her bleary eyes a few restless hours later to watch him across the room as he stared at his pale reflection in the dim morning light. 

"Everything okay?" she asked, her voice gritty with lackluster sleep.

Hopper just shrugged. He looked disheveled and absolutely defeated.

"Yeah, sure. I guess so."

It was finally sinking in for him — in 24 hours, he'd be in basic training, learning how best to serve his country. And for the next two years minimum, his ass belonged to the United States of America. 

"Did I hear your mom this morning?" Joyce pushed herself up in his bed. "Is she okay?"

"I don't know. I just went down to say goodbye an hour ago, but she wouldn't stop crying. Dad had to call Dr. Benson over from next door to give her a sedative."

"Jeez, Hop," Joyce groaned. She rubbed her eyes and swung her feet over the bed, feeling like she could use a sedative herself to get through the day. "I guess we should get going before she wakes up?"

"That's what the old man told me before he took off for the Station. Guess he had something better to do there than to say goodbye to his only son." 

Joyce could only shake her head at the sound of Hopper's wavering voice — holding back tears — and as she stood up with open arms, she reached for him to pull him into a hug.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly into his chest. She wanted to cry for him but now wasn't the time.

"Let's just go." He huffed and took a step back out of her embrace and picked up his duffle to go. 

As they passed through the kitchen downstairs, she asked him, "Don't you want to eat anything before we go? I “can make you some toast? Coffee?” She grabbed a banana off the counter and waved it at him. "You need to eat."

"Not hungry." Hopper gruffed and shouldered his bag, flipping the car keys in his hand. 

Joyce sighed and pocketed the fruit anyway to keep for herself. She’d need something to quell the sick feeling growing in the pit of her stomach.

"Come on, Joyce." He prodded. “I want to get this over with."

That wasn't what she wanted to hear — this wasn't exactly something she wanted to get over with. But she'd never seen her best friend look more hardened, more determined in her life. There was no arguing with Hopper anymore. As she settled into the car's passenger seat, he turned the engine over and pulled out of the driveway when she found herself wishing for those superpowers again. If only. 

She'd make time stop forever, right then and there. 

The drive to the Greyhound station in Indianapolis was shades of gray and melancholic under an angry sky. It only seemed to reflect his mood that morning. 

When they pulled up to the Station, they noticed they were late. Most of the recruits were already loaded onto the bus, and families were scattered here and there. Mothers cried into handkerchiefs, and fathers looked solemn while younger siblings ran around, unaware. There wasn't much time now. The clock was ticking. 

"Promise me something?" she asked, nearly out of breath as they quickly crossed the parking lot to the bus waiting for him, headed to the army base.

"Shoot," he said, not really paying attention anymore, just trying to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

Joyce grabbed his hand. "Promise that we'll write each other while you're gone?"  

He smiled, despite himself. The cynic in him said being pen-pals would be impossible with him being 8000 miles away, but he admired her optimism. 

"Sure,” he said.

"Good! I can send you care packages and pictures of home, and it'll be like you went to camp for the summer or something."

"Or something," he echoed.

As they rounded the corner to drop his bag by the cargo door and he got in line to check-in, she stood on her tip-toes to get his attention. 

"I just want you to know," Joyce said, "What you said last night? You didn't fuck this up. Not yet anyway." She grinned up at him, looking somewhat bashful. "I'm just sorry I got carried away with all the wedding talk and 'forever' bullshit… Seeriously, I don't care about any of that anymore. I just wanna be with you."

Hopper swallowed, looking out at the rain from under the awning as it poured. He couldn't look at her just then. All the encouraging words he'd found last night had vanished in the morning light and left him surrounded by a sea of darkness. 

He wasn't scared or angry anymore; he was just sad. 

"You don't really mean that. One day soon, you'll wake up, and you'll want it all — to be married and… have kids, and I won't be here."

"That's not true. You don't know…”

"I feel it. I know I can't give you the perfect life you want."

“I’m telling you it doesn't need to be perfect." Joyce shook her head and smiled sweetly. "It might never be perfect, and that's okay by me. I'm not going to give up on us just because you have to go away for a little while." 

He frowned, and she poked him in the chest to get him to smile. She only wanted to see it, just one more time before he had to go. Finally, the frown broke into a small half-grin, and he pulled her close, mumbling into the top of her head.

"How about we take it day by day," he said. "See how it goes? I'll be on leave by Christmas before I get deployed."

"Perfect." She nuzzled her face into his chest, breathing him in deep. "You can be my Christmas present!" 

"You don't have to wait for me, you know."

"Yes." She knitted her brows and tried to be as determined as him now. “I do. I’ll wait, I promise. I can be patient."

"No," he chuckled. "That's a lie. You can't be patient at all."

"I can too. I'll show you."

"Okay," he smirked. "You show me." 

"I will!" Joyce nodded in earnest, matching his smirk.

In that brief moment, they were just two kids, staring at each other with a goofy shared smile, both nearly bursting into laughter until Joyce brought the back of her hand to her mouth to hold back a gasp as the realization kicked in.

"God, I'm gonna miss you."

Hopper pulled her up into a hug, slightly lifting her up off the ground to bring her closer. 

“Me too,” he whispered.

"Hmm. Are you sure we can't just... run away?" Joyce asked, holding onto him for dear life. Not about to let him go. 

The driver hit the horn on the bus, and it might have been the sound of his funeral bell. This was it. He felt like a dead man walking.

"I heard Canada's nice this time of year." The words slipped from her mouth with the whisper of a distant memory.

"I gotta go, Joyce,” Hopper said, squeezing her hand, slowly letting it go. As much as he wanted to look away, not see her cry, he kept his eyes steady on hers. He gulped. "They're waiting on me..."

Her lips twisted into a frown so deep, he thought she might have one final outburst -- the snap of all snaps, as she let him have it for making such a stupid choice and leaving her behind, just when things were getting good -- but she took a step back up onto the curb and gave him a solemn, final nod. Eyes glassy with the tears she was desperately trying to hold back.

"Be safe." 

She sniffed and stood up on her tip-toes to peck his cheek in haste before quickly wiping at her cheeks, knowing he wanted to see a brave face. She was about to turn to go when he said screw it, grabbed her by the waist, and practically scooped her up. Their lips met in a passionate kiss, the breathless kind where the world melted away, and it was only them. Time stood completely still. 

Hopper dragged it out as long as he could, knowing it could very well be the last, all the while Joyce's soft lips begged him on, begging him to stay. The lingering group of parents turned their heads away and told their children not to gawk, giving the couple privacy as they kissed goodbye. Even though it probably lasted no more than a few seconds, it felt like it went on forever… for everyone involved. 

The bus driver laid on the horn one last time, and that was Hopper's cue. He finally tore himself away, cleared his throat, nodded and gave a hollow salute — a halfhearted attempt to lighten the mood. Tears welled up in his eyes as he gave her one last small smile, feet dragging as he moved toward the bus and took the first step towards his future, and their future, whatever that may be. 

Joyce glanced down at her feet and turned toward the empty parking lot, looking anywhere but that damn bus. And as she slowly walked back to the GTO, with the car keys digging into the palm of her hand, the tears started to flow and couldn’t be stopped. They blurred her vision as she listened to the bus pull out of the Station. Joyce didn't even bother wiping them away. 

She couldn't stand to watch Hopper take her heart away.