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timeinabottle · 6 years ago

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Joyce Byers x Jim Hopper + 20-some-years of history = juicy backstory to explore

Wake Up - a Stranger Things (Jopper) oneshot

Joyce Byers could count on one hand how many times she’d woken up next to Jim Hopper in her life.

The first time it happened was at summer camp in 1958, when she was still just ‘little Joycie Horowitz’ from Maple Street.

She remembered the events leading up to that particularly cool July morning as if it happened yesterday — it was the first time she had ever felt real legitimate fear in her short life, during a wicked summer storm on the banks of Tippecanoe. Of course, looking back on it now, it was almost silly to think about being that scared of something so… well, normal, but at eleven years old, she had yet to find out just how deep-seated her fears could be.

That year, her mother had shipped her off to Camp Wawasee with little Jimmy from across the street. His parents had offered to drop the kids off at sleep-away camp together when Mrs. Horowitz had “work obligations” in Chicago over the summer — Joyce had already figured out by age nine that’s what her mom called it when she was dating her boss, but she didn’t exactly care anymore if it meant she got to spend the summer in Indiana without her mom. Being left ‘alone’ was an exciting prospect for Joyce and she was thrilled the Hopper’s were the ones to take her in. It sure beat being shipped off to stay with aunt Darlene again!

She had never met a happier or more loving family than the Hopper’s. In fact, Mr. & Mrs. Hopper were so nice to her that she sometimes found herself wishing they would just adopt her already. She had practically spent the last few years of her short life at their house. She even had a spare toothbrush that she kept there for spontaneous sleepovers and Jim was her best friend after all — it would just be so much easier if she could live with his family all the time. At least maybe then she wouldn’t feel like such a burden to her mother anymore...

It was a week into summer camp, on the fourth of July, when their group had ventured out to pitch their tents by the lake for the traditional bonfire, s’mores and fireworks. When the fire started to die down, but before the big firework display started, Jim convinced Joyce to go for a walk down to the lake. They relished the fact that they didn’t have to ask permission from anyone and ventured out into the twilight by themselves, already feeling a little more adult than before. He had brought his dad’s lantern and the pair took their time looking for frogs along the long and winding path to the banks of Tippecanoe.

They had just made it to the shore when a nasty storm had whipped up around them and the sky lit up with brilliant flashes that left stars in their eyes, and it took them a second to realize it wasn’t the fireworks. The pair tripped over themselves to get back to camp through the downpour.

Joyce suddenly recalled every time her devout Christian grandmother had dragged her to church, despite her mother’s insistence that Joyce was half Jewish. She also remembered all the times she fell asleep in the pews during the lengthy sermons on hot summer Sundays and the times she rolled her eyes at being shamed into calling herself a sinner, when she knew perfectly well that she wasn’t.

But when the thunder cracked above her head, she began second guessing all of her so-called sins. It sounded as if it the night sky was being ripped open end-to-end by a malevolent god, eviscerating the heavens above and unleashing hell on Earth. Based on her track record at church, there was almost certainly a spot reserved in the fire and brimstone for little Joyce Horowitz.

By the time they got back to camp, the counsellors were insisting that they shelter in place as it was safer than trying to pack up and get back to the main camp in a storm. Joyce hid from the torrents of rain under a giant oak tree and got down on her knees, trying her best to remember the Lord’s Prayer, all the while taking his name in vain, and quietly sobbing she was too young to die. Jim pulled her into the camp pavilion then, comforting her, telling her that it would be okay and no matter what happened, he would protect her, but she couldn’t just stand under a tree during a storm… it wasn’t safe under there, dummy.

As the counsellors rounded up the other kids in the group, Joyce cried on Jim’s shoulder in a dark corner of the building, asking him if it was the end of the world. He wiped the tears away from her cheeks with a chuckle and told her it was just a bad thunderstorm. He asked if she knew how to tell if it was coming or going and she shook her head with fresh tears lining her big doe eyes and a stifled sob.

At the next flash of light, he started counting, working out the miles between the lightning and the clap of thunder. He did it over and over, just like his dad had taught him, to show her the storm was retreating and he held her hand until he was certain that she was calm again and sleep caught up to her.

Even though the rules for Camp Wawasee forbade co-ed sleeping, the counsellor’s gave up on it that night, letting their group mix in the open air shelter while the storm passed.

Joyce woke the next morning to a damp chill in the air, feeling an unusual weight on her chest. She rolled over to see that she was the only one awake in the pavilion at that early hour. Jim was passed out next to her, his arm draped over her, as if he’d been protecting her in his sleep. His blond hair rumpled and fell over his freckled face and he was snoring softly in her ear. Joyce looked at her best friend in the dewy morning and felt her heart flutter in her chest for the first time ever.

At first, she thought she might be sick but then she realized what it was, something her mom had told her she would feel when she met a cute boy she liked — Mrs. Horowitz had called it butterflies, but right then it felt as if Joyce had a whole herd of elephants running through her chest, trampling her young, tender heart into pulp. It was a thrilling new emotion for her to contemplate.

Joyce found Jim’s hand in the pale light, holding onto it tight before falling back asleep. She was still not quite sure what she was feeling and while she was a bit frightened by it all, she also knew that she never wanted it to end.

The second time she woke up to Hopper was in senior year, the morning after prom.

She had spent nearly two hours the night before getting ready for the big event, only to have Lonnie ditch her at the dance before the clock struck ten. He didn’t bother to tell her where he was going or even to say goodbye. When she asked around, someone finally told her he had left for an exclusive party out in the sticks and she had never felt more embarrassed in her life. She bawled her eyes out for the next hour in a bathroom stall by herself, before resigning to the fact that her night was over. She splashed her mascara streaked face with cold water, hitched her indigo-blue taffeta up around her knees and starting the long walk of shame home across the football field.

She only stopped short when she noticed a familiar figure by the bleachers at the edge of the parking lot, sitting on the hood of his brand new Pontiac GTO — a highly anticipated graduation present from his grandparents. He was wearing his blue jeans and Stormrider jean jacket over a white teeshirt and had a near empty bottle of malt liquor resting between his feet. He puffed away on a smoke, looking up at the stars.

It looked like Hop hadn’t even made an effort for prom, so why was he sitting out there, and all by himself? She suddenly felt horrible that she hadn’t even noticed he was missing from the dance until that very moment. She just assumed he would’ve gone with Chrissy Carpenter or some other dumb blonde in junior year and didn’t even bother looking for him.

Before he could notice her, she shrugged the shawl off her shoulders, throwing her head back, giving into the ultimate plans the universe had for her that night. With a deep breath, she marched over to where he sat on the hood of the steel blue coupe, calling out to him in the night.

Joyce Horowitz was half Jackie, half Marilyn, and a glamorous shade of melancholy as she stood in front of him asking for a cigarette; she looked like she could have stepped off the silver screen with her dress and perfectly coiffed hair. The movie-star appearance was in stark contrast to her puffy eyes and bright pink cheeks, still raw from her tears and where she’d scrubbed the makeup clean off her face.

Without hesitation, he told her that she looked pretty when she cried and she laughed her oldest friend off, thanking him for the unusual compliment.

It was the first time they had spoken in weeks, after Lonnie had torn Hop’s heart right from his chest in front of the whole class when he asked Joyce to prom. She would forever regret saying yes and how it forever changed her relationship with Hopper.

Sharing the last cigarette in his pack, they listened to the class of ’65 celebrate in the school’s gymnasium without them. Joyce told him how Lonnie left her standing in the middle of the dance floor soon after they arrived. How Lonnie had ruined the night she had carefully planned for months and how sorry she was that she was now ruining Hopper’s evening too.

He shrugged and told her that his night was actually just turning around and maybe in protest of bullshit traditions, they could have their own very exclusive dance party right there in the parking lot at Hawkins High — after all, he had a brand new 8-track deck to try out. To his surprise, she produced a small flask of rum that she had strapped to her garter and told him that he owed her a dance, poking him in the chest.

That warm summer night under the stars, two best friends danced to Otis Redding and laughed, and tried their best to forget about the dark shadow of uncertainty that loomed ahead; both unsure of the impending transition into adulthood they were so unprepared for.

Hopper reluctantly put on Stand By Me when Joyce finally convinced him to slowdance with her. She kicked off her high heels as they swayed clumsily to the beat, with her head on his chest, and the grass between her toes. They spoke gently of their mutual past, the world’s turbulent present and all the potentials the future held for them, together or apart.

Neither one could’ve predicted that within the coming weeks, he would be shipped off to a war that wasn’t his to fight and she would go back to the familiar despair and a small promise of a happily-ever-after with Lonnie. They didn’t bother thinking about it any further, because in that moment, all that mattered was the space between them.

Looking back, she wasn’t really sure who made the first move but she fondly recalled a slow burn first kiss and a sly pass at second base and that’s where it all got hazy on her. The one thing she vividly remembers was that no boy had ever made her feel that way before and she didn’t know how to play the hand of emotions she had just been dealt... She couldn’t let it go any further for fear that it would turn into something she wasn’t ready for with him, but she also didn’t want it to stop, and the butterflies in her stomach urged her on with every palpable flutter.

So, there they stayed in limbo, exploring the depths of his backseat, lips swollen and tingling when they finally came up for air.

She fell asleep first, closing her eyes for a brief moment while he fiddled with the stereo and found herself suddenly waking up to birds singing and the sun kissing the horizon, unsure of where she was exactly.

She was tucked in the back seat of the Pontiac wearing his Stormrider draped over her shoulders and he was curled up in the front seat snoring away, his mouth gaped open and the loudest sound she’d ever heard escaping him. She wanted to let him sleep, but after a minute she couldn’t help it and woke him up with her laughter. He opened an eye, squinting at her, asking what was so goddamn funny.

As Joyce recalled, waking up to his boorish snores that morning and her resulting giggle-fit was the last pure moment of her adolescence that she remembered clearly.

Everything kinda went downhill from there.

In 1970, Hopper had returned home to celebrate his last weekend as a free man with his old pals before getting married and making the leap to the big city and a new life. Hawkins was such a small town that he knew the chances of running into Joyce that weekend were greater than not. Still, the sight of her sitting by herself at the bar of the Roadhouse caught him off guard.

He had clearly missed Lonnie’s presence by a few minutes as evident by Joyce hiding her tears in the bottom of a beer bottle; another half empty bottle sitting next to her. She quickly tried to wipe the tell-tale signs off her face when she noticed him standing there, greeting him with a big smile, genuinely happy to see Hopper after five long years.

Over a drink, she told him about her little boy, Jonathan, and how Lonnie had reluctantly made her Mrs. Byers after she found herself pregnant just a quick year and a half after high school. She confessed it was still a bit of a turbulent relationship but she was trying her best to make it work for Jonathan’s sake.

Hopper skimmed over his two tours in Vietnam and but divulged it was how he had met his fiancee. She had been finishing up her nursing degree in psychiatry by volunteering on the front line when he became her patient for a short time. Hopper didn’t say much more and Joyce didn’t want to pry, not caring to hear anymore about his new lady love.

She was already certain she was very nice and blond and WASP-y.

Just his type. Nothing like her.

They had just ordered another pint when he asked her on a whim to join his bachelor party. Despite the looks of disapproval Benny and the rest of the gang shot them, she accepted without a lick of hesitation.

Before either of them realized what was happening, they were several beers deep and shamelessly flirting over a game of pool — Hopper bending her over the table, guiding her hands over the cue to perfect her eight-ball bank shot. Someone in the bar had put the Stones on the jukebox and instantly, it was the summer before senior year all over again.

It seemed like so much had changed between them over the years, yet instantly they had given into the moment — falling back into the rhythm, picking up the dance where they had left off.

His friends had long disappeared and the bar was closing down by the time Joyce and Hopper decided to move the party to his motel room down the street, both sober enough to know they were crossing a line but just a bit too far gone to care. They didn’t even wait to get through the door before they were on each other, leaving a trail of clothes to the bed, finally giving in to all the longing from their past that they had never fully explored.

In the neon pink afterglow that filtered into the room from the motel’s vacancy sign, she told him he should stay.

Don’t go to New York, don’t marry her. Be with me instead.

He remained quiet, not bothering to stop her from painting a beautiful picture of what their life would look like together. She promised she would leave Lonnie for him, that they could run away from Hawkins and be happy together.

Hop cupped her pretty little face in his hands then and kissed her with such a force that he took her breath away and when she fell asleep in his arms that night, Joyce had never felt as content as she did right then and there.

She woke up to him for the third time and he was already dressed, smoking at the open window. The vacancy sign no longer lit up their room, leaving her feeling cold in the pre-dawn darkness. She didn’t have words for him when he told her that he was sorry he had to go; that he loved Diane and was committed to her. Besides, he reminds Joyce, she had a kid to think about now and he couldn’t be the one to break up a family.

His words hit her like a freight train as he finished his smoke and he touched her cheek to say goodbye — it was good seeing her and he hoped she would keep in touch.

As he left her alone, naked and broken-hearted in the small motel room, Joyce cried silently into the pillows and felt the waves of shame come crashing down upon her. They caught her unexpectedly, keeping her underwater, taking her breath away once more.

When he moved back to Hawkins in 1979, after the heartache of losing his daughter and a tumultuous divorce that left him bitter and raw, Hopper fully expected to run into Joyce again — just not in the way it panned out.

It was early spring in 1980 when it happened, and it was Hop that had got the call over the radio that night; there was yet another domestic at the Byers’ residence and could anyone nearby stop in?

Lonnie had already left by the time Hopper pulled into the driveway and Joyce was a drunken mess sitting out on the porch swing alone, holding an icepack to her face. She told Hopper that she had caught Lonnie cheating for the umpteenth time and tried to call him on it over dinner, but not before he turned it on her and gave her a black eye. She had called the cops on her husband again, not realizing Jim Hopper would be the one to show up. She didn’t even know Hop was back in town.

He looked around her home as she poured herself another whisky and nursed a cigarette at the kitchen table. The remnants of an epic brawl surrounded them — books were knocked off shelves, a hole was punched in the wall and the contents of the coffee table were scattered across the carpet. The dining room light flickered just beyond the living room and he saw a brief but unmistakeable flash of a mirror covered in white powder on the table.

Lonnie Byers, you no good, son of a bitch...

It looked as if Lonnie and Joyce had ripped the house apart in their showdown and he suspected that it wasn’t the first time the Byers house had seen a battle of this proportion.

Hopper moved into the kitchen where she sat, staring off into the distance looking like a broken china doll, and he frowned when shattered glass crunched under his boot. He noticed she was barefoot and bleeding but clearly didn’t feel it or care.

A picture of two young boys on the refrigerator caught his eye; he barely recognized Jonathan, who was much older than the last picture he’d seen of him. The other little boy looked so much like Joyce at age eight, a small wistful smiled played at Hopper’s lips at the blurry memory of the little girl he once knew, hair cut short to fit in with the boys.

He asked her if they were alone in the house — she told him she had sent the boys to their friend’s earlier that afternoon for a sleepover.

He asked her if there was anyone that could come stay with her for the night — she shook her head, no.

He asked if her mother was still in town and could he take her to her house so she wouldn’t be alone — Joyce cried into her drink then, telling him that her mom had died seven years ago. Had he really been gone that long?

Despite his better judgement, Hopper decided in that moment to stay with her instead, telling dispatch that Lonnie was long gone and he was ending his patrol early to take Mrs. Byers’ statement.

When he came back from his truck, he poured himself a whisky too and resolved to tell her why he was back in town. They sat at the table for a long time, finishing off the bottle of Jameson between the two of them.

He allowed himself to cry when he spoke quietly about Sara’s struggle with cancer, her slow agonizing death and the painfully quick divorce with Diane that followed soon after. Joyce cried with him too and held his hand through the long silence that followed, but somehow she just couldn’t shake the strange feeling that she was sitting across from a complete stranger now. A man who had already lived an entire lifetime without her.

That was when he noticed the bruising along her forearm under the dim light at the kitchen table. A mottled green and blue imprint of fingers lined her wrist, already more than a week old and almost healed. He felt rage building up inside him. How long had that been going on?

He wasn’t mad at Lonnie then, he was mad at her. He told her point-blank that she needed to leave Lonnie; she was stupid to believe he would ever change at this point. She had her boys to think of now and she needed to be a better mother for them.

Hopper didn’t expect the reaction he got then, realizing as the words left his mouth that she was too far gone to be reasoned with. She bit back at Hopper and told him that all of this was his fault — reminding him that she had given him the chance to avoid this painful path they were both on and why didn’t he take it? She blamed him for both their lives going off track, twisting her knife deeper with every word.

Feeling vulnerable, but not wanting to admit she was kind of right, he didn’t hold back. He told her that she clearly had too much to drink and he thought it was pretty sad that she continued to let her fear, and anxieties, and Lonnie, control her this way.

Didn’t she think it was time to clean up? Did she even realize that she was this close to having her kids taken away?

The town rumour mill already had her name in rotation and Lonnie’s new reputation around Hawkins didn’t help matters. Hopper had been back in town just a few months but he already heard about the constant public throw-downs she had with Lonnie through the grapevine and it didn’t exactly paint Joyce in good light either.

She growled at him to get the fuck out of her house then but Hopper refused, instead making her a bed on the couch in the middle of the mess her and Lonnie had made.

She followed him around the living room, telling him that she hated him over and over and asking why he wouldn’t just leave her alone.

He told her he wasn’t going to leave until he was certain she wouldn’t drink herself to death or do something equally stupid or permanent. He assured her that the feelings were mutual and not to worry, she wouldn’t see him ever again after this little outburst.

She laughed in his face, but found herself on the couch anyway, too emotionally drained to fight back anymore.

Hopper pulled a bucket out from under the sink and placed it by her head, along with a glass of water, unceremoniously tucking her in. As he watched her sleep in the darkness of the living room, he allowed himself to feel sad and empty for the both of them. He wondered how the beautiful young woman he’d once known allowed herself to hit rock bottom this hard.

He wondered how he had done the same.

When the sun had started to peek over through the windows and Hopper was convinced Joyce would be waking up to a nasty hangover and nothing more, he snuck out the front door, silently wishing her all the best and saying a prayer that she’d eventually screw her head on straight. She needed to stop following her husband down his dark path; she deserved so much more than anything that selfish prick Lonnie Byers could give her.

The fourth time Joyce ever woke up to the sight of Jim Hopper, she didn’t give him a hint that she was awake as she watched him leave her house between the shadow-veil of her lashes. She was still a bit drunk and too angry to say anything more to him.

He clearly didn’t know the first thing about her if he didn’t think she would walk to the ends of the Earth and back for Jonathan and Will.

As she watched him walk out her door into the harsh light of day, she really didn’t care if she ever saw Jim Hopper again, but she’d be damned if she didn’t let his words fuel her fire, motivating her to make a much-needed change for her and her boys.

In the days that followed, Joyce finally worked up the courage to kick Lonnie out for good.

When she woke up next to him the last time, it was the morning after Eleven had closed the gate, Will had been saved (again) and sweet, naive Bob Newby had died a horrific death right in front of her.

Hopper had offered to spend the night by her side to make sure she was okay. She refused him at first, wanting to just carry on like normal, trying her best to bottle it up already. He wouldn’t allow it, reminding her gently that he’d seen her cry many times before and there was nothing to be ashamed of. They were old friends after all and he’d seen her worst.

Joyce reluctantly allowed him to look after her when she opened her refrigerator door to a very cold, very dead demodog and admitted she was starting to feel a little crazy again. Looking at the monster’s corpse on her kitchen floor, Hop reasoned it might be okay if he left El for just one night to help look after Will with Jonathan at the Byers’ house. It just seemed an easier solution to get Joyce out of her house to allow her some peace and quiet to properly grieve.

He took her back to his cabin and they spent the rest of the night in silence, save for her tears, which came in waves; soft and quiet sniffles ebbing into gut wrenching, wracking sobs. When she couldn’t cry anymore, she would fall asleep on his lap for a few minutes at a time, only to wake up in a panic, clutching at him to hold her tighter until the swells of anxiety passed.

Sometime towards daybreak, he ran her a bath hoping it would soothe her. He sat on the floor outside the bathroom while she got cleaned up, and as he listened to her stifle her tears in a washcloth, he wished he could do something more, anything to ease her pain.

She had towelled off and stumbled back to the couch when she finally fell asleep watching him stoke the fire in the stove. This time she slept for longer than an hour, drifting off to the birdsong that announced the arrival of a new day. The hardest part is over now, he thought, she made it through the first night.

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Hopper reading a book on the first world war; sitting on the floor next to her, his head leaning against the couch. He put the book aside, hearing her stir and watched her cautiously as she opened her bleary eyes to him. He gave her a sad smile and brushed her bangs out of her eyes, silently letting her know it would be okay, he was still there and begging her not to blame herself for what had happened; not to feel guilty for letting Bob stay behind to save them.

She couldn’t help it though and had to close her eyes again, unable to look at Hop.

Yes, she felt a deep sense of guilt that Bob had died because of her, but she felt even worse that a small part of her was actually thankful it was Bob who had sacrificed his life for her and her family, and not the man that she truly loved staring back at her now.

If there was ever one constant between Joyce and Hopper, it was that they just couldn’t ever seem to get the timing right. Yet, in early summer of 1985, twenty long years after they had started their little waltz, they finally seemed to fall in step with one another.

He had shown up on her doorstep the night before, after his shift ended, with a case of beer and a movie. The kids were all sleeping over at the Sinclair’s, Jonathan and Nancy were spending the night at a friend’s and the adults finally had the night to themselves. Joyce put some Jiffypop on the stovetop and they shared a joint Hopper had confiscated from Jonathan the previous week. Taking turns passing the joint and shaking the popcorn, they allowed themselves to laugh and relax for the first time in a very long while.

The movie was some Meryl Streep sob-fest that they weren’t really paying attention to when halfway through, Hopper’s hand had casually found hers in her lap.

She was just welcoming back the delicious feeling of butterflies in her stomach, mindlessly tracing slow circles inside his palm with her thumb, when he decided to make his move on her. His lips first pressing against the crown of her head, he tested the waters with a familiar act. She looked up at him with a smile and bit her lip, knowing exactly what he was up to and letting him know she was ready for him now.

This was his invitation.

She let him take her that night, right there on the couch, in the soft flickering glow of the television screen. And then again, up against the wall in the hallway, before they finally moved to her bed, making love long after the credits had rolled on the video tape.

Yes, Joyce could count on one hand how many times she’d woken up next to Jim Hopper but this… this was the first time without any weird negative energy attached to it.

Nope, there was no bad mojo that came with opening her eyes to him this morning. No fear enveloping her. No uncertainty. No shame. No anger or guilt.

And there were definitely no tears.

In fact, Joyce had never felt more safe, more at peace; she had never felt more loved and in love.

She kissed his forehead as he buried his face into her chest, his breath warm against her as he grunted his disapproval of the early morning hour. They had the whole morning to wake up to each other now and she wanted to get a head start enjoying it.

“Hey,” she whispered to Hop as he opened up his eyes to her, seeing her in the new morning light. “It’s time to wake up.”

More Jopper love + backstory @timeinabottle...

#stranger things #jopper #fanfiction #joyce byers #jim hopper #wake up #stranger things fanfiction #fanfic #joyce x hopper #joyce byers x jim hopper #my first jopper fic #aw bless

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andcontemplation · 7 years ago

Text

Wake Up -- a Stranger Things Oneshot {Joyce x Hopper}

Wordcount: ~5,400 Notes: This story is entirely exposition and an experiment in using as little dialogue as possible, a personal writing exercise I do when I explore fic in a new fandom. Not all my work is like this, but it gets me warmed up :)

TW: brief mentions of sex, death, domestic violence, drug use, and Lonnie Byers. Also, gratuitous references to David Harbour’s headcannon and other Winona projects (hello, Mrs. Flax) - rated T for teen. Listen to the mixtape on Spotify here [X]

Read on A03 here [X]

“Wake Up” by WinonaIsMySpiritAnimal

Joyce Byers could count on one hand how many times she’d woken up next to Jim Hopper in her life.

The first time it happened was at summer camp in 1958, when she was still just ‘little Joycie Horowitz’ from Maple Street.

Joyce suddenly recalled every time her born-again Christian grandmother had dragged her to church, despite her mother’s insistence that Joyce was half Jewish. She also remembered all the times she fell asleep in the pews during the lengthy sermons on hot summer Sundays and the times she rolled her eyes at being shamed into calling herself a sinner, when she knew perfectly well that she wasn’t.

Even though the rules for Camp Wawasee forbade co-ed sleeping, the counsellor’s gave up on it that night, letting their group mix in the open air shelter while the storm passed.

Joyce woke the next morning to a damp chill in the air, feeling an unusual weight on her chest. She rolled over to see that she was the only one awake in the pavilion at that early hour. Jim was passed out next to her, his arm was draped over her, as if he’d been protecting her in his sleep. His blond hair rumpled and fell over his freckled face and he was snoring softly in her ear. Joyce looked at her best friend in the dewy morning and felt her heart flutter in her chest for the first time ever.

The second time she woke up to Hopper was in senior year, the morning after prom.

Without hesitation, he told her that she looked pretty when she cried and she laughed her oldest friend off, thanking him for the unusual compliment.

It was the first time they had spoken in weeks, after Lonnie had torn Hop’s heart right from his chest in front of the whole class when he asked Joyce to prom. She knew would forever regret saying yes and how it forever changed her relationship with Hopper.

So, there they stayed in limbo, exploring the depths of his backseat, lips swollen and tingling when they finally came up for air.

As Joyce recalled, waking up to his boorish snores that morning and her resulting giggle-fit was the last pure moment of her adolescence that she remembered clearly.

Everything kinda went downhill from there.

In 1971, Hopper had returned home to celebrate his last weekend as a free man with his old pals before getting married and making the leap to the big city and a new life. Hawkins was such a small town that he knew the chances of running into Joyce that weekend were greater than not. Still, the sight of her sitting by herself at the bar of the Roadhouse caught him off guard.

She was already certain she was very nice and blond and WASP-y.

Just his type. Nothing like her.

It seemed like so much had changed between them over the years, yet instantly they had given into the moment — falling back into the rhythm, picking up the dance where they had left off.

They didn’t even wait to get through the door before they were on each other, leaving a trail of clothes to the bed, finally giving in to all the longing from their past that they had never fully explored.

In the neon pink afterglow that filtered into the room from the motel’s vacancy sign, she told him he should stay.

Don’t go to New York, don’t marry her. Be with me instead.

She woke up to him for the third time and he was already dressed, smoking at the open window. The vacancy sign no longer lit up their room, leaving her feeling cold in the pre-dawn darkness.

She didn’t have words for him when he told her that he was sorry he had to go; that he loved Diane and was committed to her. Besides, he reminds Joyce, she had a kid to think about now and he couldn’t be the one to break up a family.