#i definetely couldn't have done a drawing like this same time last year

[burstfoot]

It's hard to celebrate when you know any one could be your last.. Inktober (2024) Day 6! Happy Birthday Joyce!!

[writingjoycebyers]

Twice in her life — or: the last days he saw her smile

(Joyce Byers x Jim Hopper - observations of a friendship — a one shot)

warnings: a bit angsty, mentions sex (not explicit)

Reblogs, comments and feedback make me really happy. Let me know if you like it or what else you'd like to read. No one asked for this. My brain just came up with it. ✨❤️👀 There's a little bonus at the end and I gotta say it's a little off canon maybe. Have fun✨❤️

Enjoy the read...

Joyce Byers had been left twice in her life.

One might think it's a story about Lonnie. But no, it's most definetely not. Lonnie doesn't count. Lonnie is a side character. She left Lonnie, kicked him out all by herself after all those years that would have been wasted if they hadn't been for her boys. Her boys were her gift, and the only thing she'd ever thank Lonnie for, to some degree. He helped create them, but she had been the one to form them. She was the one she should thank for, really.

No, Joyce Byers had been left twice in her life, and it had been much more subtle events than her large fights with Lonnie, making her the main topic of the gossip all those midaged ladies were spreading at the grocery store, the doctor's office, the elementary school. You heard it? someone called the police to Joyce Byers house.

Joyce Byers had been left twice in her life, and nobody had really noticed, but her.

The first time, she had just turned nineteen. It was a rather warm day in September, and life in Hawkins couldn't be easier. High-school was done, the heat of the summer was still lingering in the air, and her dark hair was still damp from swimming in the lake as she rode around Hawkins with her best friend, Jim Hopper. Or... Was he her best friend still? She sometimes couldn't tell, couldn't put a label on it, when he was kissing her senseless in the back of his dad's old truck, parked in the dark at Lover's Lake, parked in the shade of a large oak tree — so that although it was the middle of the night, and no one would come there anyways, they'd have a bit of privacy, a roof of leaves covering their clumsy attempt on passing first base. Friends didn't do that, right?

They rode along the streets of Hawkins, and Joyce had her legs propped up on the dashboard of his car, puffing away on one of Hop‘s cigarettes. They tasted awful, but she did not mind as long as it were his. She felt connected to him through that cig. Tonight was the night. Tonight, she‘d tell him - tell him that she wanted to be more than friends, more than friends who make out occasionally. She wanted to finally look into his eyes and work up the courage to say Jim, I like you a little more than expected.

She looked at him from the side, his hands holding the steering wheel, his gaze fixed on the road as day turned into night with a wonderfully orange sky. Tonight was the night she‘d say it. Jim, you make my fucking heart race.

Jim looked beautiful to her, peaceful and innocent, like he didn‘t know that outside Hawkins there was a whole world — both good and bad — that was waiting for them and looming like a dark shadow at the same time. For him, this dark shadow could mean draft cards, his ticket off to fight a war he himself hadn‘t started, a conflict neither him nor Joyce would ever support or understand. She knew it could be his duty to leave one day, but she could still breathe every day his number didn‘t come up. As long as Hopper didn‘t have to take the trip, she wouldn‘t have to take hers either: Her trip down the road of loneliness, facing the fact that she couldn‘t afford college, being left behind with the mess she had to call her parents. She knew he wasn‘t all that innocent though, stealing booze from his dad‘s wine cellar, sharing the bottle with her shamelessly on a friday night. She knew he wasn‘t all that innocent when he pressed his body into hers, parked under that old oak tree, and she could feel his need and want press against her while he silently accepted her wish to explore second base, but not enter the third one just yet. He kissed her, and told her that it didn‘t matter how far he had gone with other girls - that all that mattered was her needs. That specific night under the oak tree though, Joyce had realised that the tingling feeling in her belly was growing more and more, and that she wouldn‘t be able to hold back for much longer. I‘ve never done it, Jim. Her whispers had been low and husky, and he had caressed her cheek as she had thought of the moment she had once caught him and Chrissy Carpenter in the back of the blonde cheerleader's car. I know, Joycie, don‘t worry about that, one day we‘ll take it slow, just give me a sign. Tonight would be the night she‘d give him said sign, she thought, as he took a turn into the road she lived on.

He pulled up into her driveway, slowing down to park in front of her house. Tonight was the night.Tonight he‘d tell her - tell her that she meant the world to him, but that he‘d have to go, and that he‘d understand if she didn‘t wait. Tell her that he‘d try to write, no matter what. Joyce, I should have told you sooner. He had kept it to himself for weeks, had just not found the words to break the news to her. The letter had been in his mailbox one rainy Monday afternoon, telling him to fight a war he neither could nor wanted to understand. A war that would send him to hell and leave Joyce in the small little bubble of a heaven that was Hawkins, Indiana. He was a coward, he couldn‘t tell her, not when they were riding in his car, or munching on a burger at the diner, not whilst smoking on her windowsill and especially not whilst kissing her in the dark, parked in the shadow of the old oak tree. He just couldn‘t, but tonight was the night. Joycie, I gotta go to Vietnam. My train leaves tomorrow.

Jim pulled the keys, and she looked at him. It was a ritual already: They’d spend their day at the lake, he‘d drive her home long after dark and as her parents were barely ever home anyways, he‘d follow her up to her room under the roof and they‘d sit by the window, smoking and kissing and exchanging little secrets. Jim loved Joyce, and Joyce loved Jim. They both knew it, they just never said a word.

The two friends, him, tall and blonde and her, small and brunette, took their usual spot by her large window. He was just about to light the last smoke from his pack, when Joyce reached for the cigarette, her hand grazing his as she took it, putting it aside. She kissed Jim with such force than that he nearly lost track of time and place. Was this still Hawkins, Indiana?

They kissed, and kissed ... and kissed some more, before she finally pulled away, taking his large hand into her small one. Their fingers were intertwined, her thumb drawing small circles to the side of his hand. Dark doe eyes met blue ones, and she breathed in once more before saying it: “Jim, I think... you‘re my best friend. But I also think... I‘m in love with you.“

Her words came out all in one breath, more a sighed whisper than a real sentence, but she had said them. Her pulse was pounding as she waited for him to respond. She had practiced the worst case already: That‘s okay, Jim, you do not have to love me back. I just hope we can stay friends?

But then his hand found her cheek and he pulled her closer, whispering an I love you, Joycie, right onto her lips as he found hers, grazing them softly. It felt like a gentle hello to Joyce, like this was the start of something new, although she had kissed him a hundred times before. She couldn‘t know it was a goodbye. Quickly, their kisses became more passionate, hungry and loving. Does he love me, she wants to know, how can she know if he loves her so?

That night, Jim Hopper made love to Joyce Horowitz — sweet, gentle and slow love. He touched her in a way he had never touched anyone before, softer, more tender - out of love and out guilt, his conscience forcing him to treat her even better, to worship her body to balance out the fact that he couldn‘t be true to her. His feelings for her were so strong that they held him back from breaking her heart - although it would in the end have to be broken, if he wanted that or not.

They shared that last cigarette afterwards, the one that had been waiting on the window sill. They‘d not share another one until almost twenty years later.

That night, Joyce Horowitz made love to Jim Hopper — sweet, gentle and slow love. She touched him in a way she had never touched anyone before, soft, tender and a bit shy as she explored his body and her own, further discovering the hot, tingling feeling in her lower belly as their clothes sprawled out on the floor and their bodies intertwined under her comforter. It‘s in his kiss.

Joyce fell asleep in Jim‘s arms, breathing softly as she felt safe and secure of the fact that he loved her too, that they were more than friends and that this was just the start.

Jim watched Joyce fall asleep in his arms, pulling her as close as he could once more. He wanted to remember this moment forever, capture every little detail for the nights to come in which he‘d sleep somewhere in the jungle of the war, with so many miles separating him from the girl he loved. He studied her face in the dim light of her room before falling asleep for a few hours himself.

When Joyce woke up the next morning, she already began to smile with her eyes still closed. It was a rainy Monday morning, she could hear the raindrops fall against her window in a steady rythm - It was soothing and she was ready to cuddle up again. She turned around, reaching for Jim, only to find the bed empty. She sat up, confused and still half asleep, stumbling across a note.

- Joy, I should have told you sooner. I won‘t forget our summer. My train leaves today, I‘m gone into training for Nam. Please don‘t come looking for me at the station. I’ll be gone already. I‘ll write. Jim. -

Joyce Horowitz had been left for the first time in her life, broken and flustered, unable to move or cry for hours and hours. She sat in bed, the note in her hands, and she cursed Jim, the world, the war and love - and even herself for falling for him. She didn‘t believe there was a feeling on earth that could be more horrible. Joyce Horowitz had been left for the first time in her life, and she had no clue there would be a second one.

......... 20 years later.........

Joyce looked at Jim one more time as he stood next to the machine, tears in their eyes, both his and hers.

I love you.

I love you.

Leaning to the side, she reached for the keys once more. She stopped breathing as she turned them, held her breath as lights blended her vision, time stopping around her and then... he was gone.

Joyce Byers had been left twice in her life.

_____________________________________

Thanks for reading everyone. I appreciate every kind of constructive feedback. Feel free to send asks or messages if you wanna talk about this little piece here, or if you have any other Joyce asks or prompts!

Bonus: a little mood board I made

Sources: there's a reference to the shoop shoop song. Pics are all from pinterest if anyone Needs the sources. I don't own anything related to ST or Winona Ryder. Credit goes to the respective owners and creates, I just wrote this little fic for fun.