keeptheselights | (no subject)

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hopper

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It takes her so long to get ready that she might as well be a teenager again. She dresses carefully, layering the lingerie that she'd cricled back to buy with a black velvet dress that's fitted across her chest and flared slightly around her thighs. She puts on heels and agonises, for a long moment, about which lipstick to choose before she goes for red.

She wants to be as far away from how worn down she's felt for a long time as she can. She wants to feel like she did when she was young, and full of promise.

Hopper wanted to pick her up but, because Will hasn't headed out yet, she'd said she'd meet him at the restaurant. She arrives early, standing outside with her arms folded against the cold, a cigarette between two fingers.

She's so nervous she actually laughs at herself.
Jesus.

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Hopper had spent an embarrassingly long time trying to figure out what to wear tonight. He'd closed and then locked his bedroom door, not wanting to deal with Beverly or Eleven laughing at him, separately and together, then he had rotated through several shirts and too many pairs of pants before settling.

Now he's dressed in dark jeans -- casual, but still put together, the salesman had told him -- and a button down shirt that's patterned, similar in colour scheme to the one he'd worn to Enzo's, but a little less loud. The pattern is much more subtle, smaller, and he feels pretty good in it.

When he arrives, he sees Joyce outside and parks the truck as quickly as he can, then jumps out to join her.

"Am I late?" he asks.

"No," says Joyce, taking another quick drag on her cigarette and offering it to Hopper instead of just stubbing it straight out. "I think I'm early." She looks him up and down; this slimmer version of him is taking some getting used to, but there's no denying that he looks great. She bites her lip.

"You made an effort."

Hopper takes the cigarette and takes a long drag from it, blowing smoke out into the air as he smiles.

"I tried last time, too," he says. "But this shirt is definitely better."

Even though he isn't see the entire dress under her coat, he can already tell she looks amazing. He smiles again, lips pressed together, then takes another drag, finishing the last of the cigarette. "We should go inside. I want to see the rest of your dress."

"I remember that shirt," says Joyce and she reaches out, smoothing the fabric against his chest, down over his belly before she takes her hand away. "This one's definitely better." She blushes faintly at the look of his face. "Well. I don't blame you. It's a great dress."

"Hey, I liked that shirt," Hopper protests, but he's smiling, and he flicks the cigarette into the sand ashtray sitting a distance from the door. Then he takes Joyce's hand and leads her into the restaurant.

He'd made a reservation, properly, like he knows he ought to. Joyce deserves that much. The restaurant isn't Enzo's, it's better than that, and the table they've given him is one of the nicer ones, a booth, a little private, but with a nice view out the window.

"It was a bit too Miami Vice for my liking," she says, but she's smiling too, as he takes her hand and leads her. Her stomach flutters, and she's going to have to have words with herself if she's not going ot end up acting like a goddamned teenager.

The restaurant is way nicer than Enzo's, and Joyce lets out a soft sound when she sees the table. "This place is fancy," she says, as she shrugs out of her coat, revealling more black velvet, cut low across her chest.

Hopper does the right thing, he takes her coat and hangs it on one of the offered hooked, then gestures for her slide into the booth first. He's never really been much of a gentleman, but he knows damn well he wants to try with Joyce.

Over the past five years, he's been given a lot of second chances, and he thinks he's done okay with them. This isn't the first one he's going to screw up.

"That is a nice dress," he says, looking at her with clear appreciation. "I mean... you look great."

Joyce slides into the booth, one hand on her skirt to make sure that it doesn't ride too high up her thigh as she shuffles across the leather seat. She wants to do this right, and that doesn't include accidentally flashing half of a really nice restaurant.

The compliment makes her blush a little, largely because, looking in his face, she can see how much he means it.

"I was hoping you'd like it," she says. "And I might have circled back to that other store." She picks up a menu, pretends to be really interested in it. "Maybe."

"Are you trying to make it so we have to skip dinner?" Hopper asks, also pretending to be interested in the menu. His eyes skip over the wines on offer, but then he looks away, back to the food. Doing this right includes not drinking, even if it's what he would have done once. Even if wine on a date is standard.

Joyce can still have some, but he's come too far to ruin his sobriety now.

"Absolutely not," says Joyce, glancing at him over the top of her menu, the corner of her mouth catching in a smirk. "Just, you know. Giving you something to think about." It has the side-effect of her making her own face warmer, too. She flips the dark wing of her hair back out of her eyes.

"Besides lasagna?" he asks. That day the memories had crashed over him had felt a little like living through a tidal wave, but now he's grateful for it. He remembers those moments, the way Joyce had looked at him when he'd started talking about food instead of her.

"Don't need to worry about that," he continues. "I've been well fed here."

"You'd better not be thinking about lasagne right now, James Hopper," says Joyce, doing her best stern voice and shooting him a look. Under the table, she extends one leg, slipping it between his feet and nudging him. "And I can tell. I know I've said this already, Jim, but it definitely bears repeating: you look good." She smiles. "Really good."

"I mean, it's right here on the menu," Hopper protests. "I'm not drinking anymore, but someone told me once it pairs with chee-ante very well."

At the nudge of her foot between his own, Hopper's smile grows, but they're interrupted by the waiter arriving at their table. He gestures for Joyce to go ahead and order first.

"Oh, did they?" says Joyce, idly tracing the toe of her shoe against the inside of his leg as she scans the menu. When the waiter comes, she orders a salad, a pasta dish with clams and a soda.

"Glad to see we're both having something with garlic, anyway," says Joyce.

"Why? Are you planning on kissing me later?" he asks after ordering that lasagna he's been craving, as well as a glass of water, and he hands the menus back to the waiter. The waiter is doing his best not to listen to their conversation and Hopper thinks he'll give the man a good tip for that alone.

"That sounds a little like trying to take advantage of me," he says.

"Oh, I'm absolutely trying to take advantage of you," says Joyce, mildly, leaning her chin into her hand and giving him a little smile. She reaches out her free hand to him across the table, wiggling her fingers. "Is that a problem?"

Hopper reaches out and catches Joyce's fingers, then leans forward to he can lift her hand to his lips. He presses them against her knuckles, her skin warm under his mouth, then he smiles, tight-lipped and genuine.

"No," he says. "No, ma'am, no problem at all."

He might earn a kick for calling her ma'am, but he thinks he's okay with that.

It's hot, definitely, but it's somehow also deeply romantic, and Joyce feels her core go warm and liquid as she looks at him, as she sinks into the warm brush of his lips against her knuckles. She doesn't try to take her hand back.

"Well, good," she says. "Might as well start as we mean to go on."

Hopper doesn't know quite what he expected. He'd built it up for so long back in Hawkins, this date, and now that it's here, he's tried to do away with all the expectations. He's just happy to be here.

And if this is how they mean to go on, he's happy with that, too.

The dinner is delicious and he enjoys it, but more than that, he enjoys the conversation and he likes how easily it comes even without drinking. Once they're done, once he's paid, Hopper grins at Joyce across the table.

"And now what?" he asks.

"And now," says Joyce, getting up from the table and starting to put her coat back on. "I was thinking that you could walk me home, and I could make you a coffee?" she says, one eyebrow raised. "Will's staying over with El, after all, so we've got the place to ourselves."

"I'll probably drive you home instead of walking," Hopper says, rising to help her with her coat. "But otherwise, yeah, I like the sound of that plan."

Chances are high he's getting lucky tonight. He's pretty sure they've both waited long enough, they both want it, but even if it didn't happen right now, he'd be happy with having finally had their date.

"Semantics," she says, with a fond smile, fastening her coat and then slipping her hand into his. "Don't really care how you get me there, though. Just as long as you come in."

"As long as I'm invited, you won't get rid of me," Hopper promises as he leads Joyce out of the restaurant and down the block to where he had parked earlier. The truck isn't anything special, but it gets him where he needs to go, and it feels better than the unmarked department car he drives when he's on duty.

He hopes the passenger side door for Joyce before going around and getting in his side, then pulling out from the spot.

"It's gonna be sort of weird, going back to one of the apartments," he admits.

"I'll get you a key cut," says Joyce, and she's only half joking. She settles into the truck, her head turned so that she can watch him as he drives. "I guess you were in one when you first got here?" she asks. "Will and I got lucky. It's two bedrooms, and we've got it feeling like home already. I guess I'd already left Hawkins, so...it doesn't feel too different to moving to California, honestly."

It feels odd, making small talk like this when she's so aware of him close.

That makes Hopper's chest warm and tight, good feelings honestly, and he grins as he drives, mostly to himself.

"Yeah, I was in a two bedroom on my own for awhile," he says. "Didn't really know what to do with the extra space, but I guess this place had plans for me. It worked out pretty well once Bev started needing a place to stay."

They'd lived there for years. Made it into a proper home. But once Eleven arrived, too, they'd had to move into a bigger space.

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