Joyce Byers

No matter how busy they both are -- with school, with work -- they still try to make time for each other. They hang out, when she stays over at the house or he swings by the apartment, sure, and they meet for lunch or for coffee but, once a month or so, they go out on a proper date. They might both be too old for dating, both been around those houses one too many times, but Joyce doesn't care. It's her favourite thing.

And she's been planning this one for a while.

Honestly, she much prefers how teenagers dress now -- jeans and t-shirts, cute tops -- but she hopes that the outfit that she's picked out will strike a nostalgic note for Jim. She smoothes her pencil skirt over her stockings, straightens her sweater and waits for the familiar sound of the key she'd given him in the apartment door.

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.