The trip into Hawkins was a short one, as usual, despite the dark trek back through the woods. Pulling up, Hopper saw Joyce sitting on a bench outside Melvald's General. The engine of his Chevy rumbled and sputtered into silence in an instant. With a clanking of metal and a decidedly loud sigh, the Chief stepped out and down on to the sidewalk, greeting Joyce with a rather awkward hug-turned-handshake.
"Right on time." She smirked, glancing down at her wrist-watch, the cigarette in her mouth absentmindedly burning away. He was ten minutes late.
"Yeah, well." He sounded strange. Not angry, but - hm - gruff. Then again, he always did. He was Hopper.
"If it hadn't been for some teenagers invading my cabin-"
Whoops.
He cut himself off abruptly. Not only did the idea of talking about his daughter with Joyce of all people slightly terrify him, the fact that he'd now undoubtedly cornered himself into a discussion about she and Mike's relationship was the only thing he found scarier and more intimidating than the idea that the duo had a relationship in the first place. Sometimes he found it difficult to even comprehend how the two of them could exist the way they did. They were so inseparable, it was cringeworthy.
"A single teenager, that is." He chuckled offhandedly. There was no way that worked.
"A single teenager? Oh - well, a second ago I coulda' sworn you mentioned another one."
He looked at her quizzically. What were these mind games? He didn't say anything. This subject is strictly one to be avoided.
"Pretty sure ya' did, Hop. Mike, right?"
What? He hadn't said shit. Had he?
Joyce sighed a happy sigh, the smile on her face slightly too giddy to come across as completely real.
"Oh, Hop, the wonders of teenage love." She threw her hands up into the air in a dramatic manner as she spoke, the tone and emotion in her voice decidedly overly-enthusiastic.
"Alright, alright. Gimme' a break."
She chuckled again, inhaling deeply into the loose hanging paper-wrapped mound of tobacco hanging from between her lips, a slightly overly pleased sigh following shortly thereafter. Once again, she'd won the ever so important battle that was psychological warfare, Hopper style.
Hopper sighed, placing a palm atop his balding head. He'd left his hat at the pleasure dome- ahem, cabin. He spoke up, the gruff-ness in his voice pushing forth, kept only at bay by his continually quiet tone of voice. Despite the fact that it was dark out - and December - the teenagers invading his cabin was not something that needed to be public knowledge.
His lips creased slightly as he spoke, his words only slipping out for moments before finding their way into Joyce's ears.
"In the truck. I gotta ask you somethin'." Not a hint of weakness poked through the silver-toned, impenetrable glass that Hopper held over his mind. Despite how easy it was to extract information from him, he did a hell of a job of making it seem like he didn't care. Stern as ever, he turned around and waltzed over to his truck.
Keeping his stern and overconfident facade up - despite his nervousness, - he threw himself into the cabin with slightly too much force. He came close to knocking Joyce over on the opposing side as she clambered in. Persevering, Joyce's small figure struggled for a moment before she hoisted herself into the cabin with a clunk and a clank, followed by heavy breathing. Once again, he spoke in a distinctly low tone.
"El and you-know-who were at the cabin, alright? You win."
Her tone of voice significantly changed as the drained look on her face formed into yet another loose smile;
"Oooh, but what were they doin' Hop? Gimme' the details! C'mon!"
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Just as Hop was Mike's Grim Reaper, Hop's Grim Reaper was Joyce. Always had been, probably always would be.
"Look, alright, she - El, - she said they'd - you know? They'd done it. Together."
He felt like a teenager again. The word sex wasn't particularly taboo, but it was sure as shit not something he was keen on saying out-loud, especially not around Joyce.
She had that look on her face. He knew she wanted him to elaborate. This was evil, literal evil.
"They had sex, alright? Christ."
"Is that it? They're what, fourteen, fifteen? It's not that weir-"
"It is, okay? It is." He looked bothered, and unreasonably so at that. More so than he usually looked, which was certainly not a good start.
Joyce wrapped her left hand around Hopper's forearm, sighing quietly.
"I'll-"
"No."
Ouch. She squinted for a moment, clearly unrelenting.
"Listen to me, Hop. I'll talk to them. I don't wanna imagine what you put them through." She paused for a moment, opting to remain silent.
She glanced up at Hopper, counting silently the rough, coarse hairs running over his chin and up through his cheeks. He looked defeated. As sorry as she felt for him, she absolutely adored juicy details and couldn't wait to talk to the famous couple that had caused the conundrum in the first place.
Their arms remained wrapped around each other as Hopper stormed out, the cold winter breeze yelling through the cabin for a few seconds before quickly being silenced as the door found it fit to slam shut once more. Mike looked down at El, wincing in parallel to her as the door found it so apt to close itself in the manner presented.
He leaned back into the sofa, holding El steadily in his embrace. Arms still wrapped around one another, her head still to his shoulder, all he could do was think. There was nothing to be said. Well, there was, of course, but he wasn't planning on talking anytime soon. El sniffled again, wiping her tear-stained face gently, leaving the reddening across it to gradually subside. Mike felt really, really awful. As he should, of course. He leaned down, planting a kiss atop her head, exhaling gently. Nuzzling herself under his chin, she whispered quietly.
"Music."
Mike's frown turned into just a hint of a smirk. The word 'music' for El meant two very particular songs.
El spoke up again, her voice persistent but slightly louder.
"Don't want to move."
Mike tried to shift from under her - as he'd assumed she was giving him 'orders' - but was met with fierce contempt.
"Comfy."
She watched with a smile as Mike rolled his eyes, sighing quietly.
"Why don't we stay like this, then?"
El spoke softly and simply once again, the smile on her face gradually widening.
"Music."
"Let's just - here, gimme' your hand."
Mike moved her hands from around his waist, wrapping them around his neck and shoulders. In yet another swift motion, he also wrapped a single arm under her waist, the other on the opposing side of her legs, under her knees. It was panic inducing in its own sense, regardless of the duo's physical stability. In an instant, he stood up - taking her in his stride. He wasn't gonna lie, this was the most romantic yet most terrifying thing he'd ever done.
In typical Mike Wheeler fashion, the moment he stood up was the moment his body found as good as any to stumble forwards, causing the both of them to shriek in harmony. Bumbling towards the record player in the corner, all El could find fit to do was giggle. How did he do this? Despite all that had just occurred, he could still make her laugh. His powers were never-ending.
Having stumbled over to the table on which the record player sat semi-successfully, Mike tried nudging open a box on the floor with his right foot, yelping as he kicked slightly harder than he had initially intended. The box popped open with minimal resistance, showing little regard for Mike's pain. Three particular records sat at the front.
The first was still reasonably fresh, the artwork gleaming just as it should. El had begged Hop for this, having previously watched Back To The Future with the group. It was, of course, The Power Of Love, by Huey Lewis & The News.
The second, which Mike found rather odd but opted not to judge, was Brothers In Arms by Dire Straits. Again, this was still relatively new looking. He couldn't figure out whether El had taken a particular liking for rock music or if the Chief had also gone and got himself a present whilst buying various other items for El.
And lastly, but arguably most importantly, was El's favourite record of all. It was the one that made the two smile the most, the one that started and reminded them of their fondest memories, their happiest moments, containing their favourite song. It was none other than The Police's Synchronicity. Mike had spent nearly a month's worth of his allowance to be able to purchase it. It was, after all, the perfect gift. The cover art alone made him slightly more giddy than he'd care to admit.
At once, the sleeve floated upwards and on to the table that the record player lay atop. Mike didn't even have to say a word.
The vinyl itself slipped out of the sleeve quickly, and Mike immediately noticed that the second side was considerably more worn out than the first - and in particular, only a small section of the second side.
Oh, wait. Right.
He glanced down at the track list on the sleeve which had since been turned over by El's various telekinesis shenanigans. He read over it for a brief second, a warm smile flickering its way across his lips as he realised.
Side two,
7. Every Breath You Take
That clears it up.
In an instant, whilst Mike hadn't been looking - the bang of a snare drum echoed from the speakers, followed almost instantaneously by that guitar riff, the one that made El melt. It was adorable.
He stared down at El, only to find she was staring straight back at him.