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The sun’s rays are fair and summery as they bless Hawkins, offering a more gentle temperature than they have been as of late. While spinning the radio dial in Jonathan’s car, Nancy continues to cast brief looks at him. She looks at the soft waves in his hair and the way they catch light, the veins in his arm and how they stick out on every turn of the wheel. It’s Friday, which means it’s a half day for their internship at the Post. And they’re done for today. She takes her hand away from the dial for a second as she observes him, beginning to absentmindedly play with the necklace she’s wearing. “Keep going,” he encourages. “You haven’t been through every one yet.”
“It’s...it’s all Tears for Fears,” she reasons and averts her gaze, somewhat shyly.
“Not all. You just went through 'Heaven.'"
She feels the wind gracing her face, causing her thin bangs to flutter and tickle her forehead. “Like you know the difference.”
“I do know the difference."
“So you can tell me who sings ‘Heaven?’”
After an extended pause, he answers, “Not Tears for Fears.”
“Okay,” she laughs softly. “That was...you...such a know-it-all thing to say.”
His quiet response is: “I can’t help it.”
“I know you can’t,” she breathes out and rests her head on the seat. Recently, things have been so natural—so perfect—between them. They’ve adjusted to each other, but also preserved the vibrancy of their relationship that makes them feel so nervous at times. Good nervous.
“Hey, can you maybe, um, pull over right here?” she asks suddenly when they’re at the end of the street.
“Right here?”
They’re next to some shops that have been so empty since the mall opened.
“Right here,” she confirms, shifting just a little closer to him.
He has furrowed his brow in confusion but obediently driven to a parking space in front of Royal Furniture. While he tugs the keys from the ignition, she grabs onto his shoulder and angles him toward her, initiating a kiss. Fervorous, is the word for it. The kind of kiss that happens when it’s a sticky July day, and a girl wants to enjoy it with a guy. A girl with her guy, a guy with his girl. She sucks on his warm upper lip until he reciprocates, slowly tipping his head up and down so they can each feel more of the other’s mouth. His mouth is pushing on hers, bathing her tongue in heat.
Helping at the paper is fun, but this is just so much better. He’s never too affectionate with her at the office (at least in front of anyone), so she figures he’ll let this be their alone time.
“Mm,” she hums as he helps her climb onto his lap. She sits with her legs apart, straddling him, trying to get closer in the already tiny space. He has let go of the keys by now and seized her hips that are heavily pressing on his. The skirt of her dress rides up, exposing more of her smooth skin to him. His fingertips graze her bare thighs, and she shivers some. Both of them know it wasn’t from the breeze that came through the window.
They’re just so attracted to each other that even light touching is addictive, irresistible.
She can’t hear "Everybody Wants To Rule The World" anymore, she is just listening to their clothes rustling and their breathing and the sound of their kissing.
Enjoyably her body weakens more with every slowed-down second, and although all of her weight is on him, he appears to be managing just fine.
So, ambition coming to light, she pulls his tie, her face suffused with blush.
“What are you doing?” His voice slices through the haze in her head like a knife.
She keeps still with the tie draped over her palm. “What’s it look like I’m doing?” she challenges, brushing her bangs out of her eyes.
“Na-ance,” he practically laughs. “We…”
She sighs, happiness surging like crazy despite his continuous need to pause and deliberate things. She guesses it’s his analytical and attentive side taking over; he likes to take breaks when there’s a lot happening around him. That way he can make sure he hasn’t missed something worth noting or remembering. And he always likes to think about his actions before going through with them. Though she hardly sees how any of that is relevant to their car makeout. “Do you want to stop?” she questions.
He looks out the window, at the sun-soaked town and sky as blue as the ocean. He’s always known it could be beautiful, even if it’s a place of traumatic, traumatic events. With her so close to him like this, Hawkins looks better than it ever has. “We’re in the street.”
She leans forward, traces the seam of his lips with her tongue, and brushes a sweet kiss there. “No one’s here.”
Oh, he’s done analyzing now. He reaches for her, wrapping toned arms around her waist, and gifts her with the deepest kisses in the world while her own arms find his shoulders. Their skin is warm, somewhat sticky, as they shove and pull at one another to stay as close as possible. His hand comes up to hold her jaw, stroking the soft skin behind her ear and a few of her curls. The summer air is a strange blend of hot and cold, but it’s nice nonetheless. The tips of her fingers are tingling when she tugs at the bottom of his shirt, untucking it. Though as she grabs his tie again, he tugs it from her and pushes on her back until their chests are completely touching. She feels wanted. Safe and so wanted, but she can tell something is on his mind.
“Nancy,” he murmurs after she undoes the white button at the top of her sundress. “Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” she says, more than a hint of surprise in her tone of voice.
He looks over at the passenger side, eyes clear and watchful. Her heart drums on her chest, capering, and she smiles at him faintly. “What happened today, with the interview. He was being so unfair to you.”
Oh. That...
Bruce Morgan (who they "work" for) has rubbed them the wrong way since day one, Jonathan especially, even though she's the mistreated one. Earlier in the morning, he had refused to let her help conduct an interview with the mayor’s assistant. Nancy explained that the woman would be more inclined to reveal certain things to her because her mom knew her, but he hardly listened. He wouldn’t even let her write the story at first—that is, he didn’t until Jonathan asked him.
“I know, but it’s not like there’s anything that can change it...or him, really.”
“I guess not. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. And...I mean, I do care, just...not right now,” she admits. They lean back in for several long, thorough kisses that give them an adrenaline rush. It all feels very good, but if he got to interrupt so many times, she thinks she should get a turn.
“You know what else?” she begins as he gives light kisses to her neck. “He actually let me sit with them during the interview and take notes. So that’s how I…”
She takes a deep breath to combat his wonderful distractions, but allows her eyelids to fall.
“That’s how I know he’s gonna let me write it. And you know what I’m gonna do?”
He nuzzles the side of her flushed face and works on taking off her pastel belt.
“I’m gonna go home and ask Mom about her, and it’s gonna be the best article ever.”
He gives the belt to her, letting her decide where it should go, but she just drops it onto the floorboard. They’ve moved to the middle of the bench at this point, and it’s roomy and all, but what she’s really on a high about is the backseat.
Then he asks, “Can I read them?”
“My notes?”
He nods casually, and she sits still. “How about we just keep doing this?”
“I promised that we would both write it because he doesn’t trust you to do it well by yourself.”
“Okay, so he’s a tool. Why do you care about my notes?”
“If my name is going to be printed next to yours, I’m going to be involved in some part of the writing process.”
It’s at this point she decides that if he’s engaging in such a dull conversation while she is on top of him, he really does want to see her notes. She inelegantly crawls off him and onto the seat, mumbling about how he’s impossible while the song on the radio fades out.
“I didn’t know you found reading so much more fun than me.”
Creases appear beside his eyes as he smiles—she’s adorable when jealous. (Jealous of what? The mayor’s assistant?) She searches her purse impatiently, then freezes for a moment while she stares blankly at the dashboard. He knows what’s coming.
“Jonathan…”
“What?”
“There’s not any chance you’ve seen my notepad, is there?”
“Come on, this is the third time. Did you really lose it again?”
She resumes her search, claiming, “I didn’t lose it; I misplaced it, is all.” She looks between her seat and the door, and he does admit he's sympathetic. “Will you walk back with me?”
“If you promise not to keep leaving it, I will,” he says.
She doesn’t hold back a smile, her face and neck still flushed when they get out of his car and step into the sun. “Does it make you happy...making fun of me?”
“I would never make fun of you.”
“Never? Ever?”
“No.”
“So I just heard you wrong last week, then, when you told me to throw the Olivia Newton-John album away...”
“I will never make fun of you over serious things.”
“Oh, okay.”
“And I like her now.”
“Oh!”
“Only because of you.”
“Thank you,” she accepts. They walk down the sidewalk with warming hearts, ten times more smitten than they just were, which was ten times more than a few minutes before that. “Hey listen, I know I applied for this interning thing first, but...just know that it’s so nice doing this with you everyday.”
“Even after you’ve been treated so terrible?”
“Even after that.”
“Well, I like having you to do this with me everyday.”
What could she ever say to something as concise and soft as that? He always does it; totally deprives her of any words once in her mind. Now, he was only rephrasing something she had said—intended as a compliment—but still he’s made it much better, and she thinks those butterflies must have strayed from her stomach because she feels this tingly happiness in her veins.
They come to a lamp post in front of the building.
“Wanna just wait here? Maybe if Morgan sees me alone for once, he’ll see me as more capable, right?”
“Uh…yeah, definitely. Because that’s all it’ll take.” With his distrust comes sarcasm.
“I know,” she speaks sadly, almost to herself, and approaches the entrance.
And then he’s standing there in downtown Hawkins, shirt half untucked, tie half undone, eyes dilated, hair a mess, waiting by a light pole. It all might look a little questionable to someone else; he would wait there for hours longer if she needed.
This—Jonathan and Nancy. It was predestined, in a way, and he was always meant to be the one waiting for her to find her notepad.