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Fernweh, a German word meaning 'a longing for far-away places', coined as an antonym to Heimweh, 'homesickness'
"God, I hate this fucking town." They haven't said anything for a good fifteen minutes when he finally speaks. It's still quite warm for this time of the year—with temperatures in the low eighties despite October right around the corner—and they're letting their feet dangle into the cool water of Lover's Lake. A pretty stupid name, Joyce thinks.
She accepts the cigarette Hopper passes her, taking a drag before she answers. "Well, yes. Obviously. But this is still nice, isn't it?"
"What is?" he asks, cocking an eyebrow.
"This!" She gestures to all that is surrounding them: the lake, the rock they're sitting on, the houses that seem so far away on the other side of the shore.
Hopper frowns. "We could have that anywhere." We. He probably doesn't mean anything by that, yet the word lingers on her mind. They're a we to him, an entity. Something about that makes her heart jump in a way she knows it's not supposed to. Not when she remembers the reason she asked to meet him today in the first place. Lonnie.
Joyce takes another drag of the cigarette before passing it back for him to finish. It shouldn't be as hard to tell him as it is. They're just friends, aren't they? At least, that's what she's been telling herself for the past year. But she just knows that he'll be mad, and then maybe everything between them will be different. She can't have that, can't lose him too. "Yeah, you're right," she says instead.
He looks at her with a little bit too much love in his eyes. "Can't wait to finally turn eighteen and get the hell out of here." Only one more year. Would be much quicker if it were up to her. God, she's so tired of being a teenager. This shit is seriously overrated.
"Where would you even go?" she prods.
Hopper shrugs. "I dunno. Anywhere but Hawkins. Figured we just bolt as soon as we graduate, take my car, and get the hell out of here."
That same we again. The way he so nonchalantly talks about their future—as though it's out of the question if they are going to spend it together at all—feels strange. How can he be so certain? Or is he pretending again, acting more confident than he actually is?
"That'd be nice." Her voice is quiet, and she sounds less sure about the whole thing than she would like to. A naive part of her hopes he won't pick up on it, but he knows her too well. Slowly he reaches out, his large hand resting on her much smaller one. The gesture itself is innocent enough, yet her skin prickles under his touch. It's not uncomfortable, though it feels wrong nonetheless. She shouldn't feel this way, Joyce knows that.
"How 'bout you?" he speaks again before her thoughts can spiral any further.
She can't exactly say she knows what he's talking about, too lost in her own mind. "What?"
"Where would you go?" Of course: the same question she asked him only a minute ago. "If we didn't have to worry about money or any of that shit. If we could take off right now, no strings attached, where would you want to go first?"
It's not like she hasn't thought about that before, not like she hasn't laid awake in her bed at three in the morning, staring at the ceiling and thinking about all the places she would rather be. Yet somehow her throat closes when she tries to answer. "I..." She wants to pull her hand away from underneath his—she doesn't. "I don't really care, to be honest. Europe, maybe? Or Mexico." As far away as possible.
Hopper looks at her with his head slightly tilted to the side, a glint in his eyes she can't quite make sense of. "Mexico sounds doable. I mean—"
"Hop..."
He laughs softly. "Come on, think about it! No more adults, no one to tell us what to do. Just us two and my car. We could sleep somewhere on the side of the road or stay in cheap motels. I'm sure you have some savings left from your job, and I'd just steal some money from my old man. Would serve him right. Once we're in Mexico, we'll figure it out somehow. How does that sound?"
Too good to be true, that's what that sounds like. If she could, she would do it in a heartbeat. But that's not how this works, as much as she would love it if it were. Leaving is never going to be as easy as he makes it out to be. Still, she smiles; their eyes lock. "Nice, it sounds nice." At that moment, she wants nothing more than to hold his hand a little tighter, climb into his car, and drive away with him as far as they can.
And then suddenly his palm is on her cheek, cupping it as he pulls her closer and into a kiss. For just a second, she allows herself to play into this stupid idea of what they could be, to kiss him back like nothing else matters. She wraps her arm around him, her hand settling on his shoulder blade while the other one rests on his, still pressed to her face. If feels too good, too right for how wrong it is.
But of course, reality comes crashing down on her far too quickly, and she reels backward, pushing him away. She shouldn't have done that, should never even thought about the possibility of it. Shame washes over her. "What?" Hopper mutters, staring at her, looking utterly perplexed. "Are you... What's goin' on?"
"Sorry, I'm sorry. I can't." Joyce closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them again. Then, she finally rips off the band-aid, tells him what she's been meaning to talk about the entire evening: "Jim, I'm seeing someone."
His jaw clenches, and somehow she knows that her rejecting him won't be the worst part of this. "It's not..." She must look guilty because he sucks in air, the disappointment clearly visible in his features. "Byers? Seriously, Joyce? Isn't he like thirty?"
She's brought him up to Hopper a few times before. It hasn't once ended well. "He's twenty-five."
He groans. "Not much better. Really, I don't get what you see in him. He's a prick." She can hear the What does he have that I don't? in his words, though she pretends she doesn't. For both their sakes, and because she wouldn't even be sure how to answer.
"Lonnie's actually not as bad as you make him out to be," she tries. It won't reach him, none of what she says recently seems to anymore. "He can be really sweet. We went out to dinner the other day and—"
He cuts her off. "He's just using you! He doesn't care about any of this. As soon as he finds someone else, you won't even be an afterthought to him."
"Oh, so you're saying I'm not good enough?" He's obviously not, but only this once she allows herself to be properly mad at him. She knew this would happen, so why is she still this disappointed? "You don't even know him! He likes me, Hop. He actually likes me, and I'm not gonna pass up on that." This might be her only chance at real love—the way everyone else looks at her—she'd be stupid to let it go to waste.
Hopper grabs a pebble, angrily tossing it into the water. It hits the surface with a splash, sinking quickly. "He's screwed like ten different girls in the past couple months alone. The whole town knows he's bad news."
And the whole town thinks he has a bit of a screw loose, what's the difference? "As if you're any better," Joyce scoffs. It's mean, but she doesn't care. "You've had how many girlfriends now?"
"That's not the point," he snaps back. "Byers will just make you miserable."
"You have no right to dictate my life like that. You're not my dad, or my boyfriend, or whatever. We're just friends, okay? There's nothing between us!" That's a lie. And a bad one at that. No one in their right mind would be stupid enough to believe it.
So, of course, Hopper doesn't either. "Well, you just kissed me back, so obviously there is not nothing."
Joyce sighs, running a hand through her hair. She can't exactly deny that, can she? But she can't think about how badly she wants to feel his lips on hers once more, either. It's wrong. "It was a mistake, alright? I'm sorry. Let's just forget about that. Lonnie likes me," she repeats. "And I like him back."
"Well, I like you too."
"No, you don't," she hisses. "You just think you do."
For a few seconds, he doesn't say anything. They only stare at each other, and she watches something that looks like betrayal flash over his face. What she said is wrong; he does like her. But not the way she needs him to. Maybe that's the problem. And maybe Lonnie doesn't like her that way either, but being with him makes sense—being with him is new, thrilling, exciting. It's everything her father hates. And he is one of the biggest assholes she knows, so him not approving has to count for something. Right? That's what Lonnie says, at least.
Slowly Hopper gets up. "I'm gonna drive you home."
"Jim!"
He shakes his head, turning and making his way over to his car. "Don't Jim me, Maldonado."
***
The next time she stands by Lover's Lake about a month later, she's with Lonnie. Summer has fully faded into fall now, and her bare feet are freezing in the cold sand. His arms are firmly wrapped around her waist as he presses yet another kiss against her lips. Vaguely, she thinks about how that should probably make her happier than it does and about how the kiss she shared with Hopper in this very place not long ago somehow felt so different than this. But she pushes all that away. She loves Lonnie, really, she does. This is good; this is how it's supposed to be.
"Babe," he whispers into the crook of her neck.
She pulls back to see the boyish grin on his face. "What?"
But he doesn't say anything, just kisses her again, his one hand buried in her hair, the other one slipping under her shirt, trailing up her back. A shiver runs down her spine at how cold his hands are, his leather jacket rubbing against her skin—a naive part of her had hoped he would offer it to her, but maybe that would be a selfish thing to expect. Joyce isn't sure; he's her first actual boyfriend, after all.
This is romantic of him: taking her to Lover's Lake, kissing her under the stars as if she were the only thing that matters in this world. And so, she kisses him back and pulls herself even closer in search of his warmth, warmth that she will never find. Somehow, she only feels colder. The wind blows through her hair, and she shudders.
Lonnie laughs softly. "I told you you should bring a jacket." He didn't tell her that, actually; just said he would pick her up, and what they're doing is a surprise. But she doesn't bother to correct him; he only wants what's best for her.
"Can we maybe go back to your place?" she asks. "I'm seriously getting cold."
Lonnie groans. "Come on! Let's stay a little while longer. I mean, this is Lover's Lake." She still thinks this name is too cheesy. But she can't really say no now, not when he looks at her as if he were actually in love with her—because he is, right? No one has ever looked at her like this before, except for Hopper, maybe, and he doesn't count.
She leans in to kiss him once more. "Yeah, okay."
Joyce doesn't yet see the red flags, doesn't sense the way misery seems to cling to this man, dragging her down further with every bit they get closer—or maybe she just chooses to ignore it all—but when she does, it's too late. Leaving feels more impossible than ever before, and Hopper has already slipped through her fingers. She should've held onto him a little tighter when she still had the chance.