Rebel, Rebel - Jim Hopper x Reader

iv. Close Encounters

You fidgeted uncomfortably as you glanced at your reflection in the mirror, your heart truly torn between two choices. While every part of you wanted this to be a date, the other part of you demanded that tonight be nothing more than a friendly study-session and movie. The latter part also felt extreme guilt over being dishonest with Larry, making your head spin in frustration. The more that you thought about it, however, the more that you began to lean more towards the former part of your thoughts.

You turned around to check your appearance in the mirror, smoothing down the tight material of an orange dress you had purchased earlier this month, something out of the burgeoning era of disco that was becoming popular. You fluffed out the dark curls that fell over a matching wide orange headband before you slid a pair of bulbous white earrings through your earlobes. You retrieved a pair of calf-high white boots and zipped them up on your legs, checking your reflection once more before your heart began to stutter in your chest from nerves.

You had known Hopper forever, it seemed. So, why did you feel so nervous around him now? Your feelings for him began as friendly, then developed into a tiny crush, and now...now you weren't sure. The feelings were stronger, and you felt jittery around him now more than you ever had. Though it was incredibly confusing trying to understand those feelings, the excitement that flooded your veins outweighed that sensation.

You habitually looked out of your window, looking down into Hopper's yard and smiling softly when you saw Hopper leaning against the hood of his dad's pale Rambler Ambassador, puffing away on a cigarette. He must have felt the presence of your eyes on him as he turned around and caught your stare. His eyes lit up and a wide smile spread across his face before he waved up at you, evoking an equally-excited gesture from yourself. You looked away from him quickly as nerves began to fill your stomach, the heat on your cheeks spreading. You slowly and precisely swiped red lipstick across your lips, puckering your lips in an effort to spread the formula evenly. After spraying a spritz of perfume onto your collarbone, you grabbed your purse and history book and jogged downstairs, the sound of your heels echoing off of the wooden planks.

"(Y/N)?" asked your father from the living room, perched comfortably on the reclined chair as he watched the news on the television.

"Yes?" you asked, clutching your book to your lower stomach as you looked at him with earnest eyes.

"You look really nice," he complimented with a smile. "Where are you off to?"

"Just going see a movie with Hopper," you replied, leaning against the beam of the doorway.

"You two have been getting a little closer, huh?" he asked, adjusting the thick-rimmed frames of his glasses with a sly smirk. "I thought you were going steady with that Larry kid."

"I, uh, I am," you squeaked, looking away from him. "Hopper and I are just-"

"-just friends?" he asked with a chuckle. "Yeah, that's what your mother used to say about me."

You blushed, biting the inside of your cheek to contain a smile, "I promise I won't be out too late, okay?"

"Tell him I said hello," he said, returning his attention to the television. "Have a good time."

You silently thanked him, waving before walking out onto the porch. You waltzed over to Hopper's house, smirking as Hopper's jaw dropped comically wide as your distance shrank, his eyes glued to the contours of your curves as your hips swayed closer to him.

"Cat's got your tongue, Hop?" you asked with a wicked glint in your eye, licking your red lips as you allowed your own eyes to ogle him.

Rather than his signature leather jacker, Hopper opted to wear a denim one instead (no doubt his own special way of dressing up). Under the clean jacket he wore a crisp, form-fitting black tee shirt that was tucked into cuffed denim jeans. His hair, which was usually only brushed, was now lightly greased. His cologne was fresh, the faint smell of soap hidden behind the scent of the cigarette in his hand.