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The August air in Hawkins hangs heavy with heat and humidity, smelling sweetly of fresh-cut grass, cigarettes, and suncream. The town is almost entirely calm, leaving behind no trace of July's buzz.
Almost entirely calm, save for Joyce Horowitz. She huffs and rolls her eyes; honks the horn on her pickup for the fourth time.
There's a shout from inside the house, "Jesus— I'm coming, hold on!"
The door to her house swings open to reveal a distraught Karen behind it, hopping up and down on one foot and tugging on her mary-janes.
"Need a hand, Dawson?"
Karen shoots her a glare so sharp that it could cut diamonds, but finally—finally, manages to get her shoe on. She bounds towards the car, settling in the passenger seat with a sigh.
"Hooray, she made it!"
"Shut up and drive."
Feigning offense, Joyce drives off with a squeal against the pavement. She glances at Karen; her hair is curled in a half-updo, held back with a pink ribbon, and summer freckles litter her tanned skin. Joyce breathes in and smells her perfume, all vanilla and sandalwood and sweetness.
"Can you light me a cigarette?"
Karen gives her an all-but-sweet glare, but her reserve dissolves when Joyce takes a hand off the wheel, frames her own face with it, and pouts: "pretty please?"
Reaching into the cupholder with a murmur of 'fine, just please keep both hands on the wheel, you maniac," she fishes out a tattered pack of Virginia slims and lights one using an equally tattered disposable—Joyce goes through about four per week, mostly due to her relentless tinkering with the inner-gears. She has her own puff before handing it over, taking her time on the exhale. Joyce drops a hand off the steering wheel, reaching blindly when Karen suddenly holds it out of her reach.
"Hey— what gives?"
"First, I told you to keep your hands on the wheel. Second, what do you say?"
Rolling her eyes, Joyce makes a show of slapping her palm back onto the rounded plastic. "Thank you," she sighs.
Karen smiles, self-satisfied, and sticks the cigarette between Joyce's lips. Then, she huffs: "So...where are you taking me?"
"A place."
"Everywhere's a place. What kind of place?"
Joyce shrugs, "Guess you'll just have to use your imagination. These lips are sealed."
Sighing again, she slouches in her seat and fiddles with her hair.
They don't speak for the rest of the drive; don't need to. Joyce steals glances at Karen every so often, and she pretends not to notice—blushes a little when Joyce looks at her for the millionth time in three minutes. Finally, when Joyce screeches the old piece of junk to a halt, Karen speaks.
"The woods. You took me to the woods? Is this a murder plot?"
"No, I'm not trying to kill you. You could let me do something nice, you know, like a normal person—" she says, climbing out of the car and then going round' to Karen's side, "—madame?"
After opening the door, she holds out her hand. Karen takes it gingerly, smiling when Joyce bows to her as she stands. Allowing Joyce to lead her into the forest, she follows blindly and trips over roots only occasionally. It takes at least fifteen minutes before they make it to their 'destination,' and Karen is about to make a snarky comment when Joyce pushes away a branch to reveal a field free of litter and foliage, with a huge lake at its heart.
As she breathes out slowly, Karen's expression softens; eyes wide as saucers, eyebrows tilting upwards. Joyce smiles.
"This is...beautiful."
Suddenly, Joyce is very aware of their intertwined fingers: it's entirely different from the way they'd been when they were walking—the hand holding had merely been a device of Joyce's newfound career as a sherpa, but now—well now, Karen is gripping her like a vice, and her hands are soft and cool and Joyce looks down at their conjoined fingers and fails to bite back a smile.
"So, you admit that I have good ideas?"
"Occasionally. Don't let it go to your head."
Clearing her throat, Joyce pushes away leaves and dirt and lays her jacket down in the grass, patting the spot next to her for Karen to sit. Karen folds her knees up close to her chest, wrapping her arms around them; gaze entirely lost in the shimmering water and still forest. Shifting closer, Joyce nudges her shoulder.
"Pretty cool, right?"
"It's perfect—" she stops, considers what she's about to say, "—but...it is kinda hot out today."
Joyce shrugs, a yeah, I guess, but before she's able to crack a joke or even blink, Karen is hauling herself up and trodding over to the water— and she's pulling off her shoes; then her socks, then her dress, and finally the ribbon in her hair, dropping them all in the damp dirt. Joyce takes an even breath, tries not to move because she's afraid any movement will ruin this, scare her away like she's a butterfly who's landed on her finger. Her nose twitches.
Karen looks at her over the smooth curve of her shoulder, gives an easy smile and raises her eyebrows.
"You coming?"
She doesn't have to ask twice. Joyce peels off her shorts and T-shirt, absent-mindedly discards them in the dirt. She comes up next to Karen, looks up at her uncertainly.
"It's gonna be cold."
"Better to be freezing in a body of water than sweating in the dirt,"
"That logic doesn't seem—" Joyce starts, but before she can finish her sentence, Karen grabs her hand and effectively cuts off her breath, then drags her into the water. She yelps, feels the cold between her toes, rushing up to meet her ankles, to lick at the curves of her calves and bruised knees—
And Karen is laughing and shrieking next to her, so maybe she feels warm again, offers Karen a smile.
"We can do this. Jump on one."
Three,
Two,
One.
They throw themselves at the water, rushing in and not re-emerging until they're sure that they won't back out, and—
"Oh my god this was an awful idea," Joyce sputters through mouthfuls of water, coughing and gasping, and Karen is just laughing next to her, treading water with so much fucking grace that Joyce kind of wants to shove her, would shove her if she wasn't busy drowning.
"You brought me here, suck it up!"
"Yeah, remember that thing I said about me having good ideas? Your's are worse."
"Just— swim!"
"Karen, I have a lot of skills and that isn't one of them."
She rolls her eyes, but her gaze is tender. "Okay, just...come over to me," and Joyce does. Karen steadies her, offers her arm for Joyce to use as a flotation device.
"Try to move your legs— no, don't kick me, just move them around a little. Then your arm, like you're trying to clear away a layer of water."
Joyce obeys, partially because she doesn't really have any other options and partially because Karen tells her to. Her grip on Karen's arm loosens, and soon she's moving with both arms and smiling because she's swimming, and because Karen is smiling too, with her crinkling eyes and one of her front teeth catching on her bottom lip, and her hair is wet and pushed away from her face, her eyeliner somehow only a bit smudged.
"See? It's easy, you just have to trust yourself."
"I trust you."
Karen smiles and dips below the surface, disappearing in the murky water until she's just a shadow of honey-blonde hair and tanned skin, slipping away from Joyce with every passing moment.
When they make it back to land, back to the safety of Joyce's jacket, the sun is setting over the forest, with its pale light streaming through the gaps between trees.
Joyce shakes her hair out like a dog. Karen laughs and pushes her away, collapsing against the grass with one hand under her hair, and the other resting on her stomach. Joyce joins her, leans back on her elbows.
Her eyes follow the lines of Karen's body. She bites her lip; admires the smooth expanse of her skin, the beam of light that falls on her sternum, her ribs. The delicate curve where her ankle meets her heel, the soft swell of her abdomen and the jut of her hipbones.
She moves her hand, traces patterns just below Karen's ribcage. Feels another hand searching for hers, linking their fingers. Karen brings their joined hands to rest on her stomach. She breathes in slowly; Joyce feels it as her stomach rises and falls.
A comfortable silence swells between them. Karen's body is cool and damp in the muggy heat of Hawkin's August, and Joyce moves closer to her, rests her body beside Karen's so they fit together like puzzle pieces.
-------
It's a sunny day— clear skies and gentle wind whisking up leaves and moving them all around. Karen stirs anxiously in her baby-blue dress, hands braced against the fence she's sat on, leg bouncing with slight movements. She bites her lip, chews the inside of her cheek.
"You know, I canceled plans for this."
Joyce's voice. Joyce's stupid red pickup. She looks up, smiles— half sarcastic, because Joyce is giving her a smug smirk from the driver's seat. She hops off the fence, circles 'round and leans over Joyce, resting her elbows on the car door.
"Plans with who?"
"Bauman."
"Those aren't plans. That's you and him sitting in his basement and getting stoned."
"Yes, and?"
"And what I have for you is better."
At that, Joyce raises an eyebrow. Squints. Oh?
Karen shrugs, flits her eyes up. Maybe. She skips away obnoxiously, forcing Joyce to clamber out of her car and join her. Karen leans against the fence once again, smirks at her. She twirls a strand of hair between her fingers, pulls until the curl comes undone. Joyce looks at her expectantly, taps her foot twice.
"Okay. It's not much, but I saw it and I thought you'd like it."
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a silver lighter. It's about the size of two thumbs, engraved with an inflorescence of lavender. Joyce blinks up at her.
"That's— woah," she breathes. "Thank you."
"You like it?"
"Very much."
Karen smiles, happy with herself and happy with Joyce's reaction. "Now, I think we should test this," she starts, reaching into her pocket again. She pulls out a pack of cigarettes, and Joyce's mouth drops in false shock.
"Ta-da!"
"You bought cigarettes? Pour moi?"
"I know, heinous. You're lucky that I like you."
Joyce scoffs, tosses her hair. "Am I?"
"Bite me, Horowitz."
She pulls one out from the pack, holds it out for Joyce to take between her lips. Joyce stares up at her through thick lashes. Karen looks down, swallows. Fumbles for the lighter and flicks it open, igniting the flame with one smooth movement of her thumb. She sticks her tongue into the corner of her mouth, leans forward to swallow the off-white end of the cigarette with the flame.
Joyce tilts her head back and grips the cigarette between two fingers. She blows the smoke in Karen's face. Karen coughs, wrinkles her nose.
"Thanks, Joyce. That's real sweet."
Joyce grins around her cigarette. "I know," she says, punctuating the statement with a puff of smoke from her lips. "Your phone call was really ominous—"
"Yeah?"
"—yeah. Meet me behind the mall, you sounded like you were arranging a rendevous for me to fork over a ransom."
"Well, maybe you do need to pay a ransom. I'm holding these—" she dangles the pack of cigarettes, "—hostage."
"That's rude."
"I know."
Joyce sucks on her cigarette again, taps the ash out onto the pavement. "Fine. Name your price."
Karen peers at her with a devious smirk. "A kiss. Here," she points to her left cheek, "—here," she taps her right cheek, "—and here," she points to her nose.
"Oh, however will I pay off my debt," Joyce mutters, and she's being sarcastic but Karen can tell she's getting flustered, a pink flush creeping up her neck.
She leans up on the very tips of her toes, grips Karen's forearm for balance. Unsure at first, her lips brush gently against Karen's face, hardly closing in a kiss. She brings her hand up, rests it on Karen's jaw and uses it to turn her head to the side. This time, she kisses her cheek in earnest, her lips slightly puckering with a soft pop sound. Finally, she places a gentle kiss on the very tip of her nose.
Then, she moves down, kissing the side of her mouth. Karen's breath hitches. She turns away, eyes falling shut. Joyce kisses the side of her jaw before dropping back to her true height.
"Karen, I—"
"I know," she whispers. "I'm sorry."
Joyce breathes out a laugh. "Don't be. Wanting is enough. For me, it's enough."
She slips her hand down Karen's wrist, runs her thumb over her knuckles before turning her hand over and snatching her prize. "Thank you," she says, holding up the lighter, "—for this. And for these," she smirks, grabbing the pack of cigarettes and tucking them into her back pocket.
Karen smiles, or tries to, and murmurs: "Anytime."
"Well, I'm gonna...head off. I'll call you."
With that, Joyce turns around and bounds towards her car, settling in the front seat and backing out of her parking spot. Karen stares after her, smiling weakly when Joyce gives her a 'goodbye salute' with two fingers against her forehead.
That night, Joyce does call.
You know, I really thought I had you.
-------
They spend their last day of freedom in Aunt Dorlene's trailer, tangled in a mess of limbs and bedsheets. September's rain arrives early; angry clouds churn outside, but inside the only evidence of the storm is the soft patter of rain against glass panes.
Karen watches Joyce watching her, gathers the long tumble of her hair up and away from her neck; drops it again. She settles in Joyce's bed, nestled in a corner against the window. It's cold today, but the warmth of Joyce's duvet soothes her goosebumps.
Joyce rolls over from where she'd been laying on her elbows, looks up at her with those wide, chocolate-brown eyes. Karen bites her lip.
"So...school tomorrow," Karen offers.
Joyce groans, wrinkles her nose and pulls a repulsed face. "I'd rather die than go back."
Karen cocks her head sweetly, knits her eyebrows together. "Why? It's Junior year; no one cares what we do anymore."
"Homecoming, Prom, fundraisers, pre-calculus...the list goes on."
She shrugs, "Dances can be fun, you know. I mean, it's sort nice to get dressed up, be with friends—"
"Vomit, black out, get ridiculed," Joyce continues, groping the bedside table for a cigarette. "—light?"
Karen rolls her eyes, "You're incorrigible," but still looks under the bedsheets to find Joyce's lighter. She sits up, leans over Joyce's body. To avoid accidentally burning her hair or skin, she uses one hand to brush Joyce's hair from her face. Then, slowly and decisively, she cups her jaw, shifts so they're closer. Feels Joyce's cool skin against hers, fends off a shudder.
Joyce smirks around her cigarette, tilts her head up expectantly. Karen tosses the lighter aside once the cigarette is lit. Joyce holds it in one hand and takes a long drag, smoke streaming from her lips. Karen takes it from her, and now it's her turn to smirk as she does a mock Joyce impression,
"I'm Joyce Horowitz. I'm so cool, I hate school and I hate dances and I hate dresses. Oh, and I have a leather jacket. Aren't I cool?"
"Very funny. Fucking hilarious."
Karen tilts her head and raises one eyebrow, as if to say I know, I just can't help it. She exhales, just a little puff in Joyce's face, but Joyce still coughs, dramatic as always.
"You think you're funny? Hmm, I'm Karen, I'm a cheerleader! Look at me with my little uniform, all the boys are in love with me but I'll never date them because I'm so totally in love with Joyce, who is, by the way, very much cool."
Karen blushes, lets her eyes fall. Joyce's breath hitches, and god she shouldn't have said that but her mouth moves faster than her mind and she coughs, praying that she hasn't done something terrible. Their friendship borders on best friendship and something else, something more deeply intimate than anything else, something they don't talk about. They don't talk about a lot of things; their eighth-grade sleepovers, that day at Lover's Lake, the day Joyce was gifted the lavender lighter.
But these things live. They bubble low in Karen's stomach, caught in Joyce's throat, and it's inevitable that they'll one day spill over, irrevocably and metamorphically.
Karen meets Joyce's eyes after what feels like a lifetime. When she speaks, her voice is soft, like all the breath has left her body.
"You're not wrong."
Joyce's eyes widen, and oh—
And then Karen is gingerly tilting her head up, and pressing her lips gently against Joyce's. It's not even a kiss, more a caress, simple contact, but it ignites something in Karen that makes her want more, a flame that dances and flits, something like desire.
And she does it again, this time it's open-mouthed and burning hot, and Joyce pulls her closer so she's practically on top of her, whispers please, and she tastes of cigarettes and mint toothpaste, smells earthy and cool, of rosemary and rain and everything delicious.
And just like that, August slips away like a handful of sand, lost in smoke and cream-colored bedsheets.
Are you sure?
I've never, not before you.
-------
Your back, beneath the sun, wishin' I could write my name on it.
Will you call when you're back at school? I remember thinkin' I had you
But I can see us lost in the memory, August slipped away into a moment in time.
('Cause it was never mine)
And I can see us, twisted in bedsheets, August sipped away like a bottle of wine
('Cause you were never mine)