The last bit of the month had gotten a bit dicey -- but, in usual Dunwich fashion, the first of the new month had come around and everything was as quiet as it ever started out with. Mike wouldn't speak on the predictability of it, but he would relish the first week of the month or so -- spend time with friends and Owen as much as possible before the shit inevitably hit the fan again.
In this instance, he figured it'd be good to check in on Hopper who had clearly had a pretty rough go of it in the last few days.
Over a drink, obviously, because that was what they were wont to do, and they were just as predictable as Dunwich in their own way.
"First one's on me," he'd said as went to the bar (Todash, because if he was going to open a tab anywhere, it might as well be a spot that supported Owen's business) and returned with two whiskeys -- doubles. It had definitely been a rough couple of days. Hopper looked worse for the wear - sure, he was showered and bandaged and he wasn’t limping as he had been before, because he’d at least let them heal the knee, even though he wanted to heal slow like John was doing, and maybe a bit because he felt like he deserved to suffer.
Wrists, and some of his palms were bandaged with gauze, though they were mostly okay. He had bandages all over the place for varying degrees of burn but he was out and walking and he was sure as hell about to drink this night away with Mike.
“Thanks.” When the glass was brought over, he tipped it for a cheers before taking a long sip. “Glad that shitshow of a month is over, though a worse one is probably on its way as we speak.” Though horny sea gods looking to get their rocks off marrying random women probably took the cake for a real shitshow.
Hopper did look a little like hell – sure, he was a bit burned but mostly he just looked like he hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in… well. They knew probably just how long it’d been. No need to guess.
Mike wasn’t going to lecture though. It wasn’t really fair of him, considering his already dead status. He didn’t really do tired beyond the perpetual existential sort, these days and he was blessed and cursed equally with the ability to just reset, if he really wanted to.
“Sure,” he said, sitting down and then lifting his own glass up in a half toast. “You uh – doing better?”
He was halfway through his drink already, was how he was doing. “With all the drama? Fuckin hell.” He really didn’t know how he was doing. It had been a lot. “John’s got too many girlfriends, I’ll tell you that much. Fuckin hell between Sylvie threatening to mind control me and then telling me I did a shit job at taking care of John, and Pam actually fucking up my cruiser and telling me I did a shit job…”
Well, he was certain he did a shit job. Even if John had tried to tell him otherwise. Even if it didn’t matter and John wanted to be with him anyway. Jim sighed, finishing the whiskey in one more, short sip. He pretty much just threw it down the back of his throat. It burned in the best way, and he set the glass back down.
“How’re you, and Owen?” He asked, because it just was always about Hopper, wasn’t it? Always so much shit going on with his kids, bless them all, and now with John. He felt kinda bad. “Everything good with the two of you? Missing persons dude hasn’t shown up to collect his things?”
“There’s a sentence,” Mike said, eyebrows crinkling over it before he took a much more measured drink of his own. Not like gulping would get him drunk any more than sipping would. Not that he was looking to, anyway. “Your boyfriend has too many girlfriends.” Opinionated ones, apparently. “Maybe they were just, you know. Worried. Not that that’s an excuse, but…”
But. Mike would have probably shit a fit if someone hurt Owen too, even if it was with good intentions. So he kind of got it, in a way.
“No more visits from our lobster lover, no,” Mike said, taking the bait of the subject change. “Owen’s a little bummed – all this commotion hasn’t helped sales at Todash much lately.” Not to mention the whole – freaked out by Mike doing ghost thing bit. Literally not mentioning it, actually.
“He does.” Which, well, that was a whole thing on its own. Maybe that’s why John didn’t say he loved Jim back, not in those exact words. Maybe his heart really belonged to Sylvie. Or he was pining over Dawes and whatever the hell was going on in that situation. He liked Hopper, sure, he cared about him obviously, he had not rebuked Hopper’s declaration of love but…
Well, John was just too good looking and charismatic for his own good. Hopper was a jealous person by nature, and he was finding this all a bit difficult. At least lately. “Well your man can expect a good portion of money coming in from me in the next few days, weeks, months.” He said, nodding a thank you at his now refilled drink.
“New month new problems, probably with less Hurricane weather stopping people from coming. Besides he's got the best damn burgers in town, no way all us transplants won't be keeping him well in business.” Speaking of, Hopper wasn't entirely sure when the last time he consumed something that wasn't alcohol or pill related. His stomach growled in protest, audibly. “Should get some food I guess. Can't mention a burger without getting one…”
Well, whatever John and Jim’s relationship issues, Mike was pretty sure they and whoever else was involved would work them out eventually. He had no real idea what was going on there, but he kind of had doubts that anyone was going in with malicious intent. Probably.
“I’m sure he’ll be relieved to know that your alcoholic tendencies are going to pay our rent,” Mike said dryly although he did turn his head toward the bar, like he was trying to spot a glance of Owen. Who was usually always in the kitchen, so there was no such luck there yet. “Take it easy there, there’s no rush.”
You’re probably right though. New month, new tabs, new problems…” He glanced down at his drink. “I like it here,” he admitted, and he knew Hop would know he meant more than Todash. “But Christ if the problems couldn’t slow down a bit.”
“Drinkin ain’t about there being a rush.” Of course, Mike would know that more than most. Neither of them had the best history with drinking, particularly after the losses they had both experienced. Jim was not a social drinker. He wasn’t even a binge drinker. He was more a drink-to-function drinker.
Maybe it was worse now than it used to be.
It was still better than it originally was. “I like it here too.” He admitted, even with all the shit that kept coming their way. It was a weird kind of life. He missed his daughters, he missed Joyce, he missed Hawkins even - but he knew he was there, too. It was selfish to want to put them in danger here, when he was protecting them there.
“I miss the lobsters. At least we got good food out of that month.”
“I think I’m done with lobster for a while,” Mike admitted with a lift of his shoulder. Not that Owen made it poorly – he didn’t. He was masterful in all ways in the kitchen. But… well, a lot was still a lot, especially when Mike had never been wildly keen on the stuff in the first place.
He sipped his whiskey quietly for a moment, letting his attention wander for a moment. “So? What’s the plan for the next few weeks, barring disaster?”
“See if we can’t get a way around the previous healing spells for John so he can not be laid up for the foreseeable future.” No healing for Jim, though, because he was still certain he didn’t deserve it. Suffering was more his style, anyway. “Rest. Enjoy whatever time we have before the next disaster.”
He sighed, leaning against the table and covering his eyes with the palms of his hands, half rubbing them and half just putting pressure in order to keep the headache at bay, that’d been bothering him since he shot John. “Try and figure out if I said something dumb or if John actually feels the same way.”
“What’s making you skip out on the healers?” Mike asked, because he was apparently just a belligerent sort of friend. “No previous healing on your part that’d mess it up, you know.” He couldn’t make a horse drink just because he led it to water, though.
Mike considered that for a moment, traced the rim of his glass with one finger before picking it up again and swallowing back the rest of it. “You know he’s with you, right? The rest feels like … minor details to me.”
Hopper looked at Mike like he had grown a second head. Wasn’t it obvious why he wasn’t going to the healers? “I got my knee healed. The rest is fine.” He said instead of arguing about it. Even if he was lying about how severe some of the burns were, he’d taken John’s advice. No need to have bad knees already - they were bad enough with his age, didn’t need to ruin his knee completely and force himself into early retirement.
Though retirement might be nice, here. There was enough shit going on that sometimes Hopper just wished he could… not. Just stay in his house with John, take the dog for walks, hang out on the boat. “He’s with her, too. Which is fine, I get it - I told him when we got together that I just wanted… some kinda claim on him. But I love him, and i told him that, and I don’t know. I guess I just don’t know how that works, when you date more than one person.”
He knew there were others here, who dated more than one but he wasn’t close with those people, he didn’t know the ins and outs. He was more traditional than all that, this was all very new for him. “Just feel like… whenever I get my footing in all this there’s something that makes me slip.”
Mike returned the look, because he gave as good as he got, and it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to being a stubborn sonofabitch, too. “That wasn’t what I asked,” he said, like it was obvious. Because it was obvious. Obviously.
“Why’s it have to work differently?” Mike asked, genuinely curious. “One person or more, it’s still – I mean. He’s still pointedly dating you, you know? I’m not exactly an expert on love or whatever, but…” He trailed off, unwilling to put words in anyone’s mouth. “I think you should do some research. Times have changed and the internet’s got a lot of answers, you know?” He considered his empty glass. “Or you could just ask him.”
He was one to talk, Mike knew. He’d moved in with his boyfriend before they’d even admitted they were dating. But this wasn’t about him.
“Because I don’t want it. Fuck off, Mike, leave it alone.” He grumbled, because Hopper wasn’t going to flat out say he didn’t deserve it, that he wanted to suffer. That suffering felt like the right thing to do. No, he wasn’t going to say any of that. Mike would know, though.
Hopper turned, maybe, a little red at Mike’s response. Or maybe it was the alcohol. “I’ve googled it.” He admitted, wholly embarrassed by being over forty and googling things about love. “It’s - I don’t know if I’m lookin at things wrong, or the wrong kinds of things. Learned a bit about somethin’ called polyamory.” Which he pronounced as paul-E-amor-E.
“Maybe it don’t gotta be different but, I’ll ask him, eventually, I know I will. Just let a man have a moment to bitch and whine about it to his friend, alright?” He sighed, taking another sip of his drink. “Jeesh, you always ask Owen everything you should?”
Mike was getting perhaps a little too good at looking unimpressed with Hopper’s decisions, but for now he let it go – well, mostly go. Because he was kind of an asshole in his own right, and he wasn’t going to let anyone forget that. “This is where our tax dollars are going,” he said on a sigh before waving the conversation away.
At least Hopper was doing his googling. It was probably a skill that needed to be trained into people who hadn’t had the technology when they came from. He knew Owen was also pretty bad at it. And checking his phone.
“No,” he said of him and Owen with a little smile. “But I never doubted that Owen liked me.” Maybe they’d taken a while to get somewhere, but it wasn’t because of that.
“Oh yeah because you’ve contributed so much in taxes here.” Hopper rolled his eyes, not wanting to continue the argument but nearly two drinks down and hardly any food had his tongue was a little loose. He finished the second drink and pushed it forward, knowing well enough by now that no one was going to refill his drink at this pace. Certainly not Bev, or any of the other bartenders unless they wanted to get fired.
Which was obnoxious, but maybe a little appreciated.
He rose a brow skeptically at Mike, wondering how he could have been so sure about Owen liking him - but then, their relationship had developed in a different way than his with Constantine. Not to mention, there weren’t other people involved in their relationship. “I don’t think it has to work different.” He finally relented, shrugging.
“Maybe I’m just a bit insecure.” Hopper admitted, staring at the empty glass with his arms folded over each other on the counter now.
“They don’t take taxes out of your checks?” Mike countered, an eyebrow raised even though it was mostly just hypothetical. He handed Hop the food menu, not even pretending to be subtle.
He considered that then, and then nodded even as he got his own drink refilled. No one ever cut him off. Then again, Mike wasn’t the sort to go belligerent in any fashion. At least, not without threat of death first.
“Maybe you are,” Mike said after a beat, not completely unkind so much as, well, . “So I guess that means you have to decide whether that’s something you want to make someone else’s problem, or just realize it’s something you have to work on.”
“Well yeah but it ain’t like we’ve been here long enough to have really contributed to taxes.” What they took out wasn’t minimal, but he figured first and foremost it went into things like medicare and whatever. He didn’t know, but the majority of the locals in Dunwich paid for his job, more than Mike had.
Still.
It wasn’t like Hopper got belligerent, but he didn’t always know when to stop. He drank to forget and to numb himself, and Bev knew that. Still, it was frustrating. Sometimes he just wanted to get a little shitty. Maybe a little belligerent. He felt like he deserved to be that way every so often, just to let off some anxiety. Some pain.
He took the menu and browsed through it, nothing sounding even remotely good at the moment. “It’s my problem. I ain’t gonna make John choose or Sylvie feel any kinda way about it. It’s just me. I just - is it really so bad to want to know if he loves me, too?”
“No, it’s not bad,” Mike said, one shoulder lifting in a shrug before he lifted his newly refilled glass to his lips. It didn’t burn the same way going down as it had when he was alive, but it wasn’t nothing either.
“I think it’s perfectly fair, you know. To know where you stand. I just think… it’s clearly something you both need to work out, because I think you’re nearly on the same page but…” he shrugged. “Just fucking talk to him, man.”
Otherwise they’d all be in this awkward circle of repetition, and Mike could only say the same thing so many times, right?
“Yeah, I tried talking to him about it already. Guess I need to be more direct.” He could do that, probably. Maybe. Hopper finally decided on food to order, and got another drink out of the deal too. He leaned forward on the bar, propping his head up with his hand, looking at Mike.
“You’re kind of a pushy bastard sometimes.” He said, not altogether without affection. “I’ll talk to him. I’m just gonna groan about it first. And eat some fries. And drink about it.” He raised his glass when it was refilled, taking another sip, this one slower.