#jb002

after ransacking melvald’s for tools, bob set off to the byers. his own ragtag toolbox was probably long gone since his place in hawkins had been sold after he’d missed rent several months in a row, so he made sure to grab some of the essentials before heading over to take care of some of the repairs...and to see joyce. he made his way there without even having to think about it. it’d been years since he’d been there, technically, but he’d known the way to joyce’s like the back of his own hand. it felt like yesterday even if the boys had grown up by now. jonathan had moved out. will had graduated high school. and bob was still stuck in 1984!

parking near the curb, bob headed up the walk and to the front porch. he actually still had a key to the house on his keyring. it had been with a collection of his belongings when he’d left the hospital. keys, wallet, a well-worn jacket, and a few arcade tokens were all he had to show for the years in between. bob hesitated to use it, though. time had passed for the byerses, even if none had for him. he lifted his hand to knock with the hand not gripping loosely onto the toolbox. he hoped somebody was home...joyce’s car wasn’t out front. had she gotten a new one since ‘84? “hello?” he called. “anybody home?” he let the question hang for a moment before adding. “it’s just me. bob?”

Joey throws her head back in frustration before she crumples up the once blank piece of paper. This one she allows herself to throw away, because she has a feeling she won’t find any answers in a bunch of scribbled circles. 

Days spent with Esme were both great and mentally exhausting. She finally admitted to the woman today that she hasn’t written a single word for this new novel. Esme was, well, Esme about the situation. Days like today, Joey truly admired the woman for balancing all that she did. 

“Art imitates life. Or life imitates art. One of those two,” Valerie said to her. 

“What are you talking about?” Joey asked, scribbling down more circles in her notebook.

“Your novel. You’re stuck. You wrote the first batch because of a bet. And now...”

“Now I have no material because Ben hasn’t bet me to do anything. He doesn’t even know I’m cutting this deadline close.”

“Use him.”

Joey looked up from her book and furrowed her brows.

“Don’t look at me like that. I mean it. He’s like a fountain of untapped potential!” 

“Val...”

“What? Plenty of authors do this! They take their friends’ stories, tweak them a bit, change some names, and voila! And come on—a hot Irishman who can’t help but make a fool out of himself every time he goes out is bound to have at least one to spark your muse.”

Joey contemplated this all day and she’s been contemplating this since she got home. Valerie told her no harm would come in simply asking for some stories. And yet....

Joey shakes her head and pushes her chair away from the desk. Nothing’s bound to happen tonight and she’s not about to waste her night away locked up in the office. 

Feeling the chill of the air conditioned apartment, Joey heads for her room and grabs a sweater. She finds a zip-up hoodie and throws it on before heading to the living room to find him. She tells herself she’s not about to ask him any of the questions Valerie had put in her mind, simply wanting the company.