[The reality is that Jim, now, lives as he always has: bachelor-esque, untidy, careless, definitely selfish. Without Eleven to be an example to, he's sunk back into Jim Hopper, non-dad, single-ish, alone. Sometimes Billy and Eddie tidy up the mess; sometimes Jim lets them, like he thinks they think he needs taking care of.
He doesn't. He doesn't. The cabin is untidy, but it's home. Jim's bed is made, his clothes are put away, and he's only undressed because he started pulling his shirt off the second Stephen said he'd come.
This is how he is when Stephen steps through, like a dream, like a remnant of some other Jim Hopper's life: shirtless, belt half-undone, and his cheeks splotchy red. He doesn't even bother with a hello. There's no time for it, between closing the short distance and taking Stephen by the back of the head to kiss him deep, hard - like he hasn't kissed him in months. ]
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He doesn't. He doesn't. The cabin is untidy, but it's home. Jim's bed is made, his clothes are put away, and he's only undressed because he started pulling his shirt off the second Stephen said he'd come.
This is how he is when Stephen steps through, like a dream, like a remnant of some other Jim Hopper's life: shirtless, belt half-undone, and his cheeks splotchy red. He doesn't even bother with a hello. There's no time for it, between closing the short distance and taking Stephen by the back of the head to kiss him deep, hard - like he hasn't kissed him in months. ]