summary - youâve known steve forever. youâve been his friend for as long as you can remember. but itâs not easy. at least not on your end. when steve is constantly gushing over this new girl heâs been seeing, it makes it hard to stand him. because youâve got a secret. and that secret may just be that you donât see steve as just a friend.
word count - 5k
warnings - heavy fluff, angst, lots of kissing, robin and reader friendship, robin being hilarious but gentle, comfort, tears, no actual smut, friends to lovers, lmk if i missed something!
a/n - i had sooooo much fun writing this!!! if anyone would like to, PLEASE submit some requests!! i need ideas and i'll pretty much write anything for steve, robin, jonathan, or nancy. i hope you enjoy reading as much as i did writing!!!!
Working at Family Video could be uneventful some days, but nothing like this. This was the slowest day youâve ever seen.Â
Maybe it was the fluorescent lights that seem to glow brighter than they ever have before, humming with electricity and filling the quiet. Any time to think is stolen by the noise.
Maybe it was the lack of customers. Being a Wednesday night, you hadnât expected crazy crowds. But you didn't feel that was whatâs dragging the hours.
Maybe it was that Robin had been late, her familiar voice filling the air only in the second half of the shift. But still, it didnât feel like that was the actual problem.
You had one more hypothesis, but it felt incredibly selfish to even think about.
Steve. Behind the counter, phone to his ear, talking nonstop to Dustin about the girl heâs seeing.
Heâs taking her out later, some 4th or 5th date. Could be more. Certainly feels like more with how much he talks about her.
You hate that you feel jealous towards her.
You know itâs selfish to think of yourself. That this is Steveâs moment, heâs finally going steady with a girl. You wouldnât be wishing for a change if it was the right girl.
And yeah, you want Steve to be happy.
But you wonder why he canât be happy with you.
Youâve had a crush on him forever. Not an exactly subtle one at that. You drop hints on occasion. You try to show signs of interest, anything you can to make him see how hopelessly in love you are.
Heâs absolutely oblivious.
Parts of you like his cluelessness. You wouldnât want him to learn of your feelings while he was in a relationship. Youâd never want to break two people up, no matter how much you did like Steve.
But other parts resented it. You wished almost every night that heâd notice the way you act around him. How itâs different. How youâve never shown these same signs to other boys.
It feels like youâre trying to get a rock to love you.
Youâve got to push it down, though. Keep it inside until you get home. Work isnât exactly the place to go deep into the meaning of your own feelings.
Itâs too public.
You and Robin stock the shelves with the returned rentals, VHS tapes stacked tall on the cart you push from section to section.
Itâs only when youâve arrived at the Romance section, passing Robin the tapes that belong in the aisle, when you begin to hear him.
Steveâs on the phone with Dustin, yes. When is he not? But itâs different today. Because instead of having their usual idiotic exchange, theyâre talking about that girl Steveâs been seeing.
âNo dude, Iâm serious, sheâs different. I think she may actually be⌠like⌠the one?â Thereâs a small, almost shy, smile on his face as he speaks into the phone. Completely love struck, leaning on his elbows, playing with the phone cord.
Every syllable twists something in your chest.
Every look makes your face drop further.
Youâre not upset because heâs happy. Thatâd be ridiculous. You like that heâs happy. But you want that for yourself.
You wish you could be loved by him, that maybe heâd open his eyes and realize the girl heâs known since he was 10 doesnât just like him as a friend. That she keeps him around for more reasons than one. That she enjoys his company more than anyone else.
Of course, Robin notices the way you slow. The way you hand the VHS tapes to her slower than just moments before.
Youâve known Robin almost just as long as youâve known Steve.
She puts together the way youâre looking at Steve, the topic heâs rambling about, and the way you look wrecked. She understands almost instantly.
That says a lot, that Robin figured it out within seconds. If she understands it, the girl who insists she has no grasp of social cues, why canât he? Why does Steve not see this?
Or does he just ignore it?
Though neither ideal, itâd hurt less if it was the first.
âDo you want my input, or should I just shut up?â She asks, turning to you after placing down a tape.Â
As soon as she does so, you put down the VHS that youâre holding. Take a breath in through your nose, let your shoulders drop.
Itâs just Robin.
âGo ahead.â You say, a small smile on your lips. Itâs forced, heavily, but it gets the job done. Your arms cross over your chest like a barrier.Â
âHonestly? What worked with Vicks was just⌠being honest. Like, terrifyingly obvious.â She tells you, nodding softly like itâs so natural.
The thing is, itâs not natural. Not when Steve might have a relationship going for him, the first in a long time. And certainly not when heâs one of your oldest friends.Â
You really wouldnât like to ruin that friendship.
âAlso, Steveâs the one who told me to be honest. So, context points me to the fact that itâd work for him as well.â She adds that part like she knew you werenât convinced. Like she could tell you were in doubt.
Not of her. Of yourself.
âThanks, Robs. That helps.â You say genuinely, offering a tilted head and a light grin.
You know you wonât take the advice.
How could you?
ę§âę§
30 minutes until your shift ends.
30 minutes until you get to close up the store, till you can flip that sign on the front to read âSorry, weâre closed!â
It feels like hell, waiting for the work day to be over. With Steve constantly talking about this girl you havenât even bothered to know the name of, you feel drained.
Physically and emotionally.
Things have slowed down in the store. Once it hits 10:30, not many people come through those doors. The ring on the bell no longer sounds.
âMe and Brenda have another date tomorrow. Right after work.â Steve says to you and Robin. The three of you were sitting in chairs behind the counter, just watching the minutes tick by.
So thatâs her name. Brenda. Hearing it feels incredibly wrong.
He hadnât meant to hurt you. He just wanted to fill the silence.
Robin's jaw seems to tighten for a moment, like sheâs angry for you. Like hearing him talk about this in front of you fills her with anger.
Sheâs always been protective over you in that way.
âThatâs fun.â You get out through gritted teeth. Hide the tremble in your voice, appear normally.
âYeah. Iâm starting to really think this is going somewhere.â He says, nodding and leaning back into his chair.
The smile on his face is so genuine, so full of joy and mirth that it pains you to see.
You should be happy, too. Happy that heâs happy. Happy that heâs finally found a relationship in which everything works.Â
You still feel selfish for hating it.
You're not sure what happens in the minutes following. You sort of zone out. You can hear Robin and Steve exchange a few words, but the syllables donât register in your mind.
Itâs not until Robin stands up and places a hand on your shoulder that you come back to the world.Â
You turn to face her, eyes slightly wide.
âOur shifts are over, we can go.â She says, smiling at you.
âThanks.â You stand, grabbing your coat from the counter beside you as her hand falls from your shoulder.Â
âHey,â she begins, voice low though no one else is around to hear it. Steveâs already gone out to his car. âThink about what I said, okay? I promise, it can help.â
You nod, though the feeling of tightness in your chest only grows.
If only it were that simple.
ę§âę§
The next shift starts at noon.
Which feels cruel, honestly. Because noon means sunlight streaming through the front windows, means the world feels awake and normal and bright â and you are none of those things.
You didnât sleep much.
You lay awake replaying Steveâs smile from the night before, the way he said her name so easily. Brenda. You hate that you know it now. Hate that it sticks in your head like a song you donât want to hear.
Family Video looks the same as always when you walk in. Same posters taped crookedly on the walls. Same smell of carpet cleaner and plastic cases. Same bell on the door that rings when you step inside.
Steveâs already there.
Of course he is.
Heâs leaning against the counter, keys tossed beside the register, hair still damp like he showered not too long ago. He looks good â effortlessly, unfairly good â in a way that makes your stomach dip before you can stop it.
âHey,â he says, smiling when he sees you. Like last night didnât happen. Like he didnât talk about another girl for hours while you sat there swallowing your feelings.
âHey,â you reply, shrugging out of your jacket.
Robin comes in a few minutes later, coffee in hand, eyes flicking between the two of you immediately. She clocks the tension like itâs her job. Maybe it is.
The shift starts slow. Painfully slow.
Youâre re-stacking returns behind the counter when Steve suddenly clears his throat.
âSo, uh,â he says, spinning one of the pens between his fingers. âRandom question.â
Your shoulders tense instinctively.
âOkayâŚ?â you say.
He rubs the back of his neck â a dead giveaway that heâs nervous. âIâm picking Brenda up after work today, and I was thinking about maybe changing before I go. I justââ he gestures vaguely at himself, ââdonât know if this is, like, the right vibe?â
You blink.
Once.
Twice.
âOh,â you say. Thatâs all that comes out at first.
Robinâs head snaps up from where sheâs pretending to read a box of returns. Her eyes narrow instantly.
Steve doesnât notice. Heâs still looking at you, earnest and hopeful, like your opinion genuinely matters to him. Which somehow makes it worse.
âWhat do you think?â he asks. âLike, should I go more casual? Orâ I donât know â less casual?â
You force your face into something neutral. Youâre very good at that. Years of practice.
âItâs fine,â you say. âLooks⌠nice.â
He brightens immediately. âYeah?â
âYeah,â you nod, even though your chest tightens. âMaybe just change the jacket. Something darker.â
He looks down at himself, considering it seriously. âOh, yeah. Thatâs smart. See, this is why I ask you.â
That sentence lands like a bruise.
Robin makes a small, strangled sound that she disguises as a cough.
Steve turns to her. âYou good?â
âNever better,â she says tightly, flashing him a smile that does not reach her eyes.
He shrugs, unbothered, then looks back at you. âAnything else? Likeâ I donât know â hair?â
You swallow.
âItâs⌠fine,â you repeat. You sound like a broken record. âYou look good, Steve.â
And you mean it. Thatâs the problem.
âAwesome,â he says, grinning. âThanks.â
He grabs a case and wanders off to re-shelve, completely unaware of the emotional carnage heâs left behind.
The second heâs out of earshot, Robin whips around to face you.
âOh my god,â she hisses. âAre you kidding me?â
You wince. âRobinââ
âNo,â she cuts in. âNope. Absolutely not. I draw the line at outfit consulting for the guy youâre in love with while he goes on dates with someone else.â
âIâm not in love withââ
She gives you a look.
You sigh. âOkay. Fine. But itâs not his fault.â
âIt is a little his fault,â she argues. âHe has eyes. And a brain. Allegedly.â
You canât help the small smile that tugs at your lips. Robin always does that â cracks through the heaviness whether you want her to or not.
She glances over her shoulder to make sure Steveâs still distracted, then leans closer.
âHypothetically,â she begins, voice suddenly casual, âif someone worked with you. And hypothetically, this person had known you forever. And hypothetically, they were always there for you, listened to you ramble, supported you, gave you fashion adviceââ
You already know where this is going. Your stomach twists.
ââwould you ever consider that maybe they might⌠like you?â she finishes.
You stare at her. âRobin.â
âAll I'm saying is that dingus should be getting the hint by now. And I said hypothetically.â
Steve reappears at the counter, interrupting you before you can respond.
âWhatâs hypothetical?â he asks.
Robin straightens immediately, plastering on an innocent expression. âNothing. Just⌠thinking.â
Steve frowns. âAbout what?â
She tilts her head, feigning curiosity. âAbout whether people ever miss whatâs right in front of them.â
Steve blinks. âUh. I guess?â
She exhales sharply through her nose, clearly holding back a thousand words.
âNever mind,â she says. âItâs stupid.â
He shrugs again, already moving on. âAnyway, Iâm gonna grab lunch after this. Do you guys want anything?â
You shake your head. Robin opens her mouth, then closes it.
âNo,â she says. âIâm good.â
Steve nods and heads toward the door, the bell chiming as he steps outside.
The moment it stops ringing, Robin turns to you again, hands on her hips.
âI am going to lose my mind,â she mutters.
You lean back against the counter, exhaustion settling into your bones.
âHe doesnât know,â you say quietly.
âI know,â she replies, just as soft. âAnd thatâs the problem.â
ę§âę§
Itâs late again.
Not end-of-the-world late, but late enough that the store feels hollowed out. The overhead lights hum softly, fluorescent and unforgiving, and the aisles stretch long and empty like theyâre listening.
Robin isnât working tonight.
She said something about a study group. Or a movie night. Or maybe she just needed a break â you hadnât really registered it. All you know is that when you clocked in and saw her name crossed off the schedule, your chest sank a little.
Now itâs just you and Steve.
Heâs behind the counter, counting the till with careful focus. Youâre re-shelving returns, moving on autopilot. Your hands know where everything goes even if your head doesnât.
Youâve been quieter these past few days. You know that. You can feel it in the way conversations donât quite land, in how you answer Steveâs questions with fewer words than usual.
He notices.
âHey,â he says suddenly, glancing up. âYou good?â
You hesitate. Just for a fraction of a second.
âYeah,â you lie. âJust tired.â
He nods slowly, like he doesnât quite buy it but wonât push. âYeah. Same.â
Silence settles again.
It stretches.
Then Steve sighs and leans back against the counter. âCan I ask you something?â
Your stomach tightens. âOkay.â
He hesitates now â really hesitates â rubbing his thumb along the edge of the countertop. âHave I⌠done something?â
You freeze.
âWhat?â you ask, too quickly.
âYouâve just been different,â he says carefully. âLike youâre here, but not really. And I keep thinking maybe I said something stupid.â
You swallow. The truth presses against your ribs, heavy and sharp.
âYou didnât,â you say. âI promise.â
He watches you for a long moment. His eyes donât leave your face, like heâs searching for something youâre not giving him.
âOkay,â he says finally. âJust⌠wanted to make sure.â
You nod and turn back to the shelf in front of you, but your hands are shaking now. You fumble a case, almost drop it.
Itâs stupid. Youâre being stupid. You tell yourself that over and over.
But then â
âBrenda and I broke up.â
The words are so casual you almost miss them.
Your heart stutters.
âWhat?â you ask, barely above a whisper.
Steve looks up, surprised. âOh. Yeah. I guess you didnât know.â
No. You didnât.
âWhen?â you manage.
âA couple nights ago,â he says, shrugging. âIt just⌠wasnât working. Sheâs great, but⌠sheâs just not the right girlâŚâ He trails off, then shakes his head. âAnyway. Itâs done.â
Something in you snaps.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just a quiet, internal click â like a thread pulled too tight for too long finally giving way.
âOh,â you say.
Steve watches your face shift. He sees it this time. Really sees it.
âHey,â he says, frowning. âWhatâs that look?â
You laugh.
It slips out before you can stop it â soft, breathy, absolutely humorless.
âNothing,â you say. âItâs just⌠funny.â
âWhat is?â
You turn to face him fully now. Your chest feels too tight, your throat too small.
âYou ever feel like youâre always almost there?â you ask suddenly.
Steve blinks. âWhat?â
âLike,â you continue, words tumbling out now that theyâve started, âyouâre always almost chosen. Almost noticed. Almost enough.â
He straightens slowly. âWhere is this coming from?â
You shake your head, eyes burning. âI donât know. I justâ I keep watching someone fall for people who arenât me. And I keep telling myself thatâs fine. That itâs supposed to be fine.â
Steveâs heart starts to race. He can feel it.
âYouâre talking about me,â he says quietly.
You look away. âIâm not.â
âYes, you are.â
Silence crashes between you.
âI think,â you say, voice trembling now, âthat if someone really wanted me, I wouldnât have to keep guessing. I wouldnât have to translate every look and every word and every almost.â
Steve steps closer without realizing it.
âYou arenât making sense.â he says softly. âBecause⌠you matter to me. You always have.â
You laugh again, sharper this time. âYeah. As your friend.â
He flinches.
âI donât think I can do this anymore,â you whisper. âI donât think I can keep pretending it doesnât hurt.â
âDo what?â he asks.
You finally look at him.
âBe in love with you,â you say. âQuietly.â
The world stops.
Steve feels it all at once â the late nights, the way you always listened, the way you looked at him when you thought he wasnât paying attention. The jealousy. The distance. The almost.
âOh,â he breathes.
The word hits him like a punch.
âOh.â
You shake your head, already retreating. âI shouldnât have said that. Iâm sorry. I didnât mean toââ
âNo,â he says quickly. âNo, donâtâ wait.â
Youâre already turning toward the back hallway, emotions finally spilling over. âI need a minute.â
You disappear into the bathroom before he can stop you.
The door clicks shut.
Steve stands there, stunned.
Then everything clicks into place.
He follows.
The bathroom smells like cheap soap and cleaner. Youâre leaning over the sink, gripping the porcelain like itâs the only thing keeping you upright.
âHey,â Steve says gently from behind you.
You donât turn around. âYou shouldnât be in here.â
âI know,â he says. âBut I need to say this.â
You close your eyes.
âI broke up with Brenda because something felt wrong,â he continues. âBecause I kept comparing her to someone I wasnât supposed to be comparing her to.â
Your breath catches.
âI kept thinking about how easy it feels with you,â he says. âHow you know me. How you see me. And I thoughtâ thatâs just friendship. It has to be.â
He steps closer.
âBut now I think Iâm just an idiot.â
You turn slowly.
Steveâs eyes are wide, honest, terrified.
âYou werenât almost,â he says quietly. âI just didnât realize I was already there.â
Tears spill down your cheeks.
âSteveââ
âI know,â he says quickly. âI know I donât deserve this timing. Or your trust. But I need you to know that I didnât choose you after anyone else.â
He swallows.
âI just finally saw you.â
You stare at him like heâs said something in a language you donât quite speak yet.
âYou⌠saw me?â you ask quietly.
Steve nods, slow. âYeah. And I hate that it took me this long.â
Your laugh is small, disbelieving. âSteve, Iâve been standing right in front of you for years.â
âI know,â he says immediately. âAnd thatâs the worst part. You were always there. You still chose me. You never made me feel stupid or small or like I had to be something else.â
He rubs the back of his neck, nerves finally bleeding through. âI just thought⌠if I didnât name it, I couldnât mess it up.â
Your chest aches at that.
âI didnât want to mess it up either,â you whisper. âThatâs why I didnât say anything. I didnât want to lose you.â
His expression softens in a way that makes your knees weak.
âYou could never lose me,â he says. âNot like that.â
Silence falls again â but itâs different now. Not heavy. Just full.
Steve shifts closer, close enough that you can feel his warmth, smell the faint soap-and-cologne mix thatâs so him. He doesnât touch you yet. Like heâs giving you space to decide.
âCan I ask you something?â he murmurs.
You nod.
âHave you everâŚâ He hesitates, then exhales. âHave you ever wanted me to kiss you?â
Your breath catches.
âYes,â you admit. âMore times than I can count.â
Steveâs lips part in a soft, almost awed smile. âOkay. Wow. Thatâs⌠good to know.â
You laugh quietly, wiping at your cheeks. âYouâre being weird.â
âIâm nervous,â he admits. âThis matters.â
That alone nearly undoes you.
âIâm scared,â you say. âThat this is just⌠now. That tomorrow youâll realize you were confused.â
Steve shakes his head immediately. âNo. Iâve been confused for months. This is the part that finally makes sense.â
He lifts his hand slowly, giving you time to pull away. When you donât, he brushes his thumb gently under your eye, wiping away a tear like itâs the most careful thing heâs ever done.
âYou donât have to cry,â he says softly. âI want you to know Iâm here. With you. On purpose.â
Your voice trembles. âSteveâŚâ
âYeah?â
âCan you kiss me?â you ask. âJustâ just once? If you hate it, you donât have to do it again, or you can just walk away, or-â
His smile is small and reverent, his following words silencing your rambling. âYeah. I can do that.â
He leans in slowly. No urgency. No pressure. His forehead rests against yours first, noses brushing, breath mingling.
âYou okay?â he whispers.
You nod. âYeah.â
âYeah?â
âYeah.â
Then he kisses you.
Itâs gentle. Careful. His lips barely press to yours at first, like heâs afraid of startling you. When you kiss back â tentative, then surer â he exhales softly through his nose, hand coming to rest at your waist like it belongs there.
Itâs warm. Familiar. Right.
When you pull back, itâs only a few inches, foreheads still touching.
Steveâs eyes are wide, dazed. âOh.â
You smile, teary and breathless. âOh?â
He laughs quietly. âYeah. Definitely didnât hate it.â
You rest your hands against his chest, feeling his heart racing under your palms. âSo⌠weâre doing this?â
He nods, smile spreading slowly, genuinely. âIf you want to.â
âI want to,â you say without hesitation.
âGood,â he murmurs, leaning in again â softer this time, smiling into the kiss.
And this one?
This one feels like the beginning.
The kiss lingers.
Itâs unhurried, easy, like neither of you is in any rush to be anywhere else. Steveâs hand stays warm and steady at your waist, thumb brushing back and forth like he doesnât even realize heâs doing it. When you finally pull back, itâs only a few inches â close enough that your noses almost touch.
You smile before your brain catches up.
Then your brain does catch up.
âHey,â you say softly, one hand still curled in the front of his jacket. âSteve?â
âYeah?â he answers immediately, eyes flicking down to your lips and back up again, like heâs fighting the urge to kiss you again.
You swallow. âJustâ I need to check. About Brenda.â
He doesnât look annoyed. Or offended. Or confused.
He looks relieved.
âOh,â he says gently. âYeah. No, thatâsâ thatâs fair.â
You nod quickly. âI just wanna be sure. I donât wannaâ I donât wanna do anything wrong. And I know you told me earlier, but I wanted to check.â
Steveâs expression softens even more, if thatâs possible. He brings his other hand up, resting it lightly on your arm.
âWe did break up,â he says clearly. âA couple nights ago. Before today. Completely. Youâre not in the wrong, I promise.â
Your shoulders loosen a fraction. âOkay.â
âShe wanted different things,â he continues. âAnd I couldnât stop thinking about you, and that felt⌠wrong. To her. To me.â
Your heart stutters.
âSo this,â you murmur, gesturing between you, âisnât a rebound?â
Steve lets out a quiet laugh. âNo. This is me finally not being an idiot.â
That pulls a laugh out of you, too â small but real.
âGood,â you say, smiling. âJust needed to hear it again.â
âAnytime,â he promises, face mirroring yours.
You donât even realize youâve leaned closer again until he meets you halfway, kissing you softer this time â sweeter, almost smiling into it. His hand squeezes gently at your waist, grounding.
When you break apart, Steve rests his forehead against yours.
âSo,â he murmurs. âDoes this mean I can keep doing that?â
You grin. âIâd be offended if you didnât.â
He laughs, breathy and bright, and steals one more quick kiss before pulling back reluctantly.
âOkay,â he says, suddenly businesslike. âBefore I forget how doors work.â
You both head to the front together, shoulders bumping, still smiling like idiots. Steve flips the sign with a dramatic flourish.
âSorry, weâre closed,â he reads aloud. âEmotionally unavailable Steve Harrington has left the building.â
You snort. âThatâs not what it says.â
âIt should.â
He locks the door, pockets the keys, then looks at you like heâs still surprised youâre there â like this is something he doesnât want to blink and lose.
The walk to his car is full of quiet laughter, teasing nudges.
âYou know Robinâs gonna say âI told you so,ââ you say.
âOh, absolutely,â Steve replies. âSheâs gonna be unbearable.â
âShe already is.â
âTrue.â
He opens the passenger door for you, exaggerated and dorky. âMâlady.â
You roll your eyes but climb in. âYouâre ridiculous.â
âYeah,â he says, shutting the door gently. âBut you like me.â
You do.
Once heâs in the driverâs seat, the car is quiet for half a second â the kind that buzzes with anticipation. Steve glances at you, then back at the windshield.
âSo,â he says. âIs it too much if Iââ
You lean over and kiss him again before he can finish.
This oneâs a little deeper, a little warmer. He smiles into it, hand sliding to your knee, thumb brushing lightly like itâs the most natural thing in the world. When you pull back, youâre both grinning.
âGuess that answers that,â he murmurs.
You nod. âGuess it does.â
He bumps your shoulder gently. âIâm really glad for tonight.â
Your chest aches in the best way. Not like it had in previous days. Not like when Steve was gushing to Dustin. This is different. âMe too.â
Steve starts the car, still smiling to himself like he canât quite believe this is real â like heâs finally found something that fits.
And for the first time in a long time?
So have you.
ę§âę§
The drive to your house is quiet in the best way.
Not awkward. Not heavy. Just filled with the low hum of the engine and the faint sound of the radio playing something youâre only half listening to. Steveâs hand rests on the steering wheel, relaxed now, knuckles loose instead of white. Every so often, he glances over at you like heâs checking to make sure youâre still real.
You catch him once.
âWhat?â you ask, smiling.
He shakes his head, a little sheepish. âNothing. Just⌠thinking.â
âDangerous,â you tease.
He laughs softly. âYeah. But good thoughts this time.â
Your neighborhood comes into view quicker than you expect. The familiar houses pass by, streetlights glowing warm against the dark. Steve slows as he pulls up in front of your place, the car rolling to a stop at the curb.
Neither of you moves right away.
âWell,â he says quietly, turning to face you. âHere we are.â
âYeah,â you reply, suddenly aware of how close he is. Of how different this feels from every other time heâs driven you home.
Thereâs a small pause. Then Steve reaches out, hesitant for just a second, before resting his hand over yours.
âHey,â he murmurs. âI meant what I said. About being glad itâs you.â
Your throat tightens. âI know.â
You lean in first this time.
The kiss is slow and sweet, like neither of you is trying to rush it. Steveâs hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing lightly under your eye, like heâs memorizing the moment. When you pull back, he rests his forehead against yours.
âIâll see you tomorrow?â he asks, hopeful.
You smile. âYou better.â
He grins, that familiar Steve Harrington smile â easy, warm, just for you. âDrive safe,â you say softly.
âYou too,â he jokes, earning an eye roll and a laugh from you.
You open the door, stepping out into the cool night air. Before you close it, you lean back in and steal one last quick kiss, just because you can.
Steve laughs, breathless. âOkay, yeah. Iâm never emotionally recovering from that.â
You shut the door, still smiling as you walk up the path to your house. Halfway there, you glance back.
Steveâs still sitting there, watching you, one hand lifted in a small wave.
You wave back.
When you turn toward your front door, your heart feels lighter than it has in a long time. And behind you, Steve finally pulls away from the curb â driving off with the quiet certainty that something good has finally, finally begun.
You think about all thatâs changed. How Robin will react to this all. You decide to call her in the morning to let her know. But for now, itâs just for you. Just for you and Steve.
cause the sign on your heart, said it's still reserved for me.
summary- this town isn't the kindest to those who are different. they shut down the mere idea that lacks normalcy. but you and robin still find a way to make your relationship work. you go to pick her up from work, a habit written into routine, but it turns into a greater adventure. and it's certainly a challenge to conceal your relationship...
word count- 11.2k
contains- talks of homophobia in the 80's (no direct homophobia towards characters, but fear of it arising), fluff, heated moments, kissing, robin just being the best person ever, let me know if anything was missed!
author's note- i had soooo much fun writing this!! it was based off a request i received! and also yes, i know build-a-bear wasn't established in 1985, but we're gonna ignore that, kay? if you're seeing this, PLEASE help a girl out and send me requests for a robin buckley au! if you'd like to see more about this, see my recent posts!!
ę§âę§
The bell above the door jingles for what has to be the hundredth time in the last ten minutes, and you donât even look up anymore.
Youâre not here for ice cream.
Youâre here because Robin Buckley cannot drive.
Which meansâlike clockwork, like a routine that started when she first got the job, like something thatâs become a quiet constant in your lifeâyouâre here to pick her up.
You donât mind it in the slightest. If anything, you like these trips to come pick her up from the mall. You love to hear about her day on the way home. To hear her complain about customers who âjust have no etiquette.âÂ
You love how she over explains and talks with her hands and with an animated face. Itâs what makes her so incredibly Robin.
You lean against the side of the counter, arms folded loosely, pretending to be invested in the brightly colored menu above the registers. The air smells like sugar and waffle cones and something faintly artificial, and the place is still buzzing with the last stretch of evening customers.
Behind the counter, Robin is mid-ramble. Steve looks like heâs only half-listening to what sheâs saying.
ââŚand Iâm just saying, if a kid asks for three scoops, minimum- and on the smallest cone possible -there should be a law that I get to refuse service. Thatâs not a dessert, thatâs a cry for helpââ
She turns slightly as she talks, gesturing with the scooper in her hand, and thatâs when she spots you.
Everything about her shifts.
Itâs subtleâanyone else probably wouldnât noticeâbut you do. You always do.
Her shoulders drop. Her expression softens. The mild annoyance sheâd been carrying around all shift melts into something lighter, something warmer.
Something that feels a little bit like itâs just for you.
âOh,â she says, like she didnât know youâd be here. Like you havenât been picking her up after shifts for months now. âHey.â
You push yourself off the counter, stepping a little closer, resting your elbows against it instead.
âHey, sailor.â
She rolls her eyes immediately, but thereâs no bite to it.
âDonât start,â she mutters, turning back to scoop one last portion of ice cream with dramatic force. âI have been subjected to that all day. Iâm one nautical-themed joke away from walking into the ocean and not coming back.â
âWeâre in Indiana.â
âIâll find a way.â
You smile, watching her finish up, watching the way she movesâquick, a little clumsy, always just on the edge of chaos. Thereâs a smear of somethingâice cream of a sortânear her wrist, and her hat is slightly crooked. She looks tired in that way that makes her quieter when sheâs not talking and softer overall.
She sets her scooper down, mutters something to Steve, and then sheâs ducking under the counter, disappearing for a moment before reappearing in front of you, already tugging her hat off and running a hand through her hairâ
âand itâs unfair, really, the way something so small can feel so intimate.
Her fingers slip into the roots like sheâs done it a thousand times without thinking, pushing through the soft tangle, lifting it, letting it fall back into place in a way thatâs messier than the neat little uniform Scoops Ahoy tries to force on her. It springs back with a quiet kind of rebellion, loose strands catching the light, framing her face in a way that makes her look more like herselfâless like the version she has to play for everyone else.
You watch the movement more closely than you mean to. The slight hitch of her wrist. The way her shoulders loosen, just a little, like she can finally breathe again. Itâs not just fixing her hairâitâs losing her performative layer. The stupid hat, the act, the careful edges she keeps on in public. For half a second, it feels like sheâs stepping back into the version of herself that belongs to you.
And maybe thatâs why your chest tightens.
Because you know you canât reach out and tuck that strand behind her ear. You canât let your hand follow the path hers just took, canât linger there, canât say anything about how perfect she looks, how you want to memorize the exact way it falls every time she does that.
But Godâyou notice.
You notice everything.
The way her fingers hesitate at the ends, like sheâs considering doing it again just for the feeling of it. The way a few pieces fall into her eyes and she doesnât bother moving them right away. The way she exhales, quiet and unguarded, like she forgot for a second that anyone else exists.
And when she looks up at youâ
it hits all over again.
Like youâre the only one who gets to see this version of her, even in a crowded room. Like that small, absent-minded gesture is a secret being handed to you, disguised as nothing at all.
You have to look away first, just for a second, because if you donât, youâre pretty sure itâll showâwritten all over your face, in the way your breath catches, in the way your heart trips over itself like it always does when she lets herself be this soft, this real, this hers.
And when you look back, sheâs still there, still a little undone, still watching you in that way that makes it feel like maybeâ
just maybeâ
youâll make it out of this.
âOkay,â she exhales, like sheâs shedding the entire shift in one breath. âIâm free. Emotionally damaged, but free.â
You hum, glancing at her wrist. Because that little smudge of chocolate on her skin hadnât slipped your mind. Nothing about her ever really slips your mind.
âHold still.â
She pauses mid-motion, blinking at you.
âWhatâwhyââ
You reach out without thinking, gently catching her wrist. Your thumb brushes over her skin as you wipe away the smear of chocolate fudge with the edge of a napkin you grabbed from the counter.
Itâs quick. Quick enough to go unnoticed by anyone else around. Not that anyone was really looking.
Casual. Casual enough to pass as just two good friends sharing a simple interaction. One merely helping the other.
But your fingers linger for half a second longer than they need to.
Robin goes very still. Because of course she noticed. Of course she noticed how softly your fingers brushed over her wrist. She notices everything you do. No matter how little. It all means the same to her.
ââŚthanks,â she says, quieter now. Just for you.
You drop her hand like it didnât mean anything.
It meant more than most things do.
âCâmon,â you say lightly, nodding toward the door. âYour chariot awaits.â
âMy chariot is a slightly concerning sedan that makes that noise when you turn left.â
âDonât disrespect her like that. Has she ever failed you? No.â
Robin snorts, falling into step beside you as you head for the exit. The bell jingles again as you push the door open, the evening air cooler against your skin as you step outside.
For a second, neither of you says anything.
Itâs quieter out here. The distant hum of the parking lot, the fading light of the sky, the mall glowing just across the lot like itâs still wide awake.
Robin kicks lightly at the pavement as she walks.
Then, a little too casuallyâ
âDo you⌠umââ
You glance at her.
Sheâs not looking at you.
ââŚdo you wanna, like⌠walk around the mall for a bit?â she finishes, words tumbling out faster toward the end. âI justâI donât really feel like going home yet. And itâsâyâknowâitâs still open. Obviously. Because itâs a mall. Andââ
You smile, just a little.
âYou just donât want to stop hanging out with me.â
She stops walking.
âRude,â she says immediately, glaring at you. You can tell itâs not a real glare. Then, after a beatâ âTrue. But rude.â
You laugh, bumping your shoulder lightly into hers as you start toward the mall.
âCome on, dork.â
She falls into step beside you again without hesitation.
Your arms brush as you walk.
Neither of you moves away.
Neither of you reaches, though. That would be far too risky for the town that is Hawkins. They arenât ready to handle something they arenât familiar with.
And just like that, you turn back toward the glow of the mall together.
ę§âę§
The rest of the mall is louder than Scoops, somehow.
Not in the same wayâless chaotic, more constant. A steady hum of voices, footsteps echoing against tile, the faint overlap of music spilling out from different stores at once. Bright lights reflect off polished floors, everything glowing in that artificial, never-quite-dimming way that makes it feel like time doesnât really move in here.
Robin walks just a little too close to you.
Not enough for anyone to look twice.
Just enough that you feel her there.
Her shoulder brushes yours as you pass a group of kids running by, and she doesnât pull away right away. Neither do you. It lingersâjust for a second longer than it shouldâbefore she shifts like it didnât happen at all.
Sheâs talking again.
Of course she is.
âAnd then Steve has the nerveâthe nerveâto tell me that Iâm being âtoo harshâ on the children. The children,â she repeats, gesturing wildly with both hands. âAs if they are not actively waging war against me with sticky fingers and poor decision-making skills.â
You glance at her, smiling.
âSounds rough.â
âIt is rough,â she insists. âI am underappreciated. Underpaid. Emotionally targeted.â
âEmotionally targeted,â you echo.
âYes.â
You bump your shoulder into hers lightly.
She bumps you back.
It turns into a quiet rhythm as you walkâsmall, barely noticeable touches that could pass as accidental but never really are. Her elbow nudges yours when she gets particularly animated. Your hand brushes the back of hers when you reach for the same thing on a display table you werenât even actually interested in.
Neither of you acknowledges it.
Neither of you stops.
A couple passes youâhands intertwined, fingers laced together like itâs the most natural thing in the world.
You look away first.
Robin talks louder for a second.
Not obviously.
Enough for you to notice, though.
ââŚand Iâm just saying, if there were an award for surviving the worst shift imaginable, I would win. No contest.â
You hum, but your attention lingers somewhere else. On the space between your hands. On the fact that if you just moved yours an inch to the leftâ
Robinâs hand brushes yours again.
This time slower. More deliberate.
Your fingers almost catch. Almost.
But then someone walks past, and she pulls away like it didnât happen, like it was nothing, like it didnât send something sharp and warm straight through your chest.
You swallow it down.
You always do.
Itâs not that she doesnât want it. You know she does. Itâs all she ever talks about when youâre together. And when itâs just youâonly the two of youâsheâs the most affectionate person youâve ever met.
Itâs just too risky in public like this.
âHey,â you say after a second, glancing at her. âYouâre being dramatic. Doesnât Steve have the same shift?â
Her head snaps toward you.
âI am never dramatic. And sure, Steve has the same shift, but he spends the whole thing trying to pick up girls! I have to do all the real work.â
âYou just said you were being emotionally targeted by children.â
âI was.â
You laugh softly. She watches you when you do. Very intently.
And something about the way youâre smilingâsomething small, something unguardedâmakes her falter for half a second.
ââŚokay, but youâd defend me in court, right?â she says, a little quieter now. âLike if I did get arrested for banning children from Scoops.â
You raise an eyebrow.
âDepends. Did these children deserve it?â
âThey always deserve it.â
âThen yeah,â you shrug. âIâd defend you.â
It wasnât much of a question to begin with. Youâd defend her from almost anything.
Robin smiles. Not her usual one. Softer, quieter.
The kind she doesnât give to just anyone.
âGood,â she murmurs.
You donât realize how close youâve both drifted until your hands brush againâand this time, neither of you pulls away immediately.
Your fingers slide just slightly against hers.
A question.
A maybe.
Her pinky hooks around yours for the briefest second.
Itâs so quick you could pretend it didnât happen.
But it did. And it means everything.
The moment passes like it always does.
Not goneânever gone. Just tucked away, folded carefully into all the other almosts youâve collected with her.
The rest of the mall stretches out in front of you like nothing just shifted between your ribs.
Like Robinâs hand didnât just find yours in the smallest possible way and undo you completely.
She keeps talking anyway.
Of course she does.
âAnd Iâm just saying,â she continues, gesturing vaguely at absolutely nothing as you walk, âif Steve Harrington gets one more compliment from a stranger while I am actively suffering in the background, I might lose it. I might actually become a villain.â
You hum, but youâre barely listening.
Because sheâs still close enough that you can feel her warmth every time she moves.
Close enough that every step feels like a decision youâre both quietly agreeing to make again and again.
Your shoulder brushes hers.
She doesnât move away.
You donât either.
Itâs almost unbearable how normal you both try to make it look.
Like youâre just two friends walking through a mall in Hawkins, Indiana, in a world that doesnât notice the way you keep orbiting each other.
Just two friends, but sheâs looking at you like youâre the only thing she sees. Like sheâd kiss you even if people were watching.Â
Because when it comes to you, Robin just canât help herself. Her eyes trail to your lips, something shifting within her pupils.Â
She looks away almost instantly.
âYou make it really hard to behave in public, you know that?â You mutter to her, quiet enough to go unheard by others, loud enough to cut through the chaos of the mall so she can hear you.
She stops talking.
And when you look at her, sheâs already looking at you like sheâs decided something without telling you.
âCome here,â she says.
Soft.
Immediate.
And before you can even ask what she means, sheâs grabbing your wristâgentle but certainâand pulling you toward the side of the hallway where the arcade noise is louder and the lights are slightly dimmer and thereâs a photo booth tucked between machines like itâs trying not to be seen.
You blink.
âRobinââ
But sheâs already tugging the curtain aside.
âYou started it,â she mutters.
âI absolutely did not start anything.â
âYou did and you know it,â she says, and then sheâs pulling you inside.
The curtain falls behind you with a soft whoosh that suddenly makes everything outside feel like a different world entirely.
Itâs smaller in here than you expect.
Always is.
The bench is barely wide enough for one person, let alone two, but Robin is already sitting, already pulling you down with her like thereâs no question about it.
Your legs bracket hers, knees on either side of her legs. Your thighs press together, her hands finding your waist to hold you on her lap.
And suddenly everything outside the booth feels impossibly far away.
For half a second, neither of you speaks.
âMind telling me what weâre doing in here?â You whisper to her, brushing back her hair as she looks up at you with what may be the widest eyes youâve ever seen.
Robin exhales.
âOkay,â she says, like sheâs been holding her breath since Scoops. âI couldnâtâ I couldnât do the whole walking-around-like-that thing anymore.â
You blink at her.
âWhat thing?â
She looks at you like youâre being difficult on purpose.
âThat thing,â she says, softer now, eyes flicking down to your mouth and then back up again. âWhere you exist next to me and Iâm supposed to pretend I donât want toââ
She doesn't finish it. Doesnât have to.
Because sheâs already leaning in.
The first kiss is quick. Almost careful.
Like sheâs testing whether the world will punish her for it.
It barely lasts a second, just the soft press of her mouth to yours, warm and a little uncertain at the edges, like she came in expecting to pull away any moment. But she doesnât. Not immediately.
Instead, she stays there.
Close enough that you can feel the way she exhales through her nose, a quiet, shaky thing that doesnât sound like her at Scoops or in front of anyone else. Close enough that the space between you stops feeling like space at all and starts feeling like a held breath.
Itâs not rushed, not reallyâitâs just restrained, like sheâs been holding something back for so long she doesnât quite remember how to let it go gently.
Her hand tightens slightly at your waist, not pulling you closer so much as anchoring herself there, like she needs something solid to prove this is real. The photo booth hums faintly around you, fluorescent light flickering somewhere above, but it all feels distant, softened at the edges, like the world outside got turned down to a whisper.
And thenâbarely, barelyâshe shifts.
Itâs small. A tilt of her head, a second attempt that isnât hesitant anymore. The kind of movement that says sheâs stopped asking permission from her fear.Â
Her mouth meets yours again, and this time it lingersâjust enough for the shape of it to settle in, for the warmth of her to stop feeling like surprise and start feeling like intention.
You can feel it in the way she breathes your name against your mouth without saying it out loud, in the way her fingers flex once at your waist like sheâs grounding herself in the fact that youâre actually here, actually real, actually choosing this with her in a space too small to pretend anything else is happening.
When she finally pulls back, sheâs smiling like she forgot how to do anything else.
âWe should go. Someone might catch us,â you say immediately, even though you donât move. Youâve got no intention of going anywhere, but you know you should.
She looks around quickly, eyes grazing the curtain and space behind the two of you.
She reverts her gaze to you.
âI donât see how anyone would see us,â she says, like itâs obvious. âWeâre literally covered.â
You let out a quiet breath that turns into a laugh before you can stop it.
âRobin.â
âWhat?â she asks, completely unbothered, already leaning in again like the idea of stopping is purely theoretical.
Her lips move from yours.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Not like sheâs rushing anywhere, not like sheâs trying to prove a point anymoreâlike sheâs learning. Learning you for the hundredth time at the least. Like sheâs memorizing you in real time, letting the urgency drain out of her in favor of something quieter, something that feels almost reverent in the small, humming space of the photo booth.
You feel it before you fully understand itâthis shift in her. The way her breath changes against your skin, the way her hold at your waist steadies instead of tightens, like sheâs finally stopped bracing for impact.
And then sheâs not kissing your mouth anymore.
Sheâs kissing the corner of it first, so gentle it almost doesnât feel real, like sheâs checking if youâll disappear if sheâs too soft. When you donât, when you just sit there breathing her in like itâs the only thing keeping you steady, she drifts lower.
Her lips brush your jaw next.
Slowly. Carefully. Like sheâs tracing something sheâs only ever been allowed to look at from a distance until now. Which is true in public. But when youâre alone, her lips are everywhere.
It makes something in your chest pull tightânot painful, just overwhelming in the way it always is when Robin forgets how carefully sheâs supposed to exist around you in public. Because as fragile as this is, itâs all youâve ever wanted.
Another kissâyour cheek this time. Lingering just a second longer than the last, like sheâs getting braver without asking permission from herself.
And you can feel it building in her, the way she pauses for the smallest fraction of a second between each touch, like sheâs collecting courage in those tiny gaps. Like every place she kisses is a place sheâs been thinking about when sheâs supposed to be scooping ice cream or talking to Steve or pretending she doesnât look at you the way she does.
Her breath stutters faintly when she moves lower again, and it hits you all at once that this isnât just affection for her.
Itâs relief.
Itâs want sheâs been folding in on itself for so long itâs practically bruised.
And when her lips finally reach the side of your neck, itâs not rushed. Itâs not careless. Itâs soft in a way that feels almost disarmingâlike sheâs placing something there instead of taking anything at all.
And God, you want it. Of course you do.
But it canât happen. At least, not now. Not in public.
âRobâRobin,â you whisper, voice breathy and soft, but still trying to stop her. âYou canât.â
She pauses instantly.
Looks up at you.
All innocence.
âWhat?â
Sheâs utterly confused at your words. But her expression carries a hint of worry. Like sheâs afraid she hurt you, or crossed a line you didnât want crossed.
âYou canât leave marks,â you whisper, like saying it quieter makes it easier. âNot here.â
Something shifts in her expression.
Not frustration.
Something warmer.
Something that makes your stomach twist in a way that feels dangerously close to wanting everything at once.
âCanât we break the rules just this once?â she asks.
And itâs not teasing.
Not really.
Itâs almost pleading.
You shake your head gently, fingers brushing her wrist where sheâs still holding you.
âMaybe some other time,â you say, lower now. âWhen literally anyone else could be a suspect. But not when itâs just you and me.â
You see it land.
The way her shoulders drop just slightly.
The way she exhales like sheâs letting something go she didnât realize she was holding.
ââŚfine,â she says.
Sheâs about to lift you off of her lap, her hands gripping your waist to pick you up. But then, like sheâs bargaining with fate itselfâ
âOne more kiss.â
You huff a laugh.
âRobin.â
âCome on, please?â She whispers, looking up at you. Some combination of those eyes and that voice convinced you.
You let her.
She kisses you again.
Soft.
Longer than âone moreâ implies.
When she pulls back, sheâs already smiling again like she didnât just completely forget her own promise.
âOkay,â she says. Then again, softerâ âOne more.â
You shake your head, laughing now for real.
âRobin.â
âWhat? I said one more. That was technically not long enough. So I need to reset.â
âYou are making up rules as you go.â
âThatâs how rules work,â she says confidently.
She kisses you again.
Youâre smiling against her mouth now.
âOkay,â she mumbles afterward, forehead briefly resting against yours. âOkay, now we go.â
You raise an eyebrow.
âDo we?â
âYes,â she says immediately. Then, after a beatâ âProbably.â
You laugh softly, finally pushing the curtain aside.
The mall rushes back in.
Too loud.
Too bright.
Too normal.
Robin steps out first, then turns slightly like sheâs checking if reality noticed anything.
It hasnât.
Thatâs the thing about Hawkins. It doesn't notice as long as you lurk where no one can see you. You can get away with things if you're careful.
But the second you gain that confidence in public? Everyone hears about it.
She offers you her hand like itâs the most casual thing in the world.
You take it. Thereâs enough teenage girls around that replicate the closeness between you too. Enough that youâll pass as just friends.
Good friends.
And just like that, youâre both walking againâtoo close, too soft, too careful.
Like nothing happened.
Like always.
ę§âę§
The mall keeps moving around you like it doesnât care what just shifted between your ribs.
People pass. Laughter echoes somewhere near the arcade. A coin clatters into a machine and disappears into noise.
And Robin is still right there beside you.
Still too close.
Still acting like her entire existence didnât just temporarily forget how to be normal in a photo booth five minutes ago.
Sheâs talking again almost immediately.
Of course she is.
âAnd Iâm telling you,â she says, gesturing vaguely with her free hand while the other still brushes near yours like it hasnât decided what it wants to do yet, âSteveâs entire argument about âcustomer service charmâ is fundamentally flawed because charm implies I have to be fake nice and I refuseââ
Youâre listening.
You are.
Mostly.
But itâs hard when she keeps glancing at you like that. Like sheâs still half stuck in the booth with you, like part of her didnât fully come back out into the hallway.
You bump her shoulder lightly.
âDonât you dare call me dramatic again because I am not.â she immediately says.
âYou so are.â
âI am right,â she corrects you, like thatâs somehow different.
You smile, shaking your head a little.
And thatâs when she stops.
Sheâs gone completely still.
Itâs subtle, like everything with her always is when it actually matters.
Her voice trails off without her realizing it. Her hand, mid-gesture, slowly lowers.
And then sheâs looking across the mall.
Not at you.
Past you.
Like something just pulled her attention somewhere else and forgot to ask permission.
You follow her gaze.
At first, you donât see what sheâs looking at.
Just storefronts. Bright colors. Passing people. The usual blur of mall life.
And then you notice it.
A tucked-away shop wedged between a clothing store and an arcade cabinet wall.
Soft lighting. Plush displays in the window. A bright, slightly worn sign that looks like itâs trying a little too hard to be cheerful.
Build-A-Bear Workshop.
Robin goes very, very quiet.
Which is⌠new.
You glance at her.
âRobin?âÂ
She doesnât answer right away. Sheâs still staring at it like itâs personally offended her. Or like itâs personally called her name.
Thenâ
âWe have got to go.â she says, almost to herself.
Her hand catches your wrist without hesitation and sheâs already pulling you with her before you can even process the shift.
âWaitâRobinâwhat are you doing?â
But sheâs walking like sheâs on a mission.
Like she just found something she wasnât supposed to.
âRobin.â
She doesnât stop.
She just says, very simply:
âWeâre going in there.â
You blink.
ââŚwhat?â
Now she looks at you like youâre the confusing one.
âWeâre going in there.â
You slow your steps.
âRobin, that place is for kids.â
That finally makes her pause.
She turns slightly, still holding your wrist, eyebrows raised like sheâs offended on principle.
âWell,â she says, very matter-of-factly, âweâre not over eighteen, so we donât qualify as adults.â
You blink.
âRobinââ
âAnd,â she continues, getting more confident now, like sheâs building a legal case she absolutely did not think through beforehand, âaccording to my standards, that means we technically count as kids.â
She nods once, like that settles it.
âIf you squint.â
You just stare at her.
ââŚthatâs not how any of that works.â
Robin tightens her grip on your wrist slightly and starts walking again.
âShut up and come on.â
Thatâs it.
No further argument.
No additional logic.
Just immediate confidence in a completely unserious opinion.
You let out a breathâhalf laugh, half disbeliefâbut youâre already following her again anyway.
Because of course you are.
Because sheâs still holding your hand like itâs the most natural thing in the world.
And because she looks weirdly excited now.
Like she just decided something important.
Like this matters more than sheâs admitting.
The closer you get, the brighter the store feels.
Soft lights spilling out onto the mall floor. Rows of half-finished stuffed animals sitting in little bins like theyâre waiting to be chosen. Music that feels overly cheerful in a way that makes your chest ache for no reason you want to name.
Robin slows only when you reach the entrance.
She glances at you once.
Quick.
Checking.
Like sheâs making sure youâre still with her in this ridiculous decision.
And then, softer than before:
âJust⌠trust me, okay?â
You exhale through your nose, shaking your head a little.
But your fingers squeeze hers back anyway.
âYeah,â you say. âOkay.â
And thatâs enough for her.
Robin smilesâsmall, bright, entirely too satisfied for someone about to drag you into a store full of stuffed animals.
And then she pulls you inside.
ę§âę§
The air inside hits you first.
Warm in a different way than the rest of the mallâsofter, almost. Like everything in here has been designed to feel safe. Bright lights, but not harsh. Music playing overhead thatâs cheerful in a way that borders on nostalgic, like something youâre supposed to remember even if you donât.
There are bins everywhere.
Rows and rows of unstuffed animals, all slightly slumped in on themselves, waiting. Little fabric bodies with flat limbs and soft, expectant faces. Itâs almost unsettling for half a secondâlike theyâre all holding their breath.
Robin, however, is immediately focused.
Her hand slips from yours without ceremonyânot because she wants to let go, but because sheâs already stepping forward, already scanning the displays like she just walked into the most important decision of her life.
âOh my God,â she breathes.
You blink at her.
âRobinââ
âWait,â she cuts you off, holding a hand up like you just tried to interrupt a life-or-death situation. âGive me a second.â
And then sheâs gone.
Not farâjust two steps aheadâbut fully gone in the way she gets when something grabs her attention completely. She crouches slightly by one of the bins, picking up a floppy, unstuffed bear and turning it over in her hands like sheâs assessing it.
You cross your arms loosely, watching her.
ââŚyouâre kidding,â you say.
Robin doesnât even look at you.
âNo,â she says, completely serious.
She lifts the bear up, squinting at it.
âThis oneâŚâ she starts slowly, like sheâs about to deliver a diagnosis. ââŚhas potential.â
You press your lips together.
âItâs a stuffed bear.â
She finally looks at you then, offended.
âItâs a life partner,â she corrects. âBe respectful.â
You laugh before you can stop yourself, turning your head slightly like that might hide it.
âOh my God.â
âIâm serious,â she insists, standing up now, still holding the bear carefullyâcarefully, like it matters. âYou canât just rush into this. This is a long-term commitment.â
You raise an eyebrow.
âTo a stuffed animal.â
âTo our stuffed animal,â she says, like that clarifies everything.
Andâ
It does something to you.
Small. Quiet. Immediate.
Your breath catches just slightly, like something in your chest wasnât prepared for the way she said that. Our. So easy. So natural. Like it didnât weigh anything at all when it lands square in the center of you.
You donât say anything about it.
You just look at her.
Robin, completely unawareâor maybe just pretending to beâkeeps going.
She sets the first bear back with a soft little shake of her head.
âNo,â she decides. âNot right.â
You tilt your head.
âNot right,â you repeat.
âItâs lacking depth,â she says.
You stare at her.
âItâs fabric.â
âExactly,â she says, like that proves her point.
You huff out another quiet laugh, shaking your head, but you step closer anyway. Close enough that your shoulder brushes hers as you look down into the bin with her.
She doesnât react.
Not outwardly.
But she shifts just slightly toward you. Just enough.
Like always.
You reach down, picking up another oneâthis one a little smaller, lighter in color.
âWhat about this one?â you ask.
Robin leans in immediately, shoulder pressing more firmly into yours as she peers at it.
Too close.
Not enough to draw attention.
Enough that you feel it everywhere.
She studies it, serious.
ââŚhmm,â she hums.
You glance at her, trying not to smile.
âWell?â
She tilts her head.
âItâs⌠fine.â
You gasp, mock-offended.
âFine?â
âFine,â she repeats. âIt doesnâtâspark anything.â
âYouâre insane.â
âI have standards.â
âYouâre picking a stuffed animal, not a soulmate.â
Robin looks at you again.
Dead serious.
âThis is a soulmate.â
You shake your head, but youâre smiling. You can feel it in your cheeks, the way it wonât go away no matter how much you try to play it off.
âRobin, just pick a bear.â
âNo.â
âRobinââ
âThis is our child.â
That one lands differently.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Justâ
there.
You still.
Just for a second.
Itâs stupid, you know it is. She doesnât mean anything by itânot in the way your brain immediately tries to twist it into. Itâs just Robin. Dramatic, over-the-top, attached to everything she decides matters.
But stillâ
Our child.
Something soft blooms in your chest before you can stop it. Something that feels dangerously close to imagining things you donât let yourself imagine. Something that looks like quiet mornings and shared spaces and a version of the world where you donât have to pretend youâre anything less than what you are together.
You swallow it down. Gently. Carefully.
Like you always do.
ââŚyouâre ridiculous,â you say, but your voice is softer now.
Robin doesnât catch the shift.
Or maybe she does, in the way she always doesâwithout saying anything.
She just nudges your shoulder with hers.
âYou love it,â she says.
You donât answer that.
Because you do.
You absolutely do.
She moves to another bin, and you follow without thinking. Of course you do. You always orbit her, just like she orbits you. Itâs instinct at this point.
She picks up another bearâthis one a little bigger, a soft brown color, simple. No bright patterns, no gimmicks. Just⌠soft.
She pauses. You notice it immediately. Because sheâs gone quiet again.
ââŚthis one,â she says, softer now.
You step closer, looking at it with her. And something about itâ
You donât know what it is, but it feels right. Not because itâs special.
Because itâs simple. Warm. Familiar in a way you canât explain.
You reach out without thinking, your fingers brushing hers as you both adjust your grip on it at the same time.
Itâs small.
But itâs there.
Your fingers resting against hers, both of you holding the same thing like neither of you wants to let go first.
Robin doesnât pull away. Neither do you.
ââŚyeah,â you say quietly.
She looks at you. Not at the bear. At you.
âYeah?â she echoes.
You nod once. âYeah.â
Something in her face softens. Not dramatic. Not obvious.
Justâ
right.
âOkay,â she says.
And thatâs it. Decision made. No more overthinking. No more inspecting every option like itâs a life-altering choice.
She holds the bear a little closer to her chest, careful again in that way that makes your chest ache for reasons you donât want to name.
Like it matters.
Like this matters.
You watch her for a second longer than you mean to. The way she looks at it. The way she doesnât look at you, but somehow still includes you in the moment anyway.
And without thinkingâ
you reach out.
Not obvious. Not something anyone else would notice. Just your fingers brushing lightly against the back of her hand where it holds the bear.
A quiet little squeeze.
Gone almost as soon as itâs there.
Robinâs breath catches. Just barely. She doesnât look at you. But she leans closer.
Just a fraction. Enough that your shoulders press together again. Enough that it feels like a secret.
âOkay,â she says again, softer this time.
ę§âę§
Robin doesnât let go of the bear.
Not once.
Even as you both drift further into the storeâpast racks of tiny clothes and shelves of little accessories and bins of hearts in every color imaginableâshe keeps it tucked close to her chest like it might disappear if she loosens her grip.
You walk beside her, close enough that your arms brush every few steps.
Close enough that it feels like something more, even when it canât be.
Thereâs a small line at the stuffing station.
A couple of kids, a parent or two, someone laughing too loudly somewhere behind you. The soft whir of machines hums in the background, steady and mechanical in contrast to how quiet everything feels between you.
Robin shifts her weight from one foot to the other.
Not impatient.
Just⌠thinking.
You watch her from the corner of your eye.
The way her fingers absentmindedly smooth over the bearâs unstuffed arm. The way she presses her thumb into the fabric like sheâs grounding herself in it. In this.
Itâs such a small thing.
But you feel it anyway.
When itâs your turn, the employee gives the same speech they probably give a hundred times a dayâwarm, practiced, bright.
âOkay! So before we stuff your bear, you get to make a wish.â
Robin glances at you immediately.
Of course she does.
You raise an eyebrow slightly, like youâre bracing for commentary.
But she doesnât say anything.
Not this time.
ââŚand then you give the heart a kiss,â the employee continues, placing a small, soft fabric heart into your hand.
Itâs lighter than you expect.
Simple.
Just a little red shape sitting in your palm.
You donât overthink it.
You donât hesitate.
You close your fingers around it, bringing it up without making a show of it. No dramatic pause. No second-guessing.
Your eyes close for just a second.
The world doesnât disappearâbut it softens. The noise fades just enough that you can focus on the feeling of it. The weight of something small thatâs supposed to hold something bigger.
Your wish isnât loud.
It isnât complicated.
Itâs simple. A simple wish that a girl who wants nothing but to be able to be happy with her girlfriend in public would make.
You press the heart gently to your lips.
Quick. Soft. Like itâs something youâre not supposed to linger on in public.
And then you open your eyes again. Robin is already looking at you. Not casually. Not like she just happened to glance over.
Sheâs watching you.
Like sheâs trying to memorize it.
The way your expression softened without you noticing. The way you didnât make it a joke. The way you treated something small like it mattered.
It does something to her.
You can see it.
You hand the heart back without comment, like it didnât mean anything more than the instructions said it should.
But when you glance at her again, sheâs still looking at you like it meant everything.
âYour turn,â you say quietly.
She blinks. Like she forgot for half a second that she was next.
âOhâyeah.â
The employee places another heart in her hand. Robin takes it.
And for a momentâ
she freezes.
Itâs small. Easy to miss. But you know her.
Her fingers curl around the heart, but not confidently like yours did. Thereâs a slight pause in the movement. A hesitation that wasnât there before when she was analyzing bears like they held the meaning of life.
Because thisâ
this is different.
This asks for something real.
And suddenly the world outside this moment feels closer again. Louder. Watching, even if it isnât. The weight of what you are, what you canât say, what has to stay quietâ
It all brushes up against her at once. She looks at the heart. Then at you.
Just for a second.
Thereâs something in her eyesânot panic, not exactly. Just⌠uncertainty. Like sheâs standing on the edge of something she doesnât know how to hold in public.
You donât say anything. You donât push. You just look back at her. Steady. Soft.
Like itâs okay. Like Iâm right here.
Thatâs all it takes. Her shoulders drop just slightly. Not all the way. Just enough.
Robin brings the heart up slowly. Not dramatic. Not performative.
Careful.
Like it actually matters.
Her eyes flick to yours one more timeâquick, almost instinctiveâbefore she presses the heart to her lips. And itâs softer than you expect.
Not rushed. Not joking.
Soft in a way that feels almost⌠private.
Like sheâs putting something into it she doesnât have words for. Her lips linger there for just a second longer than necessary.
And when she lowers it again, her voice barely exists when it slips outâ
ââŚdonât let me lose this.â
Itâs so quiet you almost miss it. Almost. But you donât. Because of course you donât.
Your chest tightens. Not sharply. Just enough to remind you how much is sitting unspoken between the two of you.
She doesnât look at you right away after she says it. Like maybe sheâs not sure if she actually said it out loud.
Like maybe sheâs hoping you heard it without having to acknowledge it.
The employee takes the heart back, smiling like everything is normal, like this is just another step in a simple process.
The bear gets placed under the machine.
The stuffing startsâsoft whirring filling the space as it slowly comes to life, filling out, rounding into something solid and real.
Robin watches it like itâs important. Like sheâs watching something become.
And without thinkingâ
her hand finds yours.
Her fingers brush against yours first, like always. Testing. Then settle.
Just for a second. Just enough.
You donât look at her. You donât react in any way anyone else would notice. You just let your hand shift slightly so your fingers press back.
Quiet. Certain.
And then itâs gone. Like it never happened. Except it did. And it meant everything.
ę§âę§
The transition from the stuffing station to the clothing section feels like stepping into a completely different kind of chaos.
Soft chaos.
Color everywhereâtiny hangers lined up in rows, racks packed too tightly with miniature outfits, shelves stacked with shoes no bigger than your palm. Bright fabrics, glittery fabrics, absurd fabrics. Little plastic sunglasses. Hats. Shoes with laces that are purely decorative.
Itâs overwhelming.
And Robinâ
Robin absolutely thrives in it.
âOh, this is dangerous,â she says immediately.
You laugh under your breath, following close behind her as she drifts toward the nearest rack like sheâs been here a hundred times before.
âDangerous?â you echo.
âYes,â she says, already flipping through outfits with quick, decisive movements. âBecause I have no self-control and this is clearly a situation that requires a lot of self-control.â
You lean slightly against the rack beside her, arms loosely folded, watching her.
âYouâre dressing a stuffed bear.â
âOur stuffed bear,â she corrects instantly.
You donât even argue this time.
She pulls something off the rack with a little gasp. âOh my God.â You already know.
âRobinââ
She turns to you, holding it up with both hands like she just discovered something revolutionary.
A tiny sailor outfit. White and blue. Little collar. Miniature hat.
You stare at it. Then at her. Then back at it.
ââŚno,â you say immediately.
âYes,â she counters, stepping closerâtoo close, not that either of you acknowledge it. âLook at it. Look at this. Itâs perfect.â
âItâs ridiculous.â
âItâs iconic,â she corrects.
You canât help itâyou laugh, shaking your head. âYou just want it because it matches your Scoops uniform.â
She gasps like youâve deeply offended her.
âThat is not the only reason.â
âItâs the only reason.â
âItâs a bonus,â she amends, already turning back to the rack like the argument is over. âAnd also, itâs important for bonding.â
âBonding.â
âYes.â
âWith the bear.â
âWith our child,â she says, like youâre the one being unreasonable.
You press your lips together, trying not to smile again. Failing.
She grabs a second outfit. Then a third. And suddenly her arms are full.
âRobin,â you say, reaching out instinctively to steady one of the hangers before it slips. Your fingers brush hers.
Neither of you pulls away immediately. Just for a second. Just long enough to notice.
Then you take the hanger from her like itâs the only reason your hand was there at all.
âYou cannot possibly be serious,â you continue.
âI am completely serious,â she says, nodding once like that settles it. âThis is a critical moment.â
You glance down at what sheâs holding.
ââŚsunglasses?â you ask.
âEssential,â she says.
âFor what?â
âProtection.â
âFrom what?â
âThe sun.â
âWeâre inside.â
âPreparation is key.â
You laugh again, softer this time, shaking your head as you hold up another tiny outfit from the rack.
âWhat about this one?â you ask, mostly just to see what sheâll say.
Robin leans in immediately. Too close.
Her shoulder presses into yours, her arm brushing along yours as she angles herself to look at what youâre holding. Her hair shifts slightly as she moves, and for half a secondâ
her breath is right there. Warm against your cheek.
âYou have terrible taste,â she says quietly.
You turn your head just enough to look at her.
âYou didnât even give it a chance.â
âI didnât need to.â
Her voice is lower now. Not intentionally. Just⌠softer under everything else. And you feel it anyway.
âRude,â you murmur.
She hums like she doesnât care, but she doesnât move away. Not right away.
She lingers there for a second too long before pulling back just enough to grab another outfit.
It keeps happening like that. Little things.
You hand her somethingâyour fingers brush.
She takes itâbut slower than necessary. Her hand lingers just a fraction too long before letting go.
She leans in to show you somethingâher shoulder pressing into yours, her voice dropping slightly like itâs just for you even in a store full of people.
Itâs soft. Too soft.
Almost dangerous in a place like this. And neither of you stops.
âOkay, but thisâthis is non-negotiable,â Robin says, holding up the sailor outfit again like sheâs making a final ruling.
You sigh dramatically.
âRobinââ
âIt matches me,â she says, like that alone should win the argument.
âThatâs exactly why we shouldnât get it.â
âThatâs exactly why we should. Come on, youâd have something to remember me by if those kids ever kill me for Scoops sample.â
You look at her.
Really look at her.
The way sheâs standing there, so earnest about something so small. The way sheâs holding it like it matters. The way her eyes flick to youânot to win, but to share it.
ââŚyouâre impossible,â you say, softer now.
She smiles. Not big. Just enough.
âI know.â
Thereâs a pause. Not awkward.
Justâ
full.
And thenâ
âAre you two sisters?â
The voice comes from behind you. You both turn slightly. A worker stands there, smiling warmly, completely unaware of the way the question lands.
âOr best friends?â she adds.
And for a secondâ
everything stills.
Itâs small. Barely noticeable from the outside. But itâs there. The pause.
You feel it in the way Robin doesnât answer immediately.
In the way your fingers, still loosely holding one of the hangers, suddenly feel too aware of where her hand is next to yours.
You glance at her. Sheâs not looking at the worker. Sheâs looking at you. And something in her expressionâ
it softens.
Not hidden fast enough.
Not covered up with humor or deflection like she usually does.
Just⌠honest.
Open in a way that feels too big for a simple question.
âYeah,â she says after a second.
Quiet.
ââŚsomething like that.â
Her eyes donât leave yours when she says it.
Not for a second. Itâs not defiance. Itâs not a joke. Itâs justâ
the closest thing to the truth she can give out loud.
The worker smiles, nodding like that makes perfect sense.
âWell, you two are doing great,â she says warmly. âI love the choices of outfits.â
She gestures to the sailor outfit. Of course she does.
Then she moves on.
Just like that. The moment passes. But it doesnât really pass. It settles.
Somewhere deeper.
You let out a small breath, shifting your weight slightly before bumping your shoulder into Robinâs.
âSomething like that, huh?â you say lightly.
Robin immediately looks away.
âOkay, I didnâtâ thatâs notâ I justââ she stumbles, words tripping over each other in a way thatâs so completely her it almost makes you laugh again. âIt was the easiest explanation!â
You grin. âMm.â
âDonâtâdonât do that,â she mutters, ducking her head slightly like sheâs trying to hide the fact that sheâs smiling.
âDo what?â
âThat.â
You laugh softly. She huffs, but itâs not real irritation. Never is with you.
Her hand shifts slightly as she adjusts the clothes sheâs holding.
Your fingers brush again.
Neither of you moves away.
Not this time.
It lingers.
Just a second longer than it should.
Just long enough to mean something.
Robin clears her throat, like sheâs trying to reset herself.
âOkay,â she says, a little too quickly. âSailor outfit. Final decision.â
You raise an eyebrow.
âNo more emotional depth analysis?â
âThis one already has it,â she says firmly.
You shake your head, but youâre smiling again.
âOf course it does.â
And just like thatâ
you both keep standing there. Too close. Too soft. Too careful. Like everything is balanced on something neither of you says out loud.
And neither of you wants to move away first.
ę§âę§
The decision, once itâs made, feels final in a way neither of you questions.
Robin clutches the little bundle of clothes and the now-stuffed bear like sheâs afraid someone might take them back if she loosens her grip for even a second. You stay close as you make your way to the checkout, instinctively matching her pace, your shoulder brushing hers every few steps like itâs something your bodies decided on without consulting you.
The line is short.
Two people ahead of you.
A kid bouncing on their heels, a parent trying to wrangle them, the soft beep of the register scanning items one by one. Itâs all normal. Mundane. The kind of thing that should ground the moment back into something simple.
It doesnât.
Robin shifts beside you, adjusting her hold on the bear. Your eyes track the movement without thinkingâthe way her fingers smooth over the fabric again, absentminded, gentle. Like sheâs reassuring it.
Like sheâs reassuring herself.
âYouâre holding it like itâs fragile,â you murmur.
She glances at you.
âIt is fragile,â she says quietly. âIt just got born.â
You huff out a soft laugh, looking away for a second so she doesnât see how much that lands.
âRight. Of course.â
She nudges your shoulder lightly.
You nudge her back.
The line moves forward.
You step up togetherâclose enough that your arms press from elbow to wrist for a second too long before either of you shifts. Not away. Just⌠adjusted. Enough to look normal.
Not enough to actually create space.
Robin sets everything on the counter carefully. The bear first. Then the little sailor outfit, smoothing it out like presentation matters.
You lean your elbows lightly against the edge of the counter, watching her.
Sheâs focused.
A little too focused.
Like if she looks busy enough, she wonât have to think about anything else still sitting between you from the last ten minutes.
The cashier smiles, scanning the items one by one. The soft beep echoes in the small space between you.
âDid you have fun today?â they ask, casual, warm.
Robin answers immediately.
âYes,â she says, a little too quick, a little too bright. âVery educational experience.â
You bite back a smile.
âEducational?â you echo under your breath.
She elbows you lightly.
âI learned a lot about responsibility,â she mutters back.
âMm. Iâm sure you did.â
She rolls her eyes, but thereâs no real bite to it.
The total comes up.
You both reach for your wallets at the same time.
Pause.
Look at each other.
âNo,â you both say at once.
You laugh.
Robin huffs.
âIâm paying,â she insists.
âYou are not.â
âI am.â
âYou picked it out.â
âExactly,â she says, like thatâs proof. âItâs my responsibility.â
âOur responsibility,â you correct softly.
That stops her.
Just for a second.
Her expression flickersâsomething warm, something quietâand then she looks away again, shaking her head slightly.
ââŚfine,â she mutters. âWeâre splitting it.â
You donât argue. You donât need to.
The cashier finishes up, hands you the small bag with the bear tucked carefully inside, along with the folded outfit.
Robin takes it as soon as he sets it down.
Of course she does.
âThank you,â she says, softer now. And then youâre moving again. Out of the store. Back into the mall.
The difference hits immediately. Itâs quieter out here.
Not actually quieterâthe mall is still full, still hummingâbut it feels quieter. Like stepping out of something contained and into open air again.
Like you can breathe a little easier.
Robin slows just slightly as you walk, her shoulder brushing yours again, automatically finding that same closeness without either of you acknowledging it.
You match her pace. Of course you do.
For a few seconds, neither of you says anything. You just walk.
The bag in her hands, the soft noise of footsteps around you, the glow of the mall lights stretching out ahead.
Thereâs something lingering. Not heavy.
Just⌠warm.
Like youâre both still inside that store in some small way. Still holding onto something you donât want to name out loud.
Robin shifts the bag to one hand. Her other hand drops to her side. Close to yours.
Not touching. Not yet.
Your fingers brush first.
Light.
Accidentalâenough to pass that way.
She doesnât pull away.
Neither do you. It happens again. This time slower. More deliberate. Your pinky hooks around hers for a secondâtesting, the same way it always is.
She inhales softly. Then her fingers turn.
Interlacing with yours fully.
Quick. Subtle. Like she decided before she could talk herself out of it. Your hand fits into hers like itâs supposed to be there.
Natural. Easy.
You donât look at her.
You donât react in any way anyone else would notice. You just let your grip settle. Warm. Certain.
Robin exhales quietly beside you. Not tense. Not nervous. Just⌠softer.
She starts talking again after a second.
But itâs different now.
Quieter. Less performative. Like sheâs not trying to fill space anymoreâjust sharing it.
âAnd Iâm just saying,â she murmurs, her thumb brushing lightly against yours in a way that feels almost absentminded, âif this bear ends up having better emotional stability than me, Iâm going to be deeply offended.â
You smile faintly, eyes still forward.
âI think thatâs a very real possibility.â
âRude.â
âAccurate.â
She nudges your shoulder with hers again. You lean into it just slightly. Not enough for anyone to realize.
Enough that she feels it. Her hand tightens around yours for half a second. Then relaxes again.
Neither of you lets go. And the mall keeps moving around you.
People passing. Voices overlapping. Lights reflecting off the floor.
But you stay in your own little pocket of it. Close. Quiet.
Fingers laced together like itâs the most natural thing in the worldâ
as long as no oneâs looking too closely.
ę§âę§
The mall doors slide open with a soft mechanical hum, and the world outside greets you differently than it did earlier.
Cooler.
Quieter.
Real.
The artificial brightness of the mall fades behind you, replaced by the dim glow of parking lot lights flickering on one by one as the sky dips further into evening. The air feels softer out here, like itâs not pressing in on you the same way.
And maybe itâs just that no oneâs really looking.
Robin walks beside you, the bag swinging lightly from her wrist. Every few steps, it rustlesâthe faint crinkle of tissue paper insideâand she glances down at it like she needs to check that itâs still there.
Like it could disappear if she doesnât.
You smile a little to yourself.
âYou know itâs not going anywhere, right?â
She looks up at you immediately.
âI know,â she says, quick. Then, softerâ âI just⌠want to make sure.â
You donât tease her for that.
You couldnât, even if you wanted to.
Because thereâs something about the way she says it that feels like sheâs not just talking about the bear.
Your shoulders brush as you walk.
Neither of you moves away.
The parking lot stretches out in front of you, rows of cars catching bits of yellow light, the distant sound of someone starting an engine somewhere far off. It feels bigger than it did earlier. Emptier.
Safer.
Robin's free hand still rests comfortably in yours, fingers interlinked, her thumb tracing little circles on your knuckles.
She wouldnât dare let go.
You squeeze her hand once.
She squeezes back immediately.
And neither of you lets go. No oneâs watching, anyway. Whatâs the harm?
Your car comes into view, sitting under a flickering light that hums quietly overhead.
Robin lets go of your hand only long enough for you to unlock it, and even then, her fingers trail against yours for as long as they can before slipping away.
You open the passenger door for her.
She pauses.
Looks at you.
Thereâs something soft in her expressionâsomething quiet and full all at once.
âThank you,â she says, like it means more than just the door.
You just nod a little, smiling.
âAnytime.â
She climbs in, immediately placing the bag carefully on her lap like itâs something fragile. Something important. She opens it just enough to peek inside, adjusting the bear slightly, smoothing down its tiny outfit like sheâs making sure itâs comfortable.
You walk around to the driverâs side, sliding in, the familiar feel of the seat grounding in a way everything else tonight hasnât been.
For a second, neither of you starts the car.
Itâs quiet.
Just the faint ticking of cooling metal, the distant buzz of the parking lot lights, the soft rustle of tissue paper as Robin adjusts the bear again.
âYouâre gonna wear it out before we even get home,â you murmur.
âI am making sure it is properly situated,â she replies immediately, serious. Then, after a beatâ âItâs had a long day.â
You huff a quiet laugh, starting the engine.
The car hums to life.
Robin finally settles, placing the bear gently between you on the center console, one hand still resting lightly on it like sheâs not ready to let go completely.
Like it belongs there. Like itâs always belonged there.
The drive starts slow.
The headlights cut through the dim parking lot as you pull out, the radio left lowâbarely there, just soft background noise blending into the quiet.
Robin leans back in her seat. Exhales.
The kind of exhale that feels like the end of something. Or maybe the beginning.
âYou know,â she says after a moment, voice softer now, âthat might have been the best decision Iâve ever made.â
You glance at her briefly.
âThe bear?â
âYes, the bear,â she says, like itâs obvious. Thenâquieterâ âAnd⌠everything else.â
Your chest tightens a little at that. You donât say anything right away.
You just reach over, hand finding hers. Simple. Easy. Allowed now that no one can see you. The privacy of the car envelopes the two of you.
She takes it instantly, fingers curling around yours, her thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles like she needs the contact just as much as you do.
The bear sits between you, silent.
A witness.
A few minutes pass like that.
The road stretches out ahead in long, uninterrupted lines of asphalt and light, streetlamps sliding over the windshield in steady intervals like a quiet pulse. Inside the car, everything feels softened at the edgesâthe hum of the engine, the faint rattle of movement, the distant world outside you both thinning into something that barely exists.
Robin shifts beside you.
Itâs not sudden. Not restless. More like sheâs finally letting herself settle after holding too much tension for too long. The seatbelt creaks faintly as she adjusts, shoulder brushing the door, and then she turns just slightly toward you like itâs the most natural thing in the world to stop facing forward.
Her other handâfree nowâfinds you without hesitation.
It comes to rest on your thigh with a kind of quiet certainty that makes your breath catch before you can stop it. Not gripping. Not grabbing. Just there. Warm through the fabric, grounding in a way that feels almost startling in its simplicity.
Like sheâs decided, without saying it, that she doesnât need to pretend anymore.
You donât move. You donât look at her right away. It feels too fragile for that, like even acknowledgment might shift something out of place. But your fingers, still loosely intertwined with hers, tighten just slightly in response anywayâan instinct you donât bother hiding.
She notices.
Of course she does.
Thereâs a small pause, barely a heartbeat, and then her thumb moves over your hand again. This time slower. Deliberate in a way that feels like her earlier hesitation has been replaced with something steadier, something more sure of itself.
It drags once over your knuckles, then again, like sheâs tracing a language only the two of you understand. Not rushed. Not trying to lead anywhere. Just⌠staying. Learning the shape of you in the quiet.
Her leg shifts a fraction closer in the narrow space of the car, not enough to announce itself, just enough that you feel itâenough that the contact between you stops feeling like an accident of proximity and starts feeling like a choice she keeps making over and over again.
And when her thumb pauses for a second, pressing a little more firmly into your hand before easing again, it doesnât feel like silence.
It feels like sheâs speaking anyway.
âYouâre staring,â you say after a moment, eyes still on the road.
Thereâs a pause.
ââŚI am not.â
You glance at her. She is. Completely.
Her head tilted slightly toward you, her expression open in a way she only ever lets herself be when itâs just the two of you.
You raise an eyebrow.
She looks away immediately.
âI was not,â she insists, but thereâs a smile tugging at her mouth.
âMmhm.â
âI wasnât,â she repeats, weaker this time.
You smile. âOkay.â
A beat. Then, quieterâ
âWhat?â
She looks back at you, cautious.
âWhat âwhatâ?â
âThat look,â you say softly. âWhat was that for?â
She hesitates. Just for a second. Thenâ
ââŚnothing.â
You donât buy it. You donât push it, either. Instead, you just glance at her again.
Smile a little.
âJust me, or something?â you add, gently.
And thatâ
that gets her.
Her entire face changes in an instant. Flustered. She lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, turning toward the window like she can hide it.
âThat is not fair,â she mutters.
You grin. âItâs true.â
She shakes her head, but sheâs smiling. Really smiling. The kind that lingers.
When stopped at a red light, you feel her shift closer to you.
She lifts the hand she had long since intertwined with yours, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. Her lips meet your skin with a gentleness youâd never expect to receive from such a casual, familiar gesture.
Sheâs kissed your hand before. Kissed far more than your hand, but it feels different each time.
You donât think youâll ever really get used to it. To any of this. Because Robin Buckley is the most perfect girl youâve ever met.
And sheâs yours.
She doesnât look at you right away. Like sheâs giving you a second to process it.Â
When she does, her expression is soft. A little shy.
ââŚhi,â she says quietly.
You let out a breath that turns into a small laugh.
âHi.â
The light turns green. You start driving again. But your hand stays in hers.
The rest of the drive feels like something suspended. Like time slowed down just enough to let you sit in it.
Robin keeps talking, but itâs different now. Quieter. Softer.
Stories that trail off into small laughs, into comfortable silence, into moments where neither of you says anything at all.
Just⌠exist. Her hand never leaves yours. Sometimes her thumb traces absent patterns against your skin.
Sometimes she just holds on, like she doesnât want to risk losing it.
The car eventually turns onto your street. Familiar to the both of you. Quiet.
The kind of quiet that feels safe.
Robin shifts again, her hand tightening around yours just slightly. Like sheâs holding onto the last bit of something.
The bear sits between you, still carefully positioned, its tiny outfit slightly wrinkled from being adjusted too many times.
You pull into the driveway. The engine idles for a second before you turn it off.
And suddenlyâ
itâs very still.
No music. No road. Just you. And her. And the quiet.
Robin doesnât move right away. Neither do you. Your hands are still intertwined between you.
Her thumb brushes yours once more. Slow. Soft.
ââŚtoday was really good,â she says quietly.
You nod. âYeah.â
A beat. Then, softerâ
âI like this.â
You glance at her.
âWhat?â
She shrugs slightly, but she doesnât look away.
âThis,â she repeats. âUs. Doing dumb things and⌠not having to pretend as much.â
Your chest tightens again. In a good way. You squeeze her hand.
âMe too.â
She smiles. Small. But real. That smile that it seems Robin reserves for you and only you.
And then, after a secondâ
âI love you.â
Itâs quiet. Simple. Like sheâs been holding it in all night and finally let it out where it feels safe to exist.
You donât hesitate.
âI love you too.â
Her breath catches just slightly. Like it still surprises her every time. Even after months and months of being together.
She leans over the console a little, just enough to press a soft kiss to your cheek.
Then another. Closer to your jaw, lingering just a second longer than necessary.
You turn your head slightlyâ
and catch her lips with yours. Itâs gentle. Slow.
Unhurried in a way nothing inside the mall ever was. No risk. No hiding.
Just warmth. Just her.
When you pull back, sheâs smiling again.
Of course she is. She always is when itâs you.
âOkay,â she says after a moment, like sheâs convincing herself. âWe should⌠go inside.â
âProbably.â
Neither of you moves. She laughs quietly.
âOkay, seriously.â
âYeah.â
Stillâneither of you moves.
Finally, she pulls back, grabbing the bear carefully, holding it against her chest like itâs something precious.
Like it means something. Like you do.
You both get out of the car. The night air wraps around you again, cooler now, quieter.
Robin walks close beside you. So close your arms brush immediately.
And this timeâneither of you even pretends not to notice.
The door closes behind you. The night settles.
And the world fades quietly around the two of youâ
cause the sign on your heart, said it's still reserved for me.
summary- this town isn't the kindest to those who are different. they shut down the mere idea that lacks normalcy. but you and robin still find a way to make your relationship work. you go to pick her up from work, a habit written into routine, but it turns into a greater adventure. and it's certainly a challenge to conceal your relationship...
word count- 11.2k
contains- talks of homophobia in the 80's (no direct homophobia towards characters, but fear of it arising), fluff, heated moments, kissing, robin just being the best person ever, let me know if anything was missed!
author's note- i had soooo much fun writing this!! it was based off a request i received! and also yes, i know build-a-bear wasn't established in 1985, but we're gonna ignore that, kay? if you're seeing this, PLEASE help a girl out and send me requests for a robin buckley au! if you'd like to see more about this, see my recent posts!!
ę§âę§
The bell above the door jingles for what has to be the hundredth time in the last ten minutes, and you donât even look up anymore.
Youâre not here for ice cream.
Youâre here because Robin Buckley cannot drive.
Which meansâlike clockwork, like a routine that started when she first got the job, like something thatâs become a quiet constant in your lifeâyouâre here to pick her up.
You donât mind it in the slightest. If anything, you like these trips to come pick her up from the mall. You love to hear about her day on the way home. To hear her complain about customers who âjust have no etiquette.âÂ
You love how she over explains and talks with her hands and with an animated face. Itâs what makes her so incredibly Robin.
You lean against the side of the counter, arms folded loosely, pretending to be invested in the brightly colored menu above the registers. The air smells like sugar and waffle cones and something faintly artificial, and the place is still buzzing with the last stretch of evening customers.
Behind the counter, Robin is mid-ramble. Steve looks like heâs only half-listening to what sheâs saying.
ââŚand Iâm just saying, if a kid asks for three scoops, minimum- and on the smallest cone possible -there should be a law that I get to refuse service. Thatâs not a dessert, thatâs a cry for helpââ
She turns slightly as she talks, gesturing with the scooper in her hand, and thatâs when she spots you.
Everything about her shifts.
Itâs subtleâanyone else probably wouldnât noticeâbut you do. You always do.
Her shoulders drop. Her expression softens. The mild annoyance sheâd been carrying around all shift melts into something lighter, something warmer.
Something that feels a little bit like itâs just for you.
âOh,â she says, like she didnât know youâd be here. Like you havenât been picking her up after shifts for months now. âHey.â
You push yourself off the counter, stepping a little closer, resting your elbows against it instead.
âHey, sailor.â
She rolls her eyes immediately, but thereâs no bite to it.
âDonât start,â she mutters, turning back to scoop one last portion of ice cream with dramatic force. âI have been subjected to that all day. Iâm one nautical-themed joke away from walking into the ocean and not coming back.â
âWeâre in Indiana.â
âIâll find a way.â
You smile, watching her finish up, watching the way she movesâquick, a little clumsy, always just on the edge of chaos. Thereâs a smear of somethingâice cream of a sortânear her wrist, and her hat is slightly crooked. She looks tired in that way that makes her quieter when sheâs not talking and softer overall.
She sets her scooper down, mutters something to Steve, and then sheâs ducking under the counter, disappearing for a moment before reappearing in front of you, already tugging her hat off and running a hand through her hairâ
âand itâs unfair, really, the way something so small can feel so intimate.
Her fingers slip into the roots like sheâs done it a thousand times without thinking, pushing through the soft tangle, lifting it, letting it fall back into place in a way thatâs messier than the neat little uniform Scoops Ahoy tries to force on her. It springs back with a quiet kind of rebellion, loose strands catching the light, framing her face in a way that makes her look more like herselfâless like the version she has to play for everyone else.
You watch the movement more closely than you mean to. The slight hitch of her wrist. The way her shoulders loosen, just a little, like she can finally breathe again. Itâs not just fixing her hairâitâs losing her performative layer. The stupid hat, the act, the careful edges she keeps on in public. For half a second, it feels like sheâs stepping back into the version of herself that belongs to you.
And maybe thatâs why your chest tightens.
Because you know you canât reach out and tuck that strand behind her ear. You canât let your hand follow the path hers just took, canât linger there, canât say anything about how perfect she looks, how you want to memorize the exact way it falls every time she does that.
But Godâyou notice.
You notice everything.
The way her fingers hesitate at the ends, like sheâs considering doing it again just for the feeling of it. The way a few pieces fall into her eyes and she doesnât bother moving them right away. The way she exhales, quiet and unguarded, like she forgot for a second that anyone else exists.
And when she looks up at youâ
it hits all over again.
Like youâre the only one who gets to see this version of her, even in a crowded room. Like that small, absent-minded gesture is a secret being handed to you, disguised as nothing at all.
You have to look away first, just for a second, because if you donât, youâre pretty sure itâll showâwritten all over your face, in the way your breath catches, in the way your heart trips over itself like it always does when she lets herself be this soft, this real, this hers.
And when you look back, sheâs still there, still a little undone, still watching you in that way that makes it feel like maybeâ
just maybeâ
youâll make it out of this.
âOkay,â she exhales, like sheâs shedding the entire shift in one breath. âIâm free. Emotionally damaged, but free.â
You hum, glancing at her wrist. Because that little smudge of chocolate on her skin hadnât slipped your mind. Nothing about her ever really slips your mind.
âHold still.â
She pauses mid-motion, blinking at you.
âWhatâwhyââ
You reach out without thinking, gently catching her wrist. Your thumb brushes over her skin as you wipe away the smear of chocolate fudge with the edge of a napkin you grabbed from the counter.
Itâs quick. Quick enough to go unnoticed by anyone else around. Not that anyone was really looking.
Casual. Casual enough to pass as just two good friends sharing a simple interaction. One merely helping the other.
But your fingers linger for half a second longer than they need to.
Robin goes very still. Because of course she noticed. Of course she noticed how softly your fingers brushed over her wrist. She notices everything you do. No matter how little. It all means the same to her.
ââŚthanks,â she says, quieter now. Just for you.
You drop her hand like it didnât mean anything.
It meant more than most things do.
âCâmon,â you say lightly, nodding toward the door. âYour chariot awaits.â
âMy chariot is a slightly concerning sedan that makes that noise when you turn left.â
âDonât disrespect her like that. Has she ever failed you? No.â
Robin snorts, falling into step beside you as you head for the exit. The bell jingles again as you push the door open, the evening air cooler against your skin as you step outside.
For a second, neither of you says anything.
Itâs quieter out here. The distant hum of the parking lot, the fading light of the sky, the mall glowing just across the lot like itâs still wide awake.
Robin kicks lightly at the pavement as she walks.
Then, a little too casuallyâ
âDo you⌠umââ
You glance at her.
Sheâs not looking at you.
ââŚdo you wanna, like⌠walk around the mall for a bit?â she finishes, words tumbling out faster toward the end. âI justâI donât really feel like going home yet. And itâsâyâknowâitâs still open. Obviously. Because itâs a mall. Andââ
You smile, just a little.
âYou just donât want to stop hanging out with me.â
She stops walking.
âRude,â she says immediately, glaring at you. You can tell itâs not a real glare. Then, after a beatâ âTrue. But rude.â
You laugh, bumping your shoulder lightly into hers as you start toward the mall.
âCome on, dork.â
She falls into step beside you again without hesitation.
Your arms brush as you walk.
Neither of you moves away.
Neither of you reaches, though. That would be far too risky for the town that is Hawkins. They arenât ready to handle something they arenât familiar with.
And just like that, you turn back toward the glow of the mall together.
ę§âę§
The rest of the mall is louder than Scoops, somehow.
Not in the same wayâless chaotic, more constant. A steady hum of voices, footsteps echoing against tile, the faint overlap of music spilling out from different stores at once. Bright lights reflect off polished floors, everything glowing in that artificial, never-quite-dimming way that makes it feel like time doesnât really move in here.
Robin walks just a little too close to you.
Not enough for anyone to look twice.
Just enough that you feel her there.
Her shoulder brushes yours as you pass a group of kids running by, and she doesnât pull away right away. Neither do you. It lingersâjust for a second longer than it shouldâbefore she shifts like it didnât happen at all.
Sheâs talking again.
Of course she is.
âAnd then Steve has the nerveâthe nerveâto tell me that Iâm being âtoo harshâ on the children. The children,â she repeats, gesturing wildly with both hands. âAs if they are not actively waging war against me with sticky fingers and poor decision-making skills.â
You glance at her, smiling.
âSounds rough.â
âIt is rough,â she insists. âI am underappreciated. Underpaid. Emotionally targeted.â
âEmotionally targeted,â you echo.
âYes.â
You bump your shoulder into hers lightly.
She bumps you back.
It turns into a quiet rhythm as you walkâsmall, barely noticeable touches that could pass as accidental but never really are. Her elbow nudges yours when she gets particularly animated. Your hand brushes the back of hers when you reach for the same thing on a display table you werenât even actually interested in.
Neither of you acknowledges it.
Neither of you stops.
A couple passes youâhands intertwined, fingers laced together like itâs the most natural thing in the world.
You look away first.
Robin talks louder for a second.
Not obviously.
Enough for you to notice, though.
ââŚand Iâm just saying, if there were an award for surviving the worst shift imaginable, I would win. No contest.â
You hum, but your attention lingers somewhere else. On the space between your hands. On the fact that if you just moved yours an inch to the leftâ
Robinâs hand brushes yours again.
This time slower. More deliberate.
Your fingers almost catch. Almost.
But then someone walks past, and she pulls away like it didnât happen, like it was nothing, like it didnât send something sharp and warm straight through your chest.
You swallow it down.
You always do.
Itâs not that she doesnât want it. You know she does. Itâs all she ever talks about when youâre together. And when itâs just youâonly the two of youâsheâs the most affectionate person youâve ever met.
Itâs just too risky in public like this.
âHey,â you say after a second, glancing at her. âYouâre being dramatic. Doesnât Steve have the same shift?â
Her head snaps toward you.
âI am never dramatic. And sure, Steve has the same shift, but he spends the whole thing trying to pick up girls! I have to do all the real work.â
âYou just said you were being emotionally targeted by children.â
âI was.â
You laugh softly. She watches you when you do. Very intently.
And something about the way youâre smilingâsomething small, something unguardedâmakes her falter for half a second.
ââŚokay, but youâd defend me in court, right?â she says, a little quieter now. âLike if I did get arrested for banning children from Scoops.â
You raise an eyebrow.
âDepends. Did these children deserve it?â
âThey always deserve it.â
âThen yeah,â you shrug. âIâd defend you.â
It wasnât much of a question to begin with. Youâd defend her from almost anything.
Robin smiles. Not her usual one. Softer, quieter.
The kind she doesnât give to just anyone.
âGood,â she murmurs.
You donât realize how close youâve both drifted until your hands brush againâand this time, neither of you pulls away immediately.
Your fingers slide just slightly against hers.
A question.
A maybe.
Her pinky hooks around yours for the briefest second.
Itâs so quick you could pretend it didnât happen.
But it did. And it means everything.
The moment passes like it always does.
Not goneânever gone. Just tucked away, folded carefully into all the other almosts youâve collected with her.
The rest of the mall stretches out in front of you like nothing just shifted between your ribs.
Like Robinâs hand didnât just find yours in the smallest possible way and undo you completely.
She keeps talking anyway.
Of course she does.
âAnd Iâm just saying,â she continues, gesturing vaguely at absolutely nothing as you walk, âif Steve Harrington gets one more compliment from a stranger while I am actively suffering in the background, I might lose it. I might actually become a villain.â
You hum, but youâre barely listening.
Because sheâs still close enough that you can feel her warmth every time she moves.
Close enough that every step feels like a decision youâre both quietly agreeing to make again and again.
Your shoulder brushes hers.
She doesnât move away.
You donât either.
Itâs almost unbearable how normal you both try to make it look.
Like youâre just two friends walking through a mall in Hawkins, Indiana, in a world that doesnât notice the way you keep orbiting each other.
Just two friends, but sheâs looking at you like youâre the only thing she sees. Like sheâd kiss you even if people were watching.Â
Because when it comes to you, Robin just canât help herself. Her eyes trail to your lips, something shifting within her pupils.Â
She looks away almost instantly.
âYou make it really hard to behave in public, you know that?â You mutter to her, quiet enough to go unheard by others, loud enough to cut through the chaos of the mall so she can hear you.
She stops talking.
And when you look at her, sheâs already looking at you like sheâs decided something without telling you.
âCome here,â she says.
Soft.
Immediate.
And before you can even ask what she means, sheâs grabbing your wristâgentle but certainâand pulling you toward the side of the hallway where the arcade noise is louder and the lights are slightly dimmer and thereâs a photo booth tucked between machines like itâs trying not to be seen.
You blink.
âRobinââ
But sheâs already tugging the curtain aside.
âYou started it,â she mutters.
âI absolutely did not start anything.â
âYou did and you know it,â she says, and then sheâs pulling you inside.
The curtain falls behind you with a soft whoosh that suddenly makes everything outside feel like a different world entirely.
Itâs smaller in here than you expect.
Always is.
The bench is barely wide enough for one person, let alone two, but Robin is already sitting, already pulling you down with her like thereâs no question about it.
Your legs bracket hers, knees on either side of her legs. Your thighs press together, her hands finding your waist to hold you on her lap.
And suddenly everything outside the booth feels impossibly far away.
For half a second, neither of you speaks.
âMind telling me what weâre doing in here?â You whisper to her, brushing back her hair as she looks up at you with what may be the widest eyes youâve ever seen.
Robin exhales.
âOkay,â she says, like sheâs been holding her breath since Scoops. âI couldnâtâ I couldnât do the whole walking-around-like-that thing anymore.â
You blink at her.
âWhat thing?â
She looks at you like youâre being difficult on purpose.
âThat thing,â she says, softer now, eyes flicking down to your mouth and then back up again. âWhere you exist next to me and Iâm supposed to pretend I donât want toââ
She doesn't finish it. Doesnât have to.
Because sheâs already leaning in.
The first kiss is quick. Almost careful.
Like sheâs testing whether the world will punish her for it.
It barely lasts a second, just the soft press of her mouth to yours, warm and a little uncertain at the edges, like she came in expecting to pull away any moment. But she doesnât. Not immediately.
Instead, she stays there.
Close enough that you can feel the way she exhales through her nose, a quiet, shaky thing that doesnât sound like her at Scoops or in front of anyone else. Close enough that the space between you stops feeling like space at all and starts feeling like a held breath.
Itâs not rushed, not reallyâitâs just restrained, like sheâs been holding something back for so long she doesnât quite remember how to let it go gently.
Her hand tightens slightly at your waist, not pulling you closer so much as anchoring herself there, like she needs something solid to prove this is real. The photo booth hums faintly around you, fluorescent light flickering somewhere above, but it all feels distant, softened at the edges, like the world outside got turned down to a whisper.
And thenâbarely, barelyâshe shifts.
Itâs small. A tilt of her head, a second attempt that isnât hesitant anymore. The kind of movement that says sheâs stopped asking permission from her fear.Â
Her mouth meets yours again, and this time it lingersâjust enough for the shape of it to settle in, for the warmth of her to stop feeling like surprise and start feeling like intention.
You can feel it in the way she breathes your name against your mouth without saying it out loud, in the way her fingers flex once at your waist like sheâs grounding herself in the fact that youâre actually here, actually real, actually choosing this with her in a space too small to pretend anything else is happening.
When she finally pulls back, sheâs smiling like she forgot how to do anything else.
âWe should go. Someone might catch us,â you say immediately, even though you donât move. Youâve got no intention of going anywhere, but you know you should.
She looks around quickly, eyes grazing the curtain and space behind the two of you.
She reverts her gaze to you.
âI donât see how anyone would see us,â she says, like itâs obvious. âWeâre literally covered.â
You let out a quiet breath that turns into a laugh before you can stop it.
âRobin.â
âWhat?â she asks, completely unbothered, already leaning in again like the idea of stopping is purely theoretical.
Her lips move from yours.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Not like sheâs rushing anywhere, not like sheâs trying to prove a point anymoreâlike sheâs learning. Learning you for the hundredth time at the least. Like sheâs memorizing you in real time, letting the urgency drain out of her in favor of something quieter, something that feels almost reverent in the small, humming space of the photo booth.
You feel it before you fully understand itâthis shift in her. The way her breath changes against your skin, the way her hold at your waist steadies instead of tightens, like sheâs finally stopped bracing for impact.
And then sheâs not kissing your mouth anymore.
Sheâs kissing the corner of it first, so gentle it almost doesnât feel real, like sheâs checking if youâll disappear if sheâs too soft. When you donât, when you just sit there breathing her in like itâs the only thing keeping you steady, she drifts lower.
Her lips brush your jaw next.
Slowly. Carefully. Like sheâs tracing something sheâs only ever been allowed to look at from a distance until now. Which is true in public. But when youâre alone, her lips are everywhere.
It makes something in your chest pull tightânot painful, just overwhelming in the way it always is when Robin forgets how carefully sheâs supposed to exist around you in public. Because as fragile as this is, itâs all youâve ever wanted.
Another kissâyour cheek this time. Lingering just a second longer than the last, like sheâs getting braver without asking permission from herself.
And you can feel it building in her, the way she pauses for the smallest fraction of a second between each touch, like sheâs collecting courage in those tiny gaps. Like every place she kisses is a place sheâs been thinking about when sheâs supposed to be scooping ice cream or talking to Steve or pretending she doesnât look at you the way she does.
Her breath stutters faintly when she moves lower again, and it hits you all at once that this isnât just affection for her.
Itâs relief.
Itâs want sheâs been folding in on itself for so long itâs practically bruised.
And when her lips finally reach the side of your neck, itâs not rushed. Itâs not careless. Itâs soft in a way that feels almost disarmingâlike sheâs placing something there instead of taking anything at all.
And God, you want it. Of course you do.
But it canât happen. At least, not now. Not in public.
âRobâRobin,â you whisper, voice breathy and soft, but still trying to stop her. âYou canât.â
She pauses instantly.
Looks up at you.
All innocence.
âWhat?â
Sheâs utterly confused at your words. But her expression carries a hint of worry. Like sheâs afraid she hurt you, or crossed a line you didnât want crossed.
âYou canât leave marks,â you whisper, like saying it quieter makes it easier. âNot here.â
Something shifts in her expression.
Not frustration.
Something warmer.
Something that makes your stomach twist in a way that feels dangerously close to wanting everything at once.
âCanât we break the rules just this once?â she asks.
And itâs not teasing.
Not really.
Itâs almost pleading.
You shake your head gently, fingers brushing her wrist where sheâs still holding you.
âMaybe some other time,â you say, lower now. âWhen literally anyone else could be a suspect. But not when itâs just you and me.â
You see it land.
The way her shoulders drop just slightly.
The way she exhales like sheâs letting something go she didnât realize she was holding.
ââŚfine,â she says.
Sheâs about to lift you off of her lap, her hands gripping your waist to pick you up. But then, like sheâs bargaining with fate itselfâ
âOne more kiss.â
You huff a laugh.
âRobin.â
âCome on, please?â She whispers, looking up at you. Some combination of those eyes and that voice convinced you.
You let her.
She kisses you again.
Soft.
Longer than âone moreâ implies.
When she pulls back, sheâs already smiling again like she didnât just completely forget her own promise.
âOkay,â she says. Then again, softerâ âOne more.â
You shake your head, laughing now for real.
âRobin.â
âWhat? I said one more. That was technically not long enough. So I need to reset.â
âYou are making up rules as you go.â
âThatâs how rules work,â she says confidently.
She kisses you again.
Youâre smiling against her mouth now.
âOkay,â she mumbles afterward, forehead briefly resting against yours. âOkay, now we go.â
You raise an eyebrow.
âDo we?â
âYes,â she says immediately. Then, after a beatâ âProbably.â
You laugh softly, finally pushing the curtain aside.
The mall rushes back in.
Too loud.
Too bright.
Too normal.
Robin steps out first, then turns slightly like sheâs checking if reality noticed anything.
It hasnât.
Thatâs the thing about Hawkins. It doesn't notice as long as you lurk where no one can see you. You can get away with things if you're careful.
But the second you gain that confidence in public? Everyone hears about it.
She offers you her hand like itâs the most casual thing in the world.
You take it. Thereâs enough teenage girls around that replicate the closeness between you too. Enough that youâll pass as just friends.
Good friends.
And just like that, youâre both walking againâtoo close, too soft, too careful.
Like nothing happened.
Like always.
ę§âę§
The mall keeps moving around you like it doesnât care what just shifted between your ribs.
People pass. Laughter echoes somewhere near the arcade. A coin clatters into a machine and disappears into noise.
And Robin is still right there beside you.
Still too close.
Still acting like her entire existence didnât just temporarily forget how to be normal in a photo booth five minutes ago.
Sheâs talking again almost immediately.
Of course she is.
âAnd Iâm telling you,â she says, gesturing vaguely with her free hand while the other still brushes near yours like it hasnât decided what it wants to do yet, âSteveâs entire argument about âcustomer service charmâ is fundamentally flawed because charm implies I have to be fake nice and I refuseââ
Youâre listening.
You are.
Mostly.
But itâs hard when she keeps glancing at you like that. Like sheâs still half stuck in the booth with you, like part of her didnât fully come back out into the hallway.
You bump her shoulder lightly.
âDonât you dare call me dramatic again because I am not.â she immediately says.
âYou so are.â
âI am right,â she corrects you, like thatâs somehow different.
You smile, shaking your head a little.
And thatâs when she stops.
Sheâs gone completely still.
Itâs subtle, like everything with her always is when it actually matters.
Her voice trails off without her realizing it. Her hand, mid-gesture, slowly lowers.
And then sheâs looking across the mall.
Not at you.
Past you.
Like something just pulled her attention somewhere else and forgot to ask permission.
You follow her gaze.
At first, you donât see what sheâs looking at.
Just storefronts. Bright colors. Passing people. The usual blur of mall life.
And then you notice it.
A tucked-away shop wedged between a clothing store and an arcade cabinet wall.
Soft lighting. Plush displays in the window. A bright, slightly worn sign that looks like itâs trying a little too hard to be cheerful.
Build-A-Bear Workshop.
Robin goes very, very quiet.
Which is⌠new.
You glance at her.
âRobin?âÂ
She doesnât answer right away. Sheâs still staring at it like itâs personally offended her. Or like itâs personally called her name.
Thenâ
âWe have got to go.â she says, almost to herself.
Her hand catches your wrist without hesitation and sheâs already pulling you with her before you can even process the shift.
âWaitâRobinâwhat are you doing?â
But sheâs walking like sheâs on a mission.
Like she just found something she wasnât supposed to.
âRobin.â
She doesnât stop.
She just says, very simply:
âWeâre going in there.â
You blink.
ââŚwhat?â
Now she looks at you like youâre the confusing one.
âWeâre going in there.â
You slow your steps.
âRobin, that place is for kids.â
That finally makes her pause.
She turns slightly, still holding your wrist, eyebrows raised like sheâs offended on principle.
âWell,â she says, very matter-of-factly, âweâre not over eighteen, so we donât qualify as adults.â
You blink.
âRobinââ
âAnd,â she continues, getting more confident now, like sheâs building a legal case she absolutely did not think through beforehand, âaccording to my standards, that means we technically count as kids.â
She nods once, like that settles it.
âIf you squint.â
You just stare at her.
ââŚthatâs not how any of that works.â
Robin tightens her grip on your wrist slightly and starts walking again.
âShut up and come on.â
Thatâs it.
No further argument.
No additional logic.
Just immediate confidence in a completely unserious opinion.
You let out a breathâhalf laugh, half disbeliefâbut youâre already following her again anyway.
Because of course you are.
Because sheâs still holding your hand like itâs the most natural thing in the world.
And because she looks weirdly excited now.
Like she just decided something important.
Like this matters more than sheâs admitting.
The closer you get, the brighter the store feels.
Soft lights spilling out onto the mall floor. Rows of half-finished stuffed animals sitting in little bins like theyâre waiting to be chosen. Music that feels overly cheerful in a way that makes your chest ache for no reason you want to name.
Robin slows only when you reach the entrance.
She glances at you once.
Quick.
Checking.
Like sheâs making sure youâre still with her in this ridiculous decision.
And then, softer than before:
âJust⌠trust me, okay?â
You exhale through your nose, shaking your head a little.
But your fingers squeeze hers back anyway.
âYeah,â you say. âOkay.â
And thatâs enough for her.
Robin smilesâsmall, bright, entirely too satisfied for someone about to drag you into a store full of stuffed animals.
And then she pulls you inside.
ę§âę§
The air inside hits you first.
Warm in a different way than the rest of the mallâsofter, almost. Like everything in here has been designed to feel safe. Bright lights, but not harsh. Music playing overhead thatâs cheerful in a way that borders on nostalgic, like something youâre supposed to remember even if you donât.
There are bins everywhere.
Rows and rows of unstuffed animals, all slightly slumped in on themselves, waiting. Little fabric bodies with flat limbs and soft, expectant faces. Itâs almost unsettling for half a secondâlike theyâre all holding their breath.
Robin, however, is immediately focused.
Her hand slips from yours without ceremonyânot because she wants to let go, but because sheâs already stepping forward, already scanning the displays like she just walked into the most important decision of her life.
âOh my God,â she breathes.
You blink at her.
âRobinââ
âWait,â she cuts you off, holding a hand up like you just tried to interrupt a life-or-death situation. âGive me a second.â
And then sheâs gone.
Not farâjust two steps aheadâbut fully gone in the way she gets when something grabs her attention completely. She crouches slightly by one of the bins, picking up a floppy, unstuffed bear and turning it over in her hands like sheâs assessing it.
You cross your arms loosely, watching her.
ââŚyouâre kidding,â you say.
Robin doesnât even look at you.
âNo,â she says, completely serious.
She lifts the bear up, squinting at it.
âThis oneâŚâ she starts slowly, like sheâs about to deliver a diagnosis. ââŚhas potential.â
You press your lips together.
âItâs a stuffed bear.â
She finally looks at you then, offended.
âItâs a life partner,â she corrects. âBe respectful.â
You laugh before you can stop yourself, turning your head slightly like that might hide it.
âOh my God.â
âIâm serious,â she insists, standing up now, still holding the bear carefullyâcarefully, like it matters. âYou canât just rush into this. This is a long-term commitment.â
You raise an eyebrow.
âTo a stuffed animal.â
âTo our stuffed animal,â she says, like that clarifies everything.
Andâ
It does something to you.
Small. Quiet. Immediate.
Your breath catches just slightly, like something in your chest wasnât prepared for the way she said that. Our. So easy. So natural. Like it didnât weigh anything at all when it lands square in the center of you.
You donât say anything about it.
You just look at her.
Robin, completely unawareâor maybe just pretending to beâkeeps going.
She sets the first bear back with a soft little shake of her head.
âNo,â she decides. âNot right.â
You tilt your head.
âNot right,â you repeat.
âItâs lacking depth,â she says.
You stare at her.
âItâs fabric.â
âExactly,â she says, like that proves her point.
You huff out another quiet laugh, shaking your head, but you step closer anyway. Close enough that your shoulder brushes hers as you look down into the bin with her.
She doesnât react.
Not outwardly.
But she shifts just slightly toward you. Just enough.
Like always.
You reach down, picking up another oneâthis one a little smaller, lighter in color.
âWhat about this one?â you ask.
Robin leans in immediately, shoulder pressing more firmly into yours as she peers at it.
Too close.
Not enough to draw attention.
Enough that you feel it everywhere.
She studies it, serious.
ââŚhmm,â she hums.
You glance at her, trying not to smile.
âWell?â
She tilts her head.
âItâs⌠fine.â
You gasp, mock-offended.
âFine?â
âFine,â she repeats. âIt doesnâtâspark anything.â
âYouâre insane.â
âI have standards.â
âYouâre picking a stuffed animal, not a soulmate.â
Robin looks at you again.
Dead serious.
âThis is a soulmate.â
You shake your head, but youâre smiling. You can feel it in your cheeks, the way it wonât go away no matter how much you try to play it off.
âRobin, just pick a bear.â
âNo.â
âRobinââ
âThis is our child.â
That one lands differently.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Justâ
there.
You still.
Just for a second.
Itâs stupid, you know it is. She doesnât mean anything by itânot in the way your brain immediately tries to twist it into. Itâs just Robin. Dramatic, over-the-top, attached to everything she decides matters.
But stillâ
Our child.
Something soft blooms in your chest before you can stop it. Something that feels dangerously close to imagining things you donât let yourself imagine. Something that looks like quiet mornings and shared spaces and a version of the world where you donât have to pretend youâre anything less than what you are together.
You swallow it down. Gently. Carefully.
Like you always do.
ââŚyouâre ridiculous,â you say, but your voice is softer now.
Robin doesnât catch the shift.
Or maybe she does, in the way she always doesâwithout saying anything.
She just nudges your shoulder with hers.
âYou love it,â she says.
You donât answer that.
Because you do.
You absolutely do.
She moves to another bin, and you follow without thinking. Of course you do. You always orbit her, just like she orbits you. Itâs instinct at this point.
She picks up another bearâthis one a little bigger, a soft brown color, simple. No bright patterns, no gimmicks. Just⌠soft.
She pauses. You notice it immediately. Because sheâs gone quiet again.
ââŚthis one,â she says, softer now.
You step closer, looking at it with her. And something about itâ
You donât know what it is, but it feels right. Not because itâs special.
Because itâs simple. Warm. Familiar in a way you canât explain.
You reach out without thinking, your fingers brushing hers as you both adjust your grip on it at the same time.
Itâs small.
But itâs there.
Your fingers resting against hers, both of you holding the same thing like neither of you wants to let go first.
Robin doesnât pull away. Neither do you.
ââŚyeah,â you say quietly.
She looks at you. Not at the bear. At you.
âYeah?â she echoes.
You nod once. âYeah.â
Something in her face softens. Not dramatic. Not obvious.
Justâ
right.
âOkay,â she says.
And thatâs it. Decision made. No more overthinking. No more inspecting every option like itâs a life-altering choice.
She holds the bear a little closer to her chest, careful again in that way that makes your chest ache for reasons you donât want to name.
Like it matters.
Like this matters.
You watch her for a second longer than you mean to. The way she looks at it. The way she doesnât look at you, but somehow still includes you in the moment anyway.
And without thinkingâ
you reach out.
Not obvious. Not something anyone else would notice. Just your fingers brushing lightly against the back of her hand where it holds the bear.
A quiet little squeeze.
Gone almost as soon as itâs there.
Robinâs breath catches. Just barely. She doesnât look at you. But she leans closer.
Just a fraction. Enough that your shoulders press together again. Enough that it feels like a secret.
âOkay,â she says again, softer this time.
ę§âę§
Robin doesnât let go of the bear.
Not once.
Even as you both drift further into the storeâpast racks of tiny clothes and shelves of little accessories and bins of hearts in every color imaginableâshe keeps it tucked close to her chest like it might disappear if she loosens her grip.
You walk beside her, close enough that your arms brush every few steps.
Close enough that it feels like something more, even when it canât be.
Thereâs a small line at the stuffing station.
A couple of kids, a parent or two, someone laughing too loudly somewhere behind you. The soft whir of machines hums in the background, steady and mechanical in contrast to how quiet everything feels between you.
Robin shifts her weight from one foot to the other.
Not impatient.
Just⌠thinking.
You watch her from the corner of your eye.
The way her fingers absentmindedly smooth over the bearâs unstuffed arm. The way she presses her thumb into the fabric like sheâs grounding herself in it. In this.
Itâs such a small thing.
But you feel it anyway.
When itâs your turn, the employee gives the same speech they probably give a hundred times a dayâwarm, practiced, bright.
âOkay! So before we stuff your bear, you get to make a wish.â
Robin glances at you immediately.
Of course she does.
You raise an eyebrow slightly, like youâre bracing for commentary.
But she doesnât say anything.
Not this time.
ââŚand then you give the heart a kiss,â the employee continues, placing a small, soft fabric heart into your hand.
Itâs lighter than you expect.
Simple.
Just a little red shape sitting in your palm.
You donât overthink it.
You donât hesitate.
You close your fingers around it, bringing it up without making a show of it. No dramatic pause. No second-guessing.
Your eyes close for just a second.
The world doesnât disappearâbut it softens. The noise fades just enough that you can focus on the feeling of it. The weight of something small thatâs supposed to hold something bigger.
Your wish isnât loud.
It isnât complicated.
Itâs simple. A simple wish that a girl who wants nothing but to be able to be happy with her girlfriend in public would make.
You press the heart gently to your lips.
Quick. Soft. Like itâs something youâre not supposed to linger on in public.
And then you open your eyes again. Robin is already looking at you. Not casually. Not like she just happened to glance over.
Sheâs watching you.
Like sheâs trying to memorize it.
The way your expression softened without you noticing. The way you didnât make it a joke. The way you treated something small like it mattered.
It does something to her.
You can see it.
You hand the heart back without comment, like it didnât mean anything more than the instructions said it should.
But when you glance at her again, sheâs still looking at you like it meant everything.
âYour turn,â you say quietly.
She blinks. Like she forgot for half a second that she was next.
âOhâyeah.â
The employee places another heart in her hand. Robin takes it.
And for a momentâ
she freezes.
Itâs small. Easy to miss. But you know her.
Her fingers curl around the heart, but not confidently like yours did. Thereâs a slight pause in the movement. A hesitation that wasnât there before when she was analyzing bears like they held the meaning of life.
Because thisâ
this is different.
This asks for something real.
And suddenly the world outside this moment feels closer again. Louder. Watching, even if it isnât. The weight of what you are, what you canât say, what has to stay quietâ
It all brushes up against her at once. She looks at the heart. Then at you.
Just for a second.
Thereâs something in her eyesânot panic, not exactly. Just⌠uncertainty. Like sheâs standing on the edge of something she doesnât know how to hold in public.
You donât say anything. You donât push. You just look back at her. Steady. Soft.
Like itâs okay. Like Iâm right here.
Thatâs all it takes. Her shoulders drop just slightly. Not all the way. Just enough.
Robin brings the heart up slowly. Not dramatic. Not performative.
Careful.
Like it actually matters.
Her eyes flick to yours one more timeâquick, almost instinctiveâbefore she presses the heart to her lips. And itâs softer than you expect.
Not rushed. Not joking.
Soft in a way that feels almost⌠private.
Like sheâs putting something into it she doesnât have words for. Her lips linger there for just a second longer than necessary.
And when she lowers it again, her voice barely exists when it slips outâ
ââŚdonât let me lose this.â
Itâs so quiet you almost miss it. Almost. But you donât. Because of course you donât.
Your chest tightens. Not sharply. Just enough to remind you how much is sitting unspoken between the two of you.
She doesnât look at you right away after she says it. Like maybe sheâs not sure if she actually said it out loud.
Like maybe sheâs hoping you heard it without having to acknowledge it.
The employee takes the heart back, smiling like everything is normal, like this is just another step in a simple process.
The bear gets placed under the machine.
The stuffing startsâsoft whirring filling the space as it slowly comes to life, filling out, rounding into something solid and real.
Robin watches it like itâs important. Like sheâs watching something become.
And without thinkingâ
her hand finds yours.
Her fingers brush against yours first, like always. Testing. Then settle.
Just for a second. Just enough.
You donât look at her. You donât react in any way anyone else would notice. You just let your hand shift slightly so your fingers press back.
Quiet. Certain.
And then itâs gone. Like it never happened. Except it did. And it meant everything.
ę§âę§
The transition from the stuffing station to the clothing section feels like stepping into a completely different kind of chaos.
Soft chaos.
Color everywhereâtiny hangers lined up in rows, racks packed too tightly with miniature outfits, shelves stacked with shoes no bigger than your palm. Bright fabrics, glittery fabrics, absurd fabrics. Little plastic sunglasses. Hats. Shoes with laces that are purely decorative.
Itâs overwhelming.
And Robinâ
Robin absolutely thrives in it.
âOh, this is dangerous,â she says immediately.
You laugh under your breath, following close behind her as she drifts toward the nearest rack like sheâs been here a hundred times before.
âDangerous?â you echo.
âYes,â she says, already flipping through outfits with quick, decisive movements. âBecause I have no self-control and this is clearly a situation that requires a lot of self-control.â
You lean slightly against the rack beside her, arms loosely folded, watching her.
âYouâre dressing a stuffed bear.â
âOur stuffed bear,â she corrects instantly.
You donât even argue this time.
She pulls something off the rack with a little gasp. âOh my God.â You already know.
âRobinââ
She turns to you, holding it up with both hands like she just discovered something revolutionary.
A tiny sailor outfit. White and blue. Little collar. Miniature hat.
You stare at it. Then at her. Then back at it.
ââŚno,â you say immediately.
âYes,â she counters, stepping closerâtoo close, not that either of you acknowledge it. âLook at it. Look at this. Itâs perfect.â
âItâs ridiculous.â
âItâs iconic,â she corrects.
You canât help itâyou laugh, shaking your head. âYou just want it because it matches your Scoops uniform.â
She gasps like youâve deeply offended her.
âThat is not the only reason.â
âItâs the only reason.â
âItâs a bonus,â she amends, already turning back to the rack like the argument is over. âAnd also, itâs important for bonding.â
âBonding.â
âYes.â
âWith the bear.â
âWith our child,â she says, like youâre the one being unreasonable.
You press your lips together, trying not to smile again. Failing.
She grabs a second outfit. Then a third. And suddenly her arms are full.
âRobin,â you say, reaching out instinctively to steady one of the hangers before it slips. Your fingers brush hers.
Neither of you pulls away immediately. Just for a second. Just long enough to notice.
Then you take the hanger from her like itâs the only reason your hand was there at all.
âYou cannot possibly be serious,â you continue.
âI am completely serious,â she says, nodding once like that settles it. âThis is a critical moment.â
You glance down at what sheâs holding.
ââŚsunglasses?â you ask.
âEssential,â she says.
âFor what?â
âProtection.â
âFrom what?â
âThe sun.â
âWeâre inside.â
âPreparation is key.â
You laugh again, softer this time, shaking your head as you hold up another tiny outfit from the rack.
âWhat about this one?â you ask, mostly just to see what sheâll say.
Robin leans in immediately. Too close.
Her shoulder presses into yours, her arm brushing along yours as she angles herself to look at what youâre holding. Her hair shifts slightly as she moves, and for half a secondâ
her breath is right there. Warm against your cheek.
âYou have terrible taste,â she says quietly.
You turn your head just enough to look at her.
âYou didnât even give it a chance.â
âI didnât need to.â
Her voice is lower now. Not intentionally. Just⌠softer under everything else. And you feel it anyway.
âRude,â you murmur.
She hums like she doesnât care, but she doesnât move away. Not right away.
She lingers there for a second too long before pulling back just enough to grab another outfit.
It keeps happening like that. Little things.
You hand her somethingâyour fingers brush.
She takes itâbut slower than necessary. Her hand lingers just a fraction too long before letting go.
She leans in to show you somethingâher shoulder pressing into yours, her voice dropping slightly like itâs just for you even in a store full of people.
Itâs soft. Too soft.
Almost dangerous in a place like this. And neither of you stops.
âOkay, but thisâthis is non-negotiable,â Robin says, holding up the sailor outfit again like sheâs making a final ruling.
You sigh dramatically.
âRobinââ
âIt matches me,â she says, like that alone should win the argument.
âThatâs exactly why we shouldnât get it.â
âThatâs exactly why we should. Come on, youâd have something to remember me by if those kids ever kill me for Scoops sample.â
You look at her.
Really look at her.
The way sheâs standing there, so earnest about something so small. The way sheâs holding it like it matters. The way her eyes flick to youânot to win, but to share it.
ââŚyouâre impossible,â you say, softer now.
She smiles. Not big. Just enough.
âI know.â
Thereâs a pause. Not awkward.
Justâ
full.
And thenâ
âAre you two sisters?â
The voice comes from behind you. You both turn slightly. A worker stands there, smiling warmly, completely unaware of the way the question lands.
âOr best friends?â she adds.
And for a secondâ
everything stills.
Itâs small. Barely noticeable from the outside. But itâs there. The pause.
You feel it in the way Robin doesnât answer immediately.
In the way your fingers, still loosely holding one of the hangers, suddenly feel too aware of where her hand is next to yours.
You glance at her. Sheâs not looking at the worker. Sheâs looking at you. And something in her expressionâ
it softens.
Not hidden fast enough.
Not covered up with humor or deflection like she usually does.
Just⌠honest.
Open in a way that feels too big for a simple question.
âYeah,â she says after a second.
Quiet.
ââŚsomething like that.â
Her eyes donât leave yours when she says it.
Not for a second. Itâs not defiance. Itâs not a joke. Itâs justâ
the closest thing to the truth she can give out loud.
The worker smiles, nodding like that makes perfect sense.
âWell, you two are doing great,â she says warmly. âI love the choices of outfits.â
She gestures to the sailor outfit. Of course she does.
Then she moves on.
Just like that. The moment passes. But it doesnât really pass. It settles.
Somewhere deeper.
You let out a small breath, shifting your weight slightly before bumping your shoulder into Robinâs.
âSomething like that, huh?â you say lightly.
Robin immediately looks away.
âOkay, I didnâtâ thatâs notâ I justââ she stumbles, words tripping over each other in a way thatâs so completely her it almost makes you laugh again. âIt was the easiest explanation!â
You grin. âMm.â
âDonâtâdonât do that,â she mutters, ducking her head slightly like sheâs trying to hide the fact that sheâs smiling.
âDo what?â
âThat.â
You laugh softly. She huffs, but itâs not real irritation. Never is with you.
Her hand shifts slightly as she adjusts the clothes sheâs holding.
Your fingers brush again.
Neither of you moves away.
Not this time.
It lingers.
Just a second longer than it should.
Just long enough to mean something.
Robin clears her throat, like sheâs trying to reset herself.
âOkay,â she says, a little too quickly. âSailor outfit. Final decision.â
You raise an eyebrow.
âNo more emotional depth analysis?â
âThis one already has it,â she says firmly.
You shake your head, but youâre smiling again.
âOf course it does.â
And just like thatâ
you both keep standing there. Too close. Too soft. Too careful. Like everything is balanced on something neither of you says out loud.
And neither of you wants to move away first.
ę§âę§
The decision, once itâs made, feels final in a way neither of you questions.
Robin clutches the little bundle of clothes and the now-stuffed bear like sheâs afraid someone might take them back if she loosens her grip for even a second. You stay close as you make your way to the checkout, instinctively matching her pace, your shoulder brushing hers every few steps like itâs something your bodies decided on without consulting you.
The line is short.
Two people ahead of you.
A kid bouncing on their heels, a parent trying to wrangle them, the soft beep of the register scanning items one by one. Itâs all normal. Mundane. The kind of thing that should ground the moment back into something simple.
It doesnât.
Robin shifts beside you, adjusting her hold on the bear. Your eyes track the movement without thinkingâthe way her fingers smooth over the fabric again, absentminded, gentle. Like sheâs reassuring it.
Like sheâs reassuring herself.
âYouâre holding it like itâs fragile,â you murmur.
She glances at you.
âIt is fragile,â she says quietly. âIt just got born.â
You huff out a soft laugh, looking away for a second so she doesnât see how much that lands.
âRight. Of course.â
She nudges your shoulder lightly.
You nudge her back.
The line moves forward.
You step up togetherâclose enough that your arms press from elbow to wrist for a second too long before either of you shifts. Not away. Just⌠adjusted. Enough to look normal.
Not enough to actually create space.
Robin sets everything on the counter carefully. The bear first. Then the little sailor outfit, smoothing it out like presentation matters.
You lean your elbows lightly against the edge of the counter, watching her.
Sheâs focused.
A little too focused.
Like if she looks busy enough, she wonât have to think about anything else still sitting between you from the last ten minutes.
The cashier smiles, scanning the items one by one. The soft beep echoes in the small space between you.
âDid you have fun today?â they ask, casual, warm.
Robin answers immediately.
âYes,â she says, a little too quick, a little too bright. âVery educational experience.â
You bite back a smile.
âEducational?â you echo under your breath.
She elbows you lightly.
âI learned a lot about responsibility,â she mutters back.
âMm. Iâm sure you did.â
She rolls her eyes, but thereâs no real bite to it.
The total comes up.
You both reach for your wallets at the same time.
Pause.
Look at each other.
âNo,â you both say at once.
You laugh.
Robin huffs.
âIâm paying,â she insists.
âYou are not.â
âI am.â
âYou picked it out.â
âExactly,â she says, like thatâs proof. âItâs my responsibility.â
âOur responsibility,â you correct softly.
That stops her.
Just for a second.
Her expression flickersâsomething warm, something quietâand then she looks away again, shaking her head slightly.
ââŚfine,â she mutters. âWeâre splitting it.â
You donât argue. You donât need to.
The cashier finishes up, hands you the small bag with the bear tucked carefully inside, along with the folded outfit.
Robin takes it as soon as he sets it down.
Of course she does.
âThank you,â she says, softer now. And then youâre moving again. Out of the store. Back into the mall.
The difference hits immediately. Itâs quieter out here.
Not actually quieterâthe mall is still full, still hummingâbut it feels quieter. Like stepping out of something contained and into open air again.
Like you can breathe a little easier.
Robin slows just slightly as you walk, her shoulder brushing yours again, automatically finding that same closeness without either of you acknowledging it.
You match her pace. Of course you do.
For a few seconds, neither of you says anything. You just walk.
The bag in her hands, the soft noise of footsteps around you, the glow of the mall lights stretching out ahead.
Thereâs something lingering. Not heavy.
Just⌠warm.
Like youâre both still inside that store in some small way. Still holding onto something you donât want to name out loud.
Robin shifts the bag to one hand. Her other hand drops to her side. Close to yours.
Not touching. Not yet.
Your fingers brush first.
Light.
Accidentalâenough to pass that way.
She doesnât pull away.
Neither do you. It happens again. This time slower. More deliberate. Your pinky hooks around hers for a secondâtesting, the same way it always is.
She inhales softly. Then her fingers turn.
Interlacing with yours fully.
Quick. Subtle. Like she decided before she could talk herself out of it. Your hand fits into hers like itâs supposed to be there.
Natural. Easy.
You donât look at her.
You donât react in any way anyone else would notice. You just let your grip settle. Warm. Certain.
Robin exhales quietly beside you. Not tense. Not nervous. Just⌠softer.
She starts talking again after a second.
But itâs different now.
Quieter. Less performative. Like sheâs not trying to fill space anymoreâjust sharing it.
âAnd Iâm just saying,â she murmurs, her thumb brushing lightly against yours in a way that feels almost absentminded, âif this bear ends up having better emotional stability than me, Iâm going to be deeply offended.â
You smile faintly, eyes still forward.
âI think thatâs a very real possibility.â
âRude.â
âAccurate.â
She nudges your shoulder with hers again. You lean into it just slightly. Not enough for anyone to realize.
Enough that she feels it. Her hand tightens around yours for half a second. Then relaxes again.
Neither of you lets go. And the mall keeps moving around you.
People passing. Voices overlapping. Lights reflecting off the floor.
But you stay in your own little pocket of it. Close. Quiet.
Fingers laced together like itâs the most natural thing in the worldâ
as long as no oneâs looking too closely.
ę§âę§
The mall doors slide open with a soft mechanical hum, and the world outside greets you differently than it did earlier.
Cooler.
Quieter.
Real.
The artificial brightness of the mall fades behind you, replaced by the dim glow of parking lot lights flickering on one by one as the sky dips further into evening. The air feels softer out here, like itâs not pressing in on you the same way.
And maybe itâs just that no oneâs really looking.
Robin walks beside you, the bag swinging lightly from her wrist. Every few steps, it rustlesâthe faint crinkle of tissue paper insideâand she glances down at it like she needs to check that itâs still there.
Like it could disappear if she doesnât.
You smile a little to yourself.
âYou know itâs not going anywhere, right?â
She looks up at you immediately.
âI know,â she says, quick. Then, softerâ âI just⌠want to make sure.â
You donât tease her for that.
You couldnât, even if you wanted to.
Because thereâs something about the way she says it that feels like sheâs not just talking about the bear.
Your shoulders brush as you walk.
Neither of you moves away.
The parking lot stretches out in front of you, rows of cars catching bits of yellow light, the distant sound of someone starting an engine somewhere far off. It feels bigger than it did earlier. Emptier.
Safer.
Robin's free hand still rests comfortably in yours, fingers interlinked, her thumb tracing little circles on your knuckles.
She wouldnât dare let go.
You squeeze her hand once.
She squeezes back immediately.
And neither of you lets go. No oneâs watching, anyway. Whatâs the harm?
Your car comes into view, sitting under a flickering light that hums quietly overhead.
Robin lets go of your hand only long enough for you to unlock it, and even then, her fingers trail against yours for as long as they can before slipping away.
You open the passenger door for her.
She pauses.
Looks at you.
Thereâs something soft in her expressionâsomething quiet and full all at once.
âThank you,â she says, like it means more than just the door.
You just nod a little, smiling.
âAnytime.â
She climbs in, immediately placing the bag carefully on her lap like itâs something fragile. Something important. She opens it just enough to peek inside, adjusting the bear slightly, smoothing down its tiny outfit like sheâs making sure itâs comfortable.
You walk around to the driverâs side, sliding in, the familiar feel of the seat grounding in a way everything else tonight hasnât been.
For a second, neither of you starts the car.
Itâs quiet.
Just the faint ticking of cooling metal, the distant buzz of the parking lot lights, the soft rustle of tissue paper as Robin adjusts the bear again.
âYouâre gonna wear it out before we even get home,â you murmur.
âI am making sure it is properly situated,â she replies immediately, serious. Then, after a beatâ âItâs had a long day.â
You huff a quiet laugh, starting the engine.
The car hums to life.
Robin finally settles, placing the bear gently between you on the center console, one hand still resting lightly on it like sheâs not ready to let go completely.
Like it belongs there. Like itâs always belonged there.
The drive starts slow.
The headlights cut through the dim parking lot as you pull out, the radio left lowâbarely there, just soft background noise blending into the quiet.
Robin leans back in her seat. Exhales.
The kind of exhale that feels like the end of something. Or maybe the beginning.
âYou know,â she says after a moment, voice softer now, âthat might have been the best decision Iâve ever made.â
You glance at her briefly.
âThe bear?â
âYes, the bear,â she says, like itâs obvious. Thenâquieterâ âAnd⌠everything else.â
Your chest tightens a little at that. You donât say anything right away.
You just reach over, hand finding hers. Simple. Easy. Allowed now that no one can see you. The privacy of the car envelopes the two of you.
She takes it instantly, fingers curling around yours, her thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles like she needs the contact just as much as you do.
The bear sits between you, silent.
A witness.
A few minutes pass like that.
The road stretches out ahead in long, uninterrupted lines of asphalt and light, streetlamps sliding over the windshield in steady intervals like a quiet pulse. Inside the car, everything feels softened at the edgesâthe hum of the engine, the faint rattle of movement, the distant world outside you both thinning into something that barely exists.
Robin shifts beside you.
Itâs not sudden. Not restless. More like sheâs finally letting herself settle after holding too much tension for too long. The seatbelt creaks faintly as she adjusts, shoulder brushing the door, and then she turns just slightly toward you like itâs the most natural thing in the world to stop facing forward.
Her other handâfree nowâfinds you without hesitation.
It comes to rest on your thigh with a kind of quiet certainty that makes your breath catch before you can stop it. Not gripping. Not grabbing. Just there. Warm through the fabric, grounding in a way that feels almost startling in its simplicity.
Like sheâs decided, without saying it, that she doesnât need to pretend anymore.
You donât move. You donât look at her right away. It feels too fragile for that, like even acknowledgment might shift something out of place. But your fingers, still loosely intertwined with hers, tighten just slightly in response anywayâan instinct you donât bother hiding.
She notices.
Of course she does.
Thereâs a small pause, barely a heartbeat, and then her thumb moves over your hand again. This time slower. Deliberate in a way that feels like her earlier hesitation has been replaced with something steadier, something more sure of itself.
It drags once over your knuckles, then again, like sheâs tracing a language only the two of you understand. Not rushed. Not trying to lead anywhere. Just⌠staying. Learning the shape of you in the quiet.
Her leg shifts a fraction closer in the narrow space of the car, not enough to announce itself, just enough that you feel itâenough that the contact between you stops feeling like an accident of proximity and starts feeling like a choice she keeps making over and over again.
And when her thumb pauses for a second, pressing a little more firmly into your hand before easing again, it doesnât feel like silence.
It feels like sheâs speaking anyway.
âYouâre staring,â you say after a moment, eyes still on the road.
Thereâs a pause.
ââŚI am not.â
You glance at her. She is. Completely.
Her head tilted slightly toward you, her expression open in a way she only ever lets herself be when itâs just the two of you.
You raise an eyebrow.
She looks away immediately.
âI was not,â she insists, but thereâs a smile tugging at her mouth.
âMmhm.â
âI wasnât,â she repeats, weaker this time.
You smile. âOkay.â
A beat. Then, quieterâ
âWhat?â
She looks back at you, cautious.
âWhat âwhatâ?â
âThat look,â you say softly. âWhat was that for?â
She hesitates. Just for a second. Thenâ
ââŚnothing.â
You donât buy it. You donât push it, either. Instead, you just glance at her again.
Smile a little.
âJust me, or something?â you add, gently.
And thatâ
that gets her.
Her entire face changes in an instant. Flustered. She lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, turning toward the window like she can hide it.
âThat is not fair,â she mutters.
You grin. âItâs true.â
She shakes her head, but sheâs smiling. Really smiling. The kind that lingers.
When stopped at a red light, you feel her shift closer to you.
She lifts the hand she had long since intertwined with yours, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. Her lips meet your skin with a gentleness youâd never expect to receive from such a casual, familiar gesture.
Sheâs kissed your hand before. Kissed far more than your hand, but it feels different each time.
You donât think youâll ever really get used to it. To any of this. Because Robin Buckley is the most perfect girl youâve ever met.
And sheâs yours.
She doesnât look at you right away. Like sheâs giving you a second to process it.Â
When she does, her expression is soft. A little shy.
ââŚhi,â she says quietly.
You let out a breath that turns into a small laugh.
âHi.â
The light turns green. You start driving again. But your hand stays in hers.
The rest of the drive feels like something suspended. Like time slowed down just enough to let you sit in it.
Robin keeps talking, but itâs different now. Quieter. Softer.
Stories that trail off into small laughs, into comfortable silence, into moments where neither of you says anything at all.
Just⌠exist. Her hand never leaves yours. Sometimes her thumb traces absent patterns against your skin.
Sometimes she just holds on, like she doesnât want to risk losing it.
The car eventually turns onto your street. Familiar to the both of you. Quiet.
The kind of quiet that feels safe.
Robin shifts again, her hand tightening around yours just slightly. Like sheâs holding onto the last bit of something.
The bear sits between you, still carefully positioned, its tiny outfit slightly wrinkled from being adjusted too many times.
You pull into the driveway. The engine idles for a second before you turn it off.
And suddenlyâ
itâs very still.
No music. No road. Just you. And her. And the quiet.
Robin doesnât move right away. Neither do you. Your hands are still intertwined between you.
Her thumb brushes yours once more. Slow. Soft.
ââŚtoday was really good,â she says quietly.
You nod. âYeah.â
A beat. Then, softerâ
âI like this.â
You glance at her.
âWhat?â
She shrugs slightly, but she doesnât look away.
âThis,â she repeats. âUs. Doing dumb things and⌠not having to pretend as much.â
Your chest tightens again. In a good way. You squeeze her hand.
âMe too.â
She smiles. Small. But real. That smile that it seems Robin reserves for you and only you.
And then, after a secondâ
âI love you.â
Itâs quiet. Simple. Like sheâs been holding it in all night and finally let it out where it feels safe to exist.
You donât hesitate.
âI love you too.â
Her breath catches just slightly. Like it still surprises her every time. Even after months and months of being together.
She leans over the console a little, just enough to press a soft kiss to your cheek.
Then another. Closer to your jaw, lingering just a second longer than necessary.
You turn your head slightlyâ
and catch her lips with yours. Itâs gentle. Slow.
Unhurried in a way nothing inside the mall ever was. No risk. No hiding.
Just warmth. Just her.
When you pull back, sheâs smiling again.
Of course she is. She always is when itâs you.
âOkay,â she says after a moment, like sheâs convincing herself. âWe should⌠go inside.â
âProbably.â
Neither of you moves. She laughs quietly.
âOkay, seriously.â
âYeah.â
Stillâneither of you moves.
Finally, she pulls back, grabbing the bear carefully, holding it against her chest like itâs something precious.
Like it means something. Like you do.
You both get out of the car. The night air wraps around you again, cooler now, quieter.
Robin walks close beside you. So close your arms brush immediately.
And this timeâneither of you even pretends not to notice.
The door closes behind you. The night settles.
And the world fades quietly around the two of youâ
okay guys, so id like to start an au for robin buckley x reader, but im not sure what the au could be??? can people PLEASE give me some ideas??? cause like i want to do one where i can write the first part and then get requests for the next one i should write! so please, send me some requests with ideas for what the au could be! thanks!!!!!
okay guys, so id like to start an au for robin buckley x reader, but im not sure what the au could be??? can people PLEASE give me some ideas??? cause like i want to do one where i can write the first part and then get requests for the next one i should write! so please, send me some requests with ideas for what the au could be! thanks!!!!!
okay guys, so id like to start an au for robin buckley x reader, but im not sure what the au could be??? can people PLEASE give me some ideas??? cause like i want to do one where i can write the first part and then get requests for the next one i should write! so please, send me some requests with ideas for what the au could be! thanks!!!!!
iâm in such bad block and i want to write for robin buckley so bad but i NEED ideas on what to write. can you PLEASE leave requests in my inbox? thanks gang!
it hits different, it hits different cause itâs you.
summary- moving on from guys had always been easier for you. minor setbacks. nothing major. but this time hit different than it normally did. and it wasn't just by chance. it was because of him. steve harrington.
word count- 8.7k
contains- angst, breakup, drinking underage, emotional spiral, protective robin, heavy alcohol use, drinking, partying, robin being literally the best, vomiting, fluff, kissing, really happy ending after all the angst i promise!
author's note- based on taylor swift's "hits different", one of my FAVES. this was SOOOO fun to write! please please PLEASE leave me some requests or things you enjoyed! my ask box is open!!! thank you SOOO much for reading, i hope you enjoy this as much as i did while writing!
April, 1986
You and Steve had been a thing for a long while.
It wasnât a casual thing. Not temporary in the slightest. If you asked anyone, they would say they believed it would last.
Dustin would say Steve was way too in love with you to ever think about ending things.
Robin would say you were way too in love with Steve to ever think about ending things.
Anyone in the party could tell you that.
Until things stopped being things.
Youâd gotten into a stupid fight when things started heating up in the Upside Down. He had been overprotective. Youâd seen it as he didn't believe in you. Heâd seen it as his way of showing his care. You brought it up and things exploded.
You thought he didnât trust you. He told you it wasnât that. You had pushed him and he got defensive. Then came the dreaded âMaybe we just arenât right for each other anymore.âÂ
After those words were out, you couldnât take them back. No matter how hard you wished to. No matter how much you didnât mean them.Â
Silence.
Itâs not like you wanted things to end. You were both afraid of what was going on beneath Hawkins. Afraid of losing each other.
Despite it, that was the end.Â
You left his house with tears running down your face. Youâd spent years walking into that house like it was yours. You never thought youâd walk out of it alone.
You walked home alone through the rain, water drenching your clothes, the droplets soaking in and running deep like your feelings. It felt like a miracle when the familiar car of your best friend, Robin, rolled up beside you.
Obviously you were soaked. Itâs April. It's always raining.Â
But she could tell you were crying. She knew something had happened. She wasnât ever the best with social cues. Not in kindergarten, not in elementary school, not in middle school, and not in high school. But she knows you like the back of her hand.
The headlights slowed beside you. The car door flew open before you could pretend you were fine.
âOkay,â she said carefully, taking in your soaked clothes and shaking hands. âWhat happened?â
You tried to swallow it down. You really did. You didnât want her to hear the tremble in your voice.You didnât want her to know just how terrible you felt right now.
âItâs over.â
The words sounded wrong out loud. Too small for what they meant.
Robin blinked. She knew you meant Steve. âOver like⌠over over?â
You nodded.
She didnât ask anything else.
Just stepped closer, hand on your back as she gently guided you towards the passenger seat. âGet in. You look like a drowned Victorian child.â
Despite everything, a broken laugh escaped you. She had a way of making you feel better.
She cranked the heat the second the door shut, tossing her jacket over your shoulders.
For a few blocks, neither of you said anything.
She turned toward your street. It made you sick.
Thinking of having to face the memories of Steve that lingered on every surface of your house felt like a prison sentence. You canât do it.
âDonât,â you said.
Robin glanced over. âDonât what?â
âDonât take me home.â
She hesitated. This wasnât good and she knew it.
âOkay,â she said slowly. âSo where are we going?â
You stared out the windshield, rain blurring the world into something unrecognizable.
âSomewhere loud.â
Robin made a face. âThatâs never a good sentence.â
âI need a bar. Or a party.â
She laughed once â short and disbelieving. âYou are seventeen, Iâm not taking you to a bar.â
âRobin, I said a bar or a party. I know Laurens having one tonight.â
The way you said it made her grip the steering wheel tighter.
She sighed. She didnât think it was a good idea, but who was she to refuse you this? You just broke up with your boyfriend of multiple years. Clearly, an escape is needed.
âLaurenâs house is already going to be a disaster,â she muttered. âYou crying in a corner might actually improve the vibe.â
You let out a weak huff of laughter, staring at your hands twisted in your lap.
âI donât want to cry,â you said quietly. âI just⌠I donât want to think.â
Robinâs jaw tightened at that. She understood more than you realized.
âOkay,â she said finally, giving in and flicking on her blinker and turning away from your street. âWe go for an hour. You get loud music. You get bad punch. And the second you start spiraling, Iâm dragging you out.â
You nodded, even though you both knew sheâd stay as long as you needed.
âAnd,â she added, glancing at you, âif anyone even looks at you wrong tonight, I will ruin their life.â
That made you smile properly this time.
The car sped up slightly, rain tapping against the windshield in uneven rhythms.
You leaned your head against the cold glass, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. And for a second, just a second, you thought about Steve sitting alone in his room.
You pushed the thought away.
Somewhere loud. Thatâs all you needed.
i washed my hands of us, at the club.
You hadnât meant to get that drunk tonight.
âJust enough to forget.â Thatâs what you told yourself. A couple drinks, loud music filling your ears, that should be enough.
Laurenâs house was already pulsing when you walked in.
Music thumped through the walls, bass rattling picture frames. The living room lights were off, replaced by mismatched lamps and Christmas lights strung haphazardly across the ceiling. Why they were there in the middle of April, youâve got no clue.
The air smelled like cheap perfume, sweat, and whatever sugary disaster was being served in red plastic cups.
Robin stayed close behind you as you stepped inside.
âOkay,â she muttered near your ear. âGround rules. You do not disappear. You do not chug anything handed to you by a guy you donât know. Andââ
You were already reaching for a cup.
She grabbed your wrist lightly. âMaybe start slow?â
âI am starting slow,â you said, pulling free and taking a long swallow.
It burned.
Good.
You barely tasted it.
Someone shouted your name. Someone else pulled you into a quick hug. The music was loud enough that you didnât have to talk much, which was perfect.
Robin lingered at your side for the first twenty minutes.
You finished your first cup too fast.
Then another.
âOkay,â Robin said, watching you refill. âMaybe alternate with water?â
You shook your head. âWaterâs boring.â
âThis is how hangovers are born.â
âI donât care.â
You didnât.
Because every time the music dipped for even half a second, every time you didnât have a drink in hand, your brain filled the space with him.
Steve standing in his room.
Steve running a hand through his hair.
Steve saying maybe we just arenât right for each other anymore.
Your throat tightened.
You tipped the cup back again.
Robin saw it that time.
She stepped closer. âHey. Slow down.â
âIâm fine.â
âYouâre not fine.â
You laughed â too loud, too sharp. âYouâre right. Iâm fantastic, actually. Best night of my life.â
Another refill.
Your words were starting to blur together. The room felt softer around the edges. Warmer. Easier. When someone bumped into you, you stumbled slightly, catching yourself on the wall.
Robinâs hand was on your elbow immediately.
âOkay,â she said more firmly now. âYouâve had enough.â
âI havenât evenââ you squinted at your cup like it offended you. âI havenât even had that much.â Every word slurred into the next, sentences dragging on.
âYou can barely stand.â
âI can soââ You pushed away from the wall to prove it and immediately swayed.
Robin caught you again.
Your laugh came out wobbly. âSee? Mâso balanced.â
âYouâre going to make yourself sick.â Her voice held such worry for you that it almost made you want to stop. To not drink another thing that night.
But a thought of him crept its way in. You knew you needed more to forget.
You leaned closer to her, lowering your voice like it was a secret.
âI just need it to be quiet in my head.â
You pointed to your skull, a small, tipsy smile spreading on your face, though you looked almost upset.
That did it.
Her expression shifted.
Someone turned the music up even louder. The floor vibrated. You felt that ache in your chest again â sharp and sudden.
You saw him in your mind like he was standing across the room.
You swallowed hard.
You pulled away from Robin and grabbed another drink off the kitchen counter without even checking what it was.
âHeyââ she started.
You drank it anyway.
Because if you were drunk enough, maybe you wouldnât picture him.
Maybe you wouldnât wonder if he was regretting it. Maybe you wouldnât start crying in the middle of Laurenâs stupid living room.
The room spun slightly when you turned back toward the music.
Robin stepped in front of you this time.
âThatâs it,â she said quietly. âYouâre done.â She tried to reach for the cup you were holding, but you moved your arm back.
You tried to glare at her, but it probably looked more like a confused squint.
âMânot done,â you slurred. âHe doesnât get to justâ justââ
Suddenly the room felt too loud.
Because they were playing your song. You and Steveâs song. Time After Time, Cyndi Lauper. Over the years of your relationship, youâd claimed that it was fitting. Of course, he went along. He would go along with anything you said.
It played years ago at your school dance, where the two of you solidified your relationship. Ever since, itâs been your song.
And now youâre picturing him again. You canât stay in here. Canât stay as the lyrics and the backtracks fill the room.
Just seconds ago, you told Robin that you were fine. That you wanted to keep drinking and stay at the party and forget.
But now, you couldn't neglect the events from earlier. The music filled your head, forcing you to confront it all.Â
You practically begged her to take you home after that.
i pictured you with other girls, in love. then threw up on the street.
Robin took you home after that. She knew it wouldnât be fair to make you sit through that song.
Just like she knew she couldnât let you drink another thing.
She didnât say âI told you so.â
She didnât say anything at all as she guided you out of the house, one hand firm on your back so you wouldnât stumble off the porch. The cold air hit you immediately, sharp and sobering in the worst way.
The song was still faintly audible from inside.
You swallowed hard.
She helped you into the passenger seat, buckled you in when your fingers fumbled too much to manage it yourself.
Mustâve been the spiked punch causing you to shake.
Or maybe the many cans (you had lost count) of beer.
Possibly the whiskey youâd drank.
Or it couldâve been the drinks you took from the counters without knowing their contents.
Maybe it was all of them.
The drive started quiet.
Only the hum of the engine. The steady sweep of windshield wipers. Rain streaking across the glass like it hadnât done enough damage already tonight.
You leaned your head against the window again, cold glass coming into contact with your burning skin.
Everything felt heavy. Your body. Your chest. Your thoughts.
Robin kept glancing over at you, worry written between every line of her face.
âYou okay?â she asked softly.
You nodded too quickly.
Big mistake. The pain splitted through your skull, like lightning striking your temples. The world tilted slightly as the alcohol blurred the edges of reality. That's when the big problems started.
You pictured him.
Not how he looked earlier â red-eyed, frustrated, scared.
No.
You pictured him laughing.
You pictured him at Scoops, leaning over the counter like he used to, flashing that stupid charming smile at some girl with glossy hair and perfect teeth. Some girl who always made you feel insecure. Some girl you envied with everything in you.
You pictured her touching his arm.
You pictured him not pulling away.
Your stomach twisted.
You hated it. Hated yourself for thinking it. Hated that your brain wouldnât stop.
He wouldnât move on that fast.
He wouldnât.
But what if he did?
While no, he didnât work at Scoops anymore, and no, he wasnât working a shift tonight, he would be in the morning.
What if there was some girl at Family Video tomorrow? What if he smiled at her the way he used to smile at you? What if she didnât argue with him about being overprotective? What if she thought it was sweet?
Your chest tightened so hard it almost hurt to breathe. Inhaling got harder the more you thought.
You pressed your forehead harder into the glass.
âI hate this,â you muttered.
Robin glanced at you. âHate what?â
You shook your head, but the images wouldnât stop.
Now it was worse.
Now you were picturing him slow dancing with someone else. Her hands around his neck. His forehead resting against hers, arms slid low around her waist. Swaying like the two of you at the dance a few years back.
In the back, Time After Time played low on his record player.Â
On the vinyl he bought just for you. Because he knew it was your favorite song. He knew it was your song.
You pictured her in his room. Wearing his faded, grey t-shirt that youâd always steal from him.
In his bed. On the same side youâd lay.
Your stomach lurched violently.
âPull over,â you said suddenly, already rolling down the window of her car.
Robin didnât hesitate. She swerved toward the curb immediately.
You barely got the window down in time.
It happened fast. Messy. Unceremonious. Rain mixed with your vomit on the pavement.Â
Robin reached across you instinctively, holding your hair back even though most of it was out the window anyway.
âOkay,â she said gently. âOkay. Breathe.â
âI pictured him,â you whispered hoarsely, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. âWith other girls. In love.â
The words broke halfway through. Almost as if the thought made you want to puke your guts out again. You stopped yourself.
âHeâs not doing that. Sure, heâs a dingus, but not that much of a dingus.â She told you, gathering your hair and brushing it back behind your ears.
âYou donât know that,â you choked out, turning from the window to face her. âWhat if he doesnât even miss me?â
Her jaw clenched.
âSteve Harrington?â she scoffed quietly. âHeâs probably staring at his ceiling right now like the world ended.â
You let out a small, miserable laugh that turned into another shaky breath.
Rain kept falling. The streetlight above you flickered.
Your stomach still churned, but it wasnât just the alcohol anymore. It was the grief. The jealousy. The unbearable not knowing.
âI canât stop thinking about him,â you admitted quietly. âEven when I try.â
âI know,â she said, a painful smile on her lips.Â
She didnât rush you.
Didnât start the car again yet.
Just kept her hand steady at the back of your head while the rain washed the street clean.
After a minute, she reached into the glove compartment and handed you a napkin from inside it. âNext time,â she muttered, trying to lighten it, âwe spiral without whiskey. Or beer.â
You huffed weakly.
She started the car again.
You leaned back into the seat, exhausted now. Drained. Your head lolled slightly toward her.
Robin kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift like she was ready to reach for you again if needed.
Neither of you said anything else.
The rain kept falling. The radio hummed low.
And even through the nausea and the blur and the ache, he was still there in your mind.
each bar plays our song, nothing has ever felt so wrong.
The rest of the drive wasnât too bad.
Youâd somehow found a way to turn off your head, to stop the spiral of thoughts in your mind.
You hardly thought of Steve as Robin drove you home.
Everything was peaceful. Until it was.
Robin reached forward absentmindedly, twisting the volume knob on the radio.
Static cracked for half a second.
And thenâ
âLying in my bed, I hear the clock tickâŚâ
It was quiet. Soft. Barely even loud enough to matter. But you knew it instantly.
Your entire body went rigid.
Robin did too.
 There it was. Time After Time. Your song, again.
âOh, noââ she muttered, fingers fumbling with the dial before she managed to turn it off. Silence fell over the car. Heavier than youâd hoped.
Too late.
You had already heard it.
Just those first few notes were enough. Enough to pull you right back to the gymnasium lights at your first dance. To his hands at your waist. To the way heâd smiled at you like there was no one else in the room.
Nothing has ever felt so wrong.
Not the fight.
Not the drinking.
Not even throwing up on the side of the road.
Robin cleared her throat. âOkay. Thatâs banned. Radioâs canceled. Forever.â
You stared straight ahead.
You tried to laugh.
It didnât come out right.
âIâm sorry.â she muttered, suddenly feeling as though it was her fault the universe was against you.
âItâs fine,â you said quietly.
It was far from fine.
Every stupid place in this town has played it at some point. School dances. The skating rink. Family barbecues. The grocery store last summer when he spun you around in aisle seven because it came on over the speakers.
You knew you wouldnât ever be able to escape him.
Not when that song was looming over your life in every corner.
The car felt smaller now.
Colder.
Robin didnât turn the radio back on. God, she wouldnât dare.
She drove the rest of the way in silence, like she was guarding you from the world.
But the melody was already stuck in your head.
And no matter how hard you tried, you couldnât turn that off.
"oh my, love is a lie." shit my friends say to get me by.
Robin pulled up in front of your house but didnât turn the engine off right away.
The porch light was on even though no one was home. Your dad was away on one of his multiple month long business trips. Your mom was working until morning at the hospital.
She glanced over at you. Your makeup was smeared. Your hair a mess. Eyes glassy and swollen. Clearly the night had taken a toll on you.
âOkay,â she said gently. âHereâs what weâre not going to do.â
You sniffed. âWhat?â
âWeâre not going to decide that this means youâre unlovable. Or doomed. Or cursed by some ancient Greek tragedy.â
You gave her a weak look, lips pursed together. âFeels a little Greek tragedy-ish.â You mutter, nodding your head.
She exhaled through her nose.
âLove is a lie,â she declared suddenly, dramatic and flat, hands hitting her thighs. âA capitalist construct designed to sell greeting cards and slow dance tickets.â
Despite yourself, you let out a tiny huff, turning your head to her.
She softened immediately.
âIâm serious,â she said, quieter now. âItâs just brain chemicals. Youâll detox. Youâll be okay, even if it doesnât feel like it.â
You stared down at your hands.
âLove is a lie.â you repeated faintly, almost to yourself, like if you said it enough it could become true.
Robin reached over, squeezing your shoulder, pulling your eyes back to her.
âThatâs right. Total scam.â
She didnât mean it. You knew she didnât mean it.
She was just trying to build a life raft out of sarcasm and hand it to you.
âIâm walking you in,â she said, killing the engine.
Inside, the house was too quiet. Too normal.
Robin hovered while you kicked your shoes off clumsily, steadying you when you swayed.
âYou good?â she asked.
You nodded. You could tell she didnât believe you.
âIâll call you in the morning,â she said carefully. âAnd if you start spiraling, you call me. I donât care if itâs three a.m.â
You nodded again.
She hesitated at the door.
Then, softer, âThis doesnât get to ruin you, okay?â
The door clicked shut behind her, silence rushing in.
You stood there for a moment.
The house felt heavier without her.
Without him.
âLove is a lie.â you whispered again, leaning back against the door. You almost believed it.
It would be easier if you did.
If love wasnât real, then this wouldnât hurt so much. But if love was fake, then what you had with Steve wasnât real either.
And that thought made your chest cave in.
You slid down the door slowly, sitting on the floor.
âItâs just shit she says to get me by,â you muttered to the empty room.
Because Robin doesnât believe love is a lie.
And neither do you.
Not really.
Thatâs the problem.
May, 1986
Itâs been a month since you and Steve broke things off.
Doesnât mean itâs stopped hurting you.
In fact, it actually hurts worse than it did before.
Because you keep wondering why he didnât come back.
Why doesn't he miss you. If he ever will miss you. If heâs moved on.
There are so many things you wish you could ask him. But you canât.
and I never don't cry at the bar, yeah, my sadness is contagious.
It had been weeks.
Weeks of pretending you were fine.
Weeks of avoiding certain streets.
Weeks of Robin watching you like you might crack open at any second.
So when she said, âItâs just for an hour. Graduation thing. I know the bartender. Weâll stand in the back. You donât even have to drink,â
You told yourself you could handle it.
Robin knew some people from band who were a grade above you both. Thatâs why you were going. For Robin.
It still felt wrong to go anywhere associated with Steve.
It was his grade. What if he was there?Â
You hoped with everything in you that he wouldnât be.
The Hideout smelled like beer and cigarettes and sweat. Seniors crowded the tiny dance floor, celebrating freedom like Hawkins wasnât still sitting on top of something monstrous.
Robin stayed close to you. Closer than usual.
You leaned against the wall, nursing something weak that sheâd insisted on ordering herself.
It contained barely any alcohol.
That was the difference between you and Robin. She could handle alcohol. You couldnât. Not since the night after you broke up with Steve.
You have to get shitfaced to feel anything. And by the time that happens, youâve already lined yourself up for terrible hang overs and puking your guts up.
âSee?â she said. âYouâre fine. I told you coming here would be okay.â
You nodded.
You almost believed her.
Across the room, someone was laughing too hard. A couple was pressed close near the music table, the girlâs hands looped behind the guyâs neck.
He whispered something to the guy running the songs over her shoulder before his attention was completely on her again.
You tried not to look. But now, you were curious.
The kid running the table put on a new record, one that looked strangely familiar.
The second it started, your chest tightened.
Time After Time.Â
It seemed like the song followed you everywhere you went. You could never get away from synth cords in the back tracks.
You watched how her face lit up when it played. How he smiled watching how excited she quickly became. It was clear that heâd gotten the song played just for her.
You saw yourself and Steve in them.
You had to turn away.
You stared at your drink. Never would you have guessed it would hurt this long.
You thought by May youâd be better.
You thought by May youâd be annoyed when someone said his name. That youâd be able to walk into a room and not scan it for him automatically.
But there you were.
Scanning.
Robin noticed before you said anything.
She always did.
âYou okay?â she asked gently.
You nodded too fast. Your throat tightened anyway.
Across the room, the couple by the table started slow dancing properly now. The girl rested her head on his chest.
And it hit you.
Steve had done that once.
At that stupid winter formal with the same song playing in the back.
Heâd rested his chin on top of your head and whispered, âIf we break up, Iâm never dancing again.â
You laughed then.
You didnât laugh now.
Your vision blurred.
You blinked hard.
Too late.
Tears slipped down before you could stop them.
Robin swore under her breath. Of course, sheâd heard the song. She just hoped you didnât.
Hey, heyââ She stepped in front of you slightly, blocking your view. âDonât do that. Come on, look at me.â
You tried.
The shift was immediate.
Robinâs face fell. The joking edge disappeared. Her shoulders tightened.
Now she looked like she was hurting too. Itâs like she was catching your sadness.
âI didnât think it would still feel like this,â you admitted, voice cracking. âItâs been a month.â
âThatâs not that long,â she said quickly.
âIt feels like it is.â
Around you, people were still laughing.
Still dancing.
Still moving on.
You werenât.
You wiped your cheeks angrily.
âI feel like I never donât cry.â you muttered bitterly. âAt a party. Or a bar. Or anywhere, for that matter.â
Robin gave you a sad smile. âWell, youâre very committed to the bit.â
You let out a broken sound that was almost a laugh.
But she was right.
Every time you tried to be normal, it ended like this.
You thinking of him.
You crying.
Robin getting quiet because she didnât know how to fix it.
Your sadness was contagious.
It leaked into every room.
âI canât keep doing this to you,â you whispered.
Robinâs expression hardened.
âDoing what?â
âRuining everything.â
âYou are not ruining anything,â she said immediately. âYouâre heartbroken. Thatâs different.â
The song swelled again.
Someone cheered.
You pressed your palms to your eyes.
âI thought I was better at this,â you said. âI used to be better at this.â
Robin wrapped an arm around your shoulders.
âYeah,â she said softly. âBut this one mattered.â
That was the problem.
That was always the problem.
Across the room, the couple laughed again.
You couldnât watch.
That's when you started to drink again. You just couldnât handle the thoughts. You ordered something you didnât even know the contents of, just that it had a high percentage of alcohol.
That's what you need right now. An escape.
i slur your name till someone puts me in a car,
The first shot burned. The second didnât.
That was how you knew you were in trouble.
The alcohol hit your bloodstream fast â too fast. You hadnât eaten. You hadnât slept properly in weeks. Youâd been living on coffee and grief. Robin noticed the switch immediately.
âOkay,â she said cautiously, watching you tip back your third shot glass. âSlow down.â
âIâm going slow,â you insisted, even though you absolutely were not. Your voice already sounded thicker. Warmer. Edges blurred.
The music felt louder now. The lights fuzzier. The room softer.
And for a second â just a second â it worked.
Your chest didnât feel so tight. Your head didnât feel so loud. You laughed at something Robin said. Too hard. Too long. See? You were fine.
Until you werenât.
Because across the room, someone shouted a name that sounded almost like his. And your brain filled in the rest.
Steve.
It was like your body reacted before your mind could.
âSteve wouldnâtââ you started, words tangling together.
Robin stiffened. âWhat?â
You blinked at her like sheâd interrupted something important.
âHe wouldnât dance like that,â you said, gesturing vaguely toward nothing. âHeâ he alwaysâ he always does that thing with his shoulders first. Like he thinks heâs smooth.â
You giggled. It didnât sound right.
Robin stepped closer.
âOkay,â she said carefully. âMaybe letâs switch to water.â
You ignored her.
âSteve,â you said again, testing the name in your mouth like it was something you werenât supposed to have anymore.
It came out wrong. Soft but broken.
You laughed again, but your eyes were glassy now.
âYou know whatâs funny?â you said, leaning in too close to Robin. âHe said heâd never dance again if we broke up.â
Your voice cracked on the last word. Robin swallowed.
âThat was a dumb thing for him to say,â she muttered.
You shook your head.
âNo, no, it wasnât dumb. It was sweet. Heâs sweet.â Your face crumpled slightly. âHeâs soâ Heâs not coming to this stupid thing! Heâsââ
You lost the words halfway through. Instead, you said his name again.
Slower this time.
âSteeeve.â
It dragged out. Slurred. Heavy.
Robin grabbed your arm gently.
âCome on, youâve got to stop thinking about him.â
But you were past that point.
You were at the part where the alcohol doesnât numb â it magnifies.
Every feeling got bigger.
The music got louder. The lights got harsher. The ache got deeper.
âSteve,â you said again, louder now.
A couple of people nearby glanced over.
Robinâs jaw tightened.
âShhh,â she said. âHey, Steve isnât here.â
You shook your head, stubborn.
âNo, heâ he doesnât get to justâ justââ Your words collapsed into themselves. âHe doesnât get to stop loving me.â
That was it.
That was the thing you hadnât said out loud yet.
Robinâs expression changed.
You swayed slightly.
She steadied you.
âI still love him,â you said, blinking up at her like this was breaking news. âRob, I stillâ I stillââ
Your throat closed. Tears spilled fast this time. And you kept saying it.
His name.
Over and over, each time more slurred.
âStevâ Steeââ you huffed frustratedly. âWhy canât I say it right?â
You laughed again. Then you cried harder.
A senior near the bar looked at you weird. Someone whispered something. Robin shot them a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
âThatâs it,â she said quietly. âWeâre done.â
You tried to protest.
âMânot done,â you mumbled. âI need anotherââ
âNo, you need a bed,â she said firmly.
You shook your head, wobbling.
âI need him.â
That one was barely audible, but she heard it.
Her face softened. She wrapped your arm over her shoulder.
âOkay,â she muttered. âWeâre leaving before you confess your eternal love to the entire graduating class.â
You didnât argue this time. You just kept whispering his name under your breath as she guided you toward the door.
âSteve. Steve. Steve.â
Like if you said it enough, he might appear.
The cool night air hit your face and you gasped dramatically.
Robin practically dragged you to the car. You were still talking.
Still slurring.
âYâknow what he smells like?â you said suddenly, deeply serious.
âOh my god,â Robin muttered.
âHe smells likeâ like hairspray and mint gum andâ and summer.â
She opened the passenger door. You try to slide into the seat but you almost miss it entirely.
She caught you before you fell, steadying you at the waist.
âOkay,â she said through gritted teeth. âSit.â
You obeyed⌠mostly. She buckled you in because your hands kept missing the latch. You blinked at her slowly.
âYou think he misses me?â you asked.
The question was so small. So sober in its drunkenness. Yet she didnât have an answer for you. She couldnât tell you if he did or didnât. The door closed gently.
She didnât answer. Instead, she got in the driverâs seat, starting the engine of her car. As she pulled out of the parking lot, you pressed your forehead to the window.
The glass was cool.
Comforting.
You whispered his name again.
Softer now. Like you were afraid it might shatter if you said it too loud.
Robin gripped the steering wheel.
She hated this. Hated watching you unravel. Hated that she couldnât fix it.
Behind her, the bar lights faded in the rearview mirror.
In the passenger seat, you were still murmuring:
âSteve.â
And this time, your voice broke completely.
June, 1986
Ever since that day youâd gotten drunk at the senior party, you hadnât touched an ounce of alcohol.
The waves of hurt came back every now and then when there was a reminder of him, but youâd grown to deal with the pain in different ways.
Itâs been two months now.
Two months since the break up.
Schools out, meaning it shouldnât hurt much anymore. Less seeing him. Less hearing about him. Less forced proximity.
But it doesnât hurt less.
Because in those months, you had something to hold onto.
But now? Now it just feels like he's gone completely. Like what little of him you had has disappeared before your eyes.
The weight behind your ribs hasnât gone anywhere.
Itâs only intensified.
i find the artifacts, cried over a hat.
Your house felt bigger in the summer. Emptier. The air was heavier, like it was holding its breath.
You told yourself you were cleaning.
That was the excuse.
School was out. Closets needed sorting. Shelves needed dusting. You needed something to do with your hands.
Because when they were idle, they reached for things they shouldnât.
Like bottles.
The box had been under your bed since April. Youâd shoved it there the night after the break up.
Not thrown away.
Just⌠hidden.
Out of sight.
You hadnât been brave enough to look.
Until now.
You knelt on the floor slowly, the wood warm against your knees. Reached under the bed. Your fingers brushed cardboard.
You froze.
Your pulse quickened like youâd touched something alive.
It was ridiculous.
It was just a box.
But it felt heavier when you dragged it out. Like it knew what it contained.
You sat back on your heels.
Stared at it. Two months. Youâd survived over two months. You could survive this.
You lifted the lid. The smell hit first.
Not strong. Not obvious.
But faintly familiar.
Laundry detergent. Old paper. A trace of something like cologne that had long since faded but hadnât disappeared entirely.
Your chest tightened.
Right on top was a movie ticket stub.
You picked it up carefully.
Back to the Future.
July, 1985.
You could see it instantlyâ
The two of you squeezed into the back row. Steve whispering dumb commentary in your ear. His arm draped around you. The way he laughed too loud during the skateboard scene.
Youâd shushed him.
Heâd kissed your temple in retaliation.
Youâd kept the ticket because heâd drawn your initials with a plus sign between them, surrounded by a heart.Â
Your thumb traced the faded ink.
You set it down gently beside you.
Under it was a cassette tape.
Handwritten label.
âRoad Trip Mix â S.H.â
Your throat went dry.
You remembered that drive.
Windows down. Summer air loud and warm. Him drumming his fingers on the steering wheel off beat. You yelling at him for skipping your favorite track.
Heâd said, âI made this for you, you menace.â
Youâd said, âExactly. For me. Donât skip the best songs!â and hit his shoulder playfully.
Heâd laughed.
You pressed the tape to your chest for a second before placing it down too.
Nextâ
A hoodie.
Dark blue.
Too big for you.
You didnât have to unfold it to know that it was his.
Youâd stolen it one night when youâd fallen asleep on his couch. Heâd let you keep it.
You lifted it slowly.
Brought it to your face.
The scent was faint now. Almost gone.
That hurt worse somehow.
You remembered sitting in the passenger seat wearing it. Sleeves swallowing your hands. Him glancing over at red lights like you were the best thing heâd ever seen.
âYou look better in my clothes than I do,â heâd said once.
Youâd rolled your eyes.
But you wore it every chance you got.
You folded it carefully and set it aside.
Underneath thatâ
A polaroid.
Your breath caught.
It was taken at the lake two summers ago.
Steveâs arm wrapped around your shoulders. Your head tilted toward his. Sunburn across both your noses. Water dripping from your hair.
You were laughing at something outside the frame.
He wasnât looking at the camera.
He was looking at you.
You stared at it too long. Set it face down.
You dug deeper. A folded note.
You unfolded it slowly.
His handwriting. Slanted and messy.
âStop overthinking everything. Youâre braver than you think. I believe in you.â
Your vision blurred instantly. You remembered the day.
Youâd been panicking about everything happening in Hawkins. Convinced you werenât strong enough.
Heâd pressed that note into your hand before you left.
âI mean it,â heâd said quietly.
You swallowed hard. Your hands shook now. You kept going.
A cheap plastic bracelet from the carnival.
You remembered him winning it for you and acting like it was diamond.
A crumpled receipt from Family Video with your names scribbled in the corner.
A matchbook from The Hideout from the first time heâd taken you somewhere that wasnât Scoops or the movies.
Each thing a portal.
You werenât imagining it. It had been real.
You were still sitting there, surrounded by artifacts of a relationship that felt archaeological now, when your fingers brushed fabric again.
White with navy letters.
You knew before you fully saw it.
Your breathing changed.
Slow. Careful.
Like approaching something fragile.
You lifted it. The Scoops Ahoy hat.
Well, not the Scoops hat, but one of them. He had two. Since he was at your place before work on too many occasions to count, he left one there in case he was in a rush and had to take the back up.
Bright white. Blue trim. Slightly bent at one corner.
You stared at it like it might blink. It shouldnât have hit you this hard.
It was stupid. A costume.
You remembered the first day he wore it. How dramatically offended heâd been about the shorts. How youâd teased him mercilessly.
âAhoy, sailor,â youâd said, tipping the hat off his head.
Heâd grabbed your wrist and pulled you close over the counter when no one was looking. âYou better behave,â heâd murmured.
Youâd laughed into his shoulder.
You remembered sitting on the counter after closing, stealing cherries from the topping bar while he counted the register.
You remembered the way heâd adjust the hat in the mirror and ask, âBe honest. Do I pull this off? I feel like itâs blowing my best feature.â
Youâd told him yes every time.
You remembered leaning over the counter one slow afternoon, watching him argue with Robin.
You remembered the way heâd lean his elbows on the glass and grin at you like you were in on some private joke.
You remembered how proud heâd been the day he got out of that job. How youâd told him he deserved better. How heâd kissed you in the parking lot after his last shift.
The hat trembled in your hands.
And suddenlyâ You couldnât breathe.
This one artifact, those stupid string of memories it brought, it was undoing you.
The fact that there had been so many normal days. So many moments that werenât dramatic.
Just him.
You pressed the hat to your chest. Your shoulders started shaking before you even realized you were crying.
Not the loud kind. Not the hysterical kind.
The quiet, breaking apart kind.
You bent forward slowly, curling over it like you were protecting something. Because in a way, you were. You were protecting what it had meant.
Your tears soaked into the fabric. You thought about how careful heâd been with you.
How much heâd tried. How scared heâd been of losing you. How youâd both said things you didnât mean.
You thought about the crease by his eyes when he smiled. The way he pushed his hair back. The way he said your name when he was tired.
Grief lived in the details. You understood that now.
You pressed your forehead to the brim of the hat.
âI didnât mean it,â you whispered to the empty room.
But the weight behind your ribs shifted slightly. Not lighter. Just clearer.
You werenât moving on. You werenât healing. You were still in it. And that was the truth.
July, 1986
Three months.
Three months and somehow, you still hadn't come to terms with any of this.
You still haven't drank any more alcohol, but the pounding of your head and the way you always stood shakily would suggest otherwise.
You had gotten a little better at masking it all, though.
Still, you couldn't ever imagine yourself with another guy. Couldn't imagine waking up beside someone new. Couldn't imagine going to a winter formal with an unfamiliar face.
You couldn't imagine a life without Steve.
i heard your key turn in the door, down the hallway.
The house was too quiet again.
Summer had a way of stretching the hours thin. The cicadas outside buzzed lazily in the heat, sunlight pooling golden across the hardwood floors. Your parents were both goneâyour dad still out of town, your mom working a double shift.
You hadnât planned to remember what today was.
You truly hadnât.
But when youâd woken up that morning and looked at the calendar pinned beside your desk, it had been circled in faded blue ink.
July 14th.
Youâd circled it when you got the calendar. When you were still together. One year since your first official date. Not the dance. Not the âare we?â phase.
The real one.
The night heâd shown up at your door with flowers heâd very obviously bought from Melvaldâs and tried to pretend were expensive.
Youâd forgotten to erase the circle. So now it sat there. Mocking you.
You told yourself it was stupid to care.
You told yourself anniversaries didnât count when you werenât together anymore.
You told yourself it was just a date. A random day ofÂ
But all day, everything felt heavier. You tried reading. You couldnât focus. Tried cleaning more. There was nothing left to clean. Tried not to think about him.
That failed immediately.
By early evening, the house had started to feel like it was closing in.
You wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge without knowing why. Stared at nothing. Closed it again. Walked to your bedroom and sat down on your bed.
The quiet was loud.
And thenâ
You heard it.
A sound so small you almost thought you imagined it.
The faint metal click of a key sliding into the front door lock.
Your body went completely still.
Your heart didnât race at first.
It stopped.
Then it slammed against your ribs so hard it felt like it might bruise.
No one else had a key.
Exceptâ
The lock turned.
The door opened.
For a split second, your brain tried to rationalize it. Your mom? No, she wouldnât be home for hours.
A burglar? But burglars didnât use keys.
And then you heard it.
That familiar creak of the door swinging shut gently. Not forceful. Not rushed.
Careful.
Like someone who knew exactly how much pressure the hinges needed.
Your breath left you in a shaky exhale.
Footsteps. Soft. Familiar.
It had to be your mom. She mustâve gotten off work early, or had to swing by the house to grab something.
If not your mom, your dad. Maybe his business trip had been cut short, so heâs back now.
Thereâs no way it couldâve been anyone else.
You stepped out of your bedroom without thinking. The hallway felt impossibly long.
Your pulse roared in your ears as you moved toward the front of the house.
And thenâ
You saw him.
Standing just inside the doorway was Steve Harrington.
He looked different somehow. Or maybe it was just that you hadnât seen him up close in months. His hair was longer. Slightly messy like heâd run his hands through it too many times.
He froze when he saw you.
Like he hadnât expected you to appear that fast. Like maybe he hadnât expected you at all.
Your voice came out before your brain caught up.
âOh.â
It wasnât what you meant to say. You meant to say a thousand things. But all that came out was:
âSteve.â
His name tasted different now.
His hand was still wrapped around the key in the lock.
âHey,â he said softly.
You stared at the key. Then at him.
âYou still have that?â
His expression shifted. Almost sheepish. Almost guilty.
âYeah,â he admitted. âI, uh⌠I was gonna bring it back.â
Silence. You stepped closer, slow, cautious.
âWhy didnât you knock?â
You thought maybe heâd forgotten that was the normal thing to do. Maybe, just maybe, heâd spent so much time coming in without a second thought that it was hard to unlearn the habit.
âI did,â he said quickly. âTwice. You didnât answer. I thought maybeââ He swallowed. âI thought maybe you werenât home.â
You hadnât heard anything. Your heart was beating too loud. He pulled the key out slowly and held it up like evidence.
âI shouldâve given this back weeks ago,â he said quietly.
You looked at him fully now. Really looked at him. His eyes were tired. Red around the edges. Like he hadnât been sleeping much either.
The hallway felt smaller.
âWhy are you here?â you asked.
Your voice wasnât sharp. It wasnât angry. It was fragile.
He inhaled slowly. âI didnât want today to pass withoutâŚâ He stopped himself.
Your stomach flipped. âWithout what?â
He looked at you like he was debating whether to jump off a cliff.
âWithout saying something.â
Your chest tightened. You hadnât mentioned the date. You hadnât told anyone.
But he remembered.
Of course he remembered. He remembered everything important.
âYou remembered,â you whispered.
His laugh was quiet. Not amused. Just soft.
âYeah,â he said. âI remember a lot of things.â
That did it. Your eyes burned immediately. You folded your arms around yourself, not defensivelyâjust to keep from shaking.
âI didnât think youâd come,â you admitted.
You're not sure what you meant. The day or ever.
He flinched slightly. âYeah,â he said. âI know.â
Silence stretched between you again. The kind where both people are holding something breakable.
âI thought you were done,â you said quietly.
His jaw tightened. âI thought you were.â
You both stood there, the weight of those months settling between you like a third presence.
âI didnât mean it,â you said suddenly. The words came out fast. Urgent.
âI didnât mean that we werenât right for each other. I was scared and you were pushing and I felt like you didnât trust me and Iâ I panicked.â
His face crumpled slightly. âI know,â he said quickly. âI know. I shouldnât have let it get there.â
âYou said it too.â
âI know.â His voice broke on the last word.
âIâve replayed that fight like a hundred times,â he admitted. âEvery single night. I keep thinking if Iâd just said something different. If Iâd just listened instead of getting defensive.â
Your throat tightened painfully.
âI thought you didnât come back because you didnât miss me,â you whispered.
He stared at you like youâd just insulted gravity.
âAre you kidding me?â
His voice wasnât loud. But it was intense.
âI didnât come back because I thought you needed space. Because I thought if I showed up, Iâd just make it worse.â
âI thought you didnât care.â
âI care so much itâs ruining my life,â he said before he could stop himself.
Silence. You blinked at him.
âWhat?â
He ran a hand through his hairâthere it was, that nervous habit you knew so well.
âI havenât slept properly in months,â he admitted. âI keep thinking about you walking out that night. I keep thinking about how I let you leave.â
Your heart felt like it was splitting open.
âI didnât want to leave,â you said.
âI didnât want you to either.â
The words hung there. Raw. Unfiltered. Your breathing grew uneven.
âI thought youâd moved on,â you said.Â
He stepped forward slightly.
âThere hasnât been anyone else.â
Your breath caught.
âThere wonât be,â he added, softer.
The hallway felt charged now.
Like static before a storm.
âI still love you,â you said.
You didnât plan to. You didnât build up to it. It just fell out of you.
You wish it hadnât. But there was no pride left to protect. His eyes closed briefly, like the words physically hit him.
âGood,â he whispered. Your heart stopped again.
âBecause I still love you too.â
And this time, it didnât feel like grief. It felt like oxygen. You took a step closer. Then another.
You were close enough now to see the faint crease between his brows. The way his hands trembled slightly at his sides.
âI almost didnât come,â he admitted. âI sat in my car for like ten minutes. I thought maybe youâd slam the door in my face.â
You shook your head immediately.
âI could never.â
He looked at you like he wasnât entirely convinced.
âIâm sorry,â he said suddenly. âFor making you feel like I didnât believe in you. I was scared. I didnât want anything to happen to you. I thought if I just protected you hard enough, I could control it.â
âI know,â you said.
âI shouldâve trusted you.â
âI shouldâve trusted you too.â
The space between you disappeared. It wasnât dramatic. It wasnât rushed.
He reached for you slowly.
Like you might vanish.
His hands settled at your waist, hesitant at first.
You let out a breath that sounded almost like a sob and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.
And then you were crying.
Not the broken kind from the hat.
Not the drunk kind from the bar.
He held you tight.
Like he had been holding himself back for two months and finally didnât have to anymore.
âI missed you,â he murmured into your hair.
âI know,â you whispered back. âI did too.â
He pulled back just enough to look at you.
There were tears in his eyes too.
âYeah?â
âYeah.â
And then he kissed you. Not desperate. Not frantic. Slow. Careful.
Like relearning something sacred. His hand came up to cup your jaw. Yours slid into his hair automatically.
It felt the same. It felt different. It hit different.
Because you almost lost it. Because you know now what it feels like without him.
He rested his forehead against yours when you finally pulled apart.
âIâm not letting you walk out like that again,â he said quietly.
âIâm not planning on trying again,â you replied.
A small, shaky smile tugged at his mouth. âGood.â
The house didnât feel empty anymore.
The hallway that had felt impossibly long now felt like the beginning of something again.
And somewhere in the quiet of July, with the cicadas humming outside and the last of the daylight slipping through the windowsâ
It didnât hurt anymore. Because it was him. And it always had been.
it hits different, it hits different cause itâs you.
summary- moving on from guys had always been easier for you. minor setbacks. nothing major. but this time hit different than it normally did. and it wasn't just by chance. it was because of him. steve harrington.
word count- 8.7k
contains- angst, breakup, drinking underage, emotional spiral, protective robin, heavy alcohol use, drinking, partying, robin being literally the best, vomiting, fluff, kissing, really happy ending after all the angst i promise!
author's note- based on taylor swift's "hits different", one of my FAVES. this was SOOOO fun to write! please please PLEASE leave me some requests or things you enjoyed! my ask box is open!!! thank you SOOO much for reading, i hope you enjoy this as much as i did while writing!
April, 1986
You and Steve had been a thing for a long while.
It wasnât a casual thing. Not temporary in the slightest. If you asked anyone, they would say they believed it would last.
Dustin would say Steve was way too in love with you to ever think about ending things.
Robin would say you were way too in love with Steve to ever think about ending things.
Anyone in the party could tell you that.
Until things stopped being things.
Youâd gotten into a stupid fight when things started heating up in the Upside Down. He had been overprotective. Youâd seen it as he didn't believe in you. Heâd seen it as his way of showing his care. You brought it up and things exploded.
You thought he didnât trust you. He told you it wasnât that. You had pushed him and he got defensive. Then came the dreaded âMaybe we just arenât right for each other anymore.âÂ
After those words were out, you couldnât take them back. No matter how hard you wished to. No matter how much you didnât mean them.Â
Silence.
Itâs not like you wanted things to end. You were both afraid of what was going on beneath Hawkins. Afraid of losing each other.
Despite it, that was the end.Â
You left his house with tears running down your face. Youâd spent years walking into that house like it was yours. You never thought youâd walk out of it alone.
You walked home alone through the rain, water drenching your clothes, the droplets soaking in and running deep like your feelings. It felt like a miracle when the familiar car of your best friend, Robin, rolled up beside you.
Obviously you were soaked. Itâs April. It's always raining.Â
But she could tell you were crying. She knew something had happened. She wasnât ever the best with social cues. Not in kindergarten, not in elementary school, not in middle school, and not in high school. But she knows you like the back of her hand.
The headlights slowed beside you. The car door flew open before you could pretend you were fine.
âOkay,â she said carefully, taking in your soaked clothes and shaking hands. âWhat happened?â
You tried to swallow it down. You really did. You didnât want her to hear the tremble in your voice.You didnât want her to know just how terrible you felt right now.
âItâs over.â
The words sounded wrong out loud. Too small for what they meant.
Robin blinked. She knew you meant Steve. âOver like⌠over over?â
You nodded.
She didnât ask anything else.
Just stepped closer, hand on your back as she gently guided you towards the passenger seat. âGet in. You look like a drowned Victorian child.â
Despite everything, a broken laugh escaped you. She had a way of making you feel better.
She cranked the heat the second the door shut, tossing her jacket over your shoulders.
For a few blocks, neither of you said anything.
She turned toward your street. It made you sick.
Thinking of having to face the memories of Steve that lingered on every surface of your house felt like a prison sentence. You canât do it.
âDonât,â you said.
Robin glanced over. âDonât what?â
âDonât take me home.â
She hesitated. This wasnât good and she knew it.
âOkay,â she said slowly. âSo where are we going?â
You stared out the windshield, rain blurring the world into something unrecognizable.
âSomewhere loud.â
Robin made a face. âThatâs never a good sentence.â
âI need a bar. Or a party.â
She laughed once â short and disbelieving. âYou are seventeen, Iâm not taking you to a bar.â
âRobin, I said a bar or a party. I know Laurens having one tonight.â
The way you said it made her grip the steering wheel tighter.
She sighed. She didnât think it was a good idea, but who was she to refuse you this? You just broke up with your boyfriend of multiple years. Clearly, an escape is needed.
âLaurenâs house is already going to be a disaster,â she muttered. âYou crying in a corner might actually improve the vibe.â
You let out a weak huff of laughter, staring at your hands twisted in your lap.
âI donât want to cry,â you said quietly. âI just⌠I donât want to think.â
Robinâs jaw tightened at that. She understood more than you realized.
âOkay,â she said finally, giving in and flicking on her blinker and turning away from your street. âWe go for an hour. You get loud music. You get bad punch. And the second you start spiraling, Iâm dragging you out.â
You nodded, even though you both knew sheâd stay as long as you needed.
âAnd,â she added, glancing at you, âif anyone even looks at you wrong tonight, I will ruin their life.â
That made you smile properly this time.
The car sped up slightly, rain tapping against the windshield in uneven rhythms.
You leaned your head against the cold glass, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. And for a second, just a second, you thought about Steve sitting alone in his room.
You pushed the thought away.
Somewhere loud. Thatâs all you needed.
i washed my hands of us, at the club.
You hadnât meant to get that drunk tonight.
âJust enough to forget.â Thatâs what you told yourself. A couple drinks, loud music filling your ears, that should be enough.
Laurenâs house was already pulsing when you walked in.
Music thumped through the walls, bass rattling picture frames. The living room lights were off, replaced by mismatched lamps and Christmas lights strung haphazardly across the ceiling. Why they were there in the middle of April, youâve got no clue.
The air smelled like cheap perfume, sweat, and whatever sugary disaster was being served in red plastic cups.
Robin stayed close behind you as you stepped inside.
âOkay,â she muttered near your ear. âGround rules. You do not disappear. You do not chug anything handed to you by a guy you donât know. Andââ
You were already reaching for a cup.
She grabbed your wrist lightly. âMaybe start slow?â
âI am starting slow,â you said, pulling free and taking a long swallow.
It burned.
Good.
You barely tasted it.
Someone shouted your name. Someone else pulled you into a quick hug. The music was loud enough that you didnât have to talk much, which was perfect.
Robin lingered at your side for the first twenty minutes.
You finished your first cup too fast.
Then another.
âOkay,â Robin said, watching you refill. âMaybe alternate with water?â
You shook your head. âWaterâs boring.â
âThis is how hangovers are born.â
âI donât care.â
You didnât.
Because every time the music dipped for even half a second, every time you didnât have a drink in hand, your brain filled the space with him.
Steve standing in his room.
Steve running a hand through his hair.
Steve saying maybe we just arenât right for each other anymore.
Your throat tightened.
You tipped the cup back again.
Robin saw it that time.
She stepped closer. âHey. Slow down.â
âIâm fine.â
âYouâre not fine.â
You laughed â too loud, too sharp. âYouâre right. Iâm fantastic, actually. Best night of my life.â
Another refill.
Your words were starting to blur together. The room felt softer around the edges. Warmer. Easier. When someone bumped into you, you stumbled slightly, catching yourself on the wall.
Robinâs hand was on your elbow immediately.
âOkay,â she said more firmly now. âYouâve had enough.â
âI havenât evenââ you squinted at your cup like it offended you. âI havenât even had that much.â Every word slurred into the next, sentences dragging on.
âYou can barely stand.â
âI can soââ You pushed away from the wall to prove it and immediately swayed.
Robin caught you again.
Your laugh came out wobbly. âSee? Mâso balanced.â
âYouâre going to make yourself sick.â Her voice held such worry for you that it almost made you want to stop. To not drink another thing that night.
But a thought of him crept its way in. You knew you needed more to forget.
You leaned closer to her, lowering your voice like it was a secret.
âI just need it to be quiet in my head.â
You pointed to your skull, a small, tipsy smile spreading on your face, though you looked almost upset.
That did it.
Her expression shifted.
Someone turned the music up even louder. The floor vibrated. You felt that ache in your chest again â sharp and sudden.
You saw him in your mind like he was standing across the room.
You swallowed hard.
You pulled away from Robin and grabbed another drink off the kitchen counter without even checking what it was.
âHeyââ she started.
You drank it anyway.
Because if you were drunk enough, maybe you wouldnât picture him.
Maybe you wouldnât wonder if he was regretting it. Maybe you wouldnât start crying in the middle of Laurenâs stupid living room.
The room spun slightly when you turned back toward the music.
Robin stepped in front of you this time.
âThatâs it,â she said quietly. âYouâre done.â She tried to reach for the cup you were holding, but you moved your arm back.
You tried to glare at her, but it probably looked more like a confused squint.
âMânot done,â you slurred. âHe doesnât get to justâ justââ
Suddenly the room felt too loud.
Because they were playing your song. You and Steveâs song. Time After Time, Cyndi Lauper. Over the years of your relationship, youâd claimed that it was fitting. Of course, he went along. He would go along with anything you said.
It played years ago at your school dance, where the two of you solidified your relationship. Ever since, itâs been your song.
And now youâre picturing him again. You canât stay in here. Canât stay as the lyrics and the backtracks fill the room.
Just seconds ago, you told Robin that you were fine. That you wanted to keep drinking and stay at the party and forget.
But now, you couldn't neglect the events from earlier. The music filled your head, forcing you to confront it all.Â
You practically begged her to take you home after that.
i pictured you with other girls, in love. then threw up on the street.
Robin took you home after that. She knew it wouldnât be fair to make you sit through that song.
Just like she knew she couldnât let you drink another thing.
She didnât say âI told you so.â
She didnât say anything at all as she guided you out of the house, one hand firm on your back so you wouldnât stumble off the porch. The cold air hit you immediately, sharp and sobering in the worst way.
The song was still faintly audible from inside.
You swallowed hard.
She helped you into the passenger seat, buckled you in when your fingers fumbled too much to manage it yourself.
Mustâve been the spiked punch causing you to shake.
Or maybe the many cans (you had lost count) of beer.
Possibly the whiskey youâd drank.
Or it couldâve been the drinks you took from the counters without knowing their contents.
Maybe it was all of them.
The drive started quiet.
Only the hum of the engine. The steady sweep of windshield wipers. Rain streaking across the glass like it hadnât done enough damage already tonight.
You leaned your head against the window again, cold glass coming into contact with your burning skin.
Everything felt heavy. Your body. Your chest. Your thoughts.
Robin kept glancing over at you, worry written between every line of her face.
âYou okay?â she asked softly.
You nodded too quickly.
Big mistake. The pain splitted through your skull, like lightning striking your temples. The world tilted slightly as the alcohol blurred the edges of reality. That's when the big problems started.
You pictured him.
Not how he looked earlier â red-eyed, frustrated, scared.
No.
You pictured him laughing.
You pictured him at Scoops, leaning over the counter like he used to, flashing that stupid charming smile at some girl with glossy hair and perfect teeth. Some girl who always made you feel insecure. Some girl you envied with everything in you.
You pictured her touching his arm.
You pictured him not pulling away.
Your stomach twisted.
You hated it. Hated yourself for thinking it. Hated that your brain wouldnât stop.
He wouldnât move on that fast.
He wouldnât.
But what if he did?
While no, he didnât work at Scoops anymore, and no, he wasnât working a shift tonight, he would be in the morning.
What if there was some girl at Family Video tomorrow? What if he smiled at her the way he used to smile at you? What if she didnât argue with him about being overprotective? What if she thought it was sweet?
Your chest tightened so hard it almost hurt to breathe. Inhaling got harder the more you thought.
You pressed your forehead harder into the glass.
âI hate this,â you muttered.
Robin glanced at you. âHate what?â
You shook your head, but the images wouldnât stop.
Now it was worse.
Now you were picturing him slow dancing with someone else. Her hands around his neck. His forehead resting against hers, arms slid low around her waist. Swaying like the two of you at the dance a few years back.
In the back, Time After Time played low on his record player.Â
On the vinyl he bought just for you. Because he knew it was your favorite song. He knew it was your song.
You pictured her in his room. Wearing his faded, grey t-shirt that youâd always steal from him.
In his bed. On the same side youâd lay.
Your stomach lurched violently.
âPull over,â you said suddenly, already rolling down the window of her car.
Robin didnât hesitate. She swerved toward the curb immediately.
You barely got the window down in time.
It happened fast. Messy. Unceremonious. Rain mixed with your vomit on the pavement.Â
Robin reached across you instinctively, holding your hair back even though most of it was out the window anyway.
âOkay,â she said gently. âOkay. Breathe.â
âI pictured him,â you whispered hoarsely, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. âWith other girls. In love.â
The words broke halfway through. Almost as if the thought made you want to puke your guts out again. You stopped yourself.
âHeâs not doing that. Sure, heâs a dingus, but not that much of a dingus.â She told you, gathering your hair and brushing it back behind your ears.
âYou donât know that,â you choked out, turning from the window to face her. âWhat if he doesnât even miss me?â
Her jaw clenched.
âSteve Harrington?â she scoffed quietly. âHeâs probably staring at his ceiling right now like the world ended.â
You let out a small, miserable laugh that turned into another shaky breath.
Rain kept falling. The streetlight above you flickered.
Your stomach still churned, but it wasnât just the alcohol anymore. It was the grief. The jealousy. The unbearable not knowing.
âI canât stop thinking about him,â you admitted quietly. âEven when I try.â
âI know,â she said, a painful smile on her lips.Â
She didnât rush you.
Didnât start the car again yet.
Just kept her hand steady at the back of your head while the rain washed the street clean.
After a minute, she reached into the glove compartment and handed you a napkin from inside it. âNext time,â she muttered, trying to lighten it, âwe spiral without whiskey. Or beer.â
You huffed weakly.
She started the car again.
You leaned back into the seat, exhausted now. Drained. Your head lolled slightly toward her.
Robin kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift like she was ready to reach for you again if needed.
Neither of you said anything else.
The rain kept falling. The radio hummed low.
And even through the nausea and the blur and the ache, he was still there in your mind.
each bar plays our song, nothing has ever felt so wrong.
The rest of the drive wasnât too bad.
Youâd somehow found a way to turn off your head, to stop the spiral of thoughts in your mind.
You hardly thought of Steve as Robin drove you home.
Everything was peaceful. Until it was.
Robin reached forward absentmindedly, twisting the volume knob on the radio.
Static cracked for half a second.
And thenâ
âLying in my bed, I hear the clock tickâŚâ
It was quiet. Soft. Barely even loud enough to matter. But you knew it instantly.
Your entire body went rigid.
Robin did too.
 There it was. Time After Time. Your song, again.
âOh, noââ she muttered, fingers fumbling with the dial before she managed to turn it off. Silence fell over the car. Heavier than youâd hoped.
Too late.
You had already heard it.
Just those first few notes were enough. Enough to pull you right back to the gymnasium lights at your first dance. To his hands at your waist. To the way heâd smiled at you like there was no one else in the room.
Nothing has ever felt so wrong.
Not the fight.
Not the drinking.
Not even throwing up on the side of the road.
Robin cleared her throat. âOkay. Thatâs banned. Radioâs canceled. Forever.â
You stared straight ahead.
You tried to laugh.
It didnât come out right.
âIâm sorry.â she muttered, suddenly feeling as though it was her fault the universe was against you.
âItâs fine,â you said quietly.
It was far from fine.
Every stupid place in this town has played it at some point. School dances. The skating rink. Family barbecues. The grocery store last summer when he spun you around in aisle seven because it came on over the speakers.
You knew you wouldnât ever be able to escape him.
Not when that song was looming over your life in every corner.
The car felt smaller now.
Colder.
Robin didnât turn the radio back on. God, she wouldnât dare.
She drove the rest of the way in silence, like she was guarding you from the world.
But the melody was already stuck in your head.
And no matter how hard you tried, you couldnât turn that off.
"oh my, love is a lie." shit my friends say to get me by.
Robin pulled up in front of your house but didnât turn the engine off right away.
The porch light was on even though no one was home. Your dad was away on one of his multiple month long business trips. Your mom was working until morning at the hospital.
She glanced over at you. Your makeup was smeared. Your hair a mess. Eyes glassy and swollen. Clearly the night had taken a toll on you.
âOkay,â she said gently. âHereâs what weâre not going to do.â
You sniffed. âWhat?â
âWeâre not going to decide that this means youâre unlovable. Or doomed. Or cursed by some ancient Greek tragedy.â
You gave her a weak look, lips pursed together. âFeels a little Greek tragedy-ish.â You mutter, nodding your head.
She exhaled through her nose.
âLove is a lie,â she declared suddenly, dramatic and flat, hands hitting her thighs. âA capitalist construct designed to sell greeting cards and slow dance tickets.â
Despite yourself, you let out a tiny huff, turning your head to her.
She softened immediately.
âIâm serious,â she said, quieter now. âItâs just brain chemicals. Youâll detox. Youâll be okay, even if it doesnât feel like it.â
You stared down at your hands.
âLove is a lie.â you repeated faintly, almost to yourself, like if you said it enough it could become true.
Robin reached over, squeezing your shoulder, pulling your eyes back to her.
âThatâs right. Total scam.â
She didnât mean it. You knew she didnât mean it.
She was just trying to build a life raft out of sarcasm and hand it to you.
âIâm walking you in,â she said, killing the engine.
Inside, the house was too quiet. Too normal.
Robin hovered while you kicked your shoes off clumsily, steadying you when you swayed.
âYou good?â she asked.
You nodded. You could tell she didnât believe you.
âIâll call you in the morning,â she said carefully. âAnd if you start spiraling, you call me. I donât care if itâs three a.m.â
You nodded again.
She hesitated at the door.
Then, softer, âThis doesnât get to ruin you, okay?â
The door clicked shut behind her, silence rushing in.
You stood there for a moment.
The house felt heavier without her.
Without him.
âLove is a lie.â you whispered again, leaning back against the door. You almost believed it.
It would be easier if you did.
If love wasnât real, then this wouldnât hurt so much. But if love was fake, then what you had with Steve wasnât real either.
And that thought made your chest cave in.
You slid down the door slowly, sitting on the floor.
âItâs just shit she says to get me by,â you muttered to the empty room.
Because Robin doesnât believe love is a lie.
And neither do you.
Not really.
Thatâs the problem.
May, 1986
Itâs been a month since you and Steve broke things off.
Doesnât mean itâs stopped hurting you.
In fact, it actually hurts worse than it did before.
Because you keep wondering why he didnât come back.
Why doesn't he miss you. If he ever will miss you. If heâs moved on.
There are so many things you wish you could ask him. But you canât.
and I never don't cry at the bar, yeah, my sadness is contagious.
It had been weeks.
Weeks of pretending you were fine.
Weeks of avoiding certain streets.
Weeks of Robin watching you like you might crack open at any second.
So when she said, âItâs just for an hour. Graduation thing. I know the bartender. Weâll stand in the back. You donât even have to drink,â
You told yourself you could handle it.
Robin knew some people from band who were a grade above you both. Thatâs why you were going. For Robin.
It still felt wrong to go anywhere associated with Steve.
It was his grade. What if he was there?Â
You hoped with everything in you that he wouldnât be.
The Hideout smelled like beer and cigarettes and sweat. Seniors crowded the tiny dance floor, celebrating freedom like Hawkins wasnât still sitting on top of something monstrous.
Robin stayed close to you. Closer than usual.
You leaned against the wall, nursing something weak that sheâd insisted on ordering herself.
It contained barely any alcohol.
That was the difference between you and Robin. She could handle alcohol. You couldnât. Not since the night after you broke up with Steve.
You have to get shitfaced to feel anything. And by the time that happens, youâve already lined yourself up for terrible hang overs and puking your guts up.
âSee?â she said. âYouâre fine. I told you coming here would be okay.â
You nodded.
You almost believed her.
Across the room, someone was laughing too hard. A couple was pressed close near the music table, the girlâs hands looped behind the guyâs neck.
He whispered something to the guy running the songs over her shoulder before his attention was completely on her again.
You tried not to look. But now, you were curious.
The kid running the table put on a new record, one that looked strangely familiar.
The second it started, your chest tightened.
Time After Time.Â
It seemed like the song followed you everywhere you went. You could never get away from synth cords in the back tracks.
You watched how her face lit up when it played. How he smiled watching how excited she quickly became. It was clear that heâd gotten the song played just for her.
You saw yourself and Steve in them.
You had to turn away.
You stared at your drink. Never would you have guessed it would hurt this long.
You thought by May youâd be better.
You thought by May youâd be annoyed when someone said his name. That youâd be able to walk into a room and not scan it for him automatically.
But there you were.
Scanning.
Robin noticed before you said anything.
She always did.
âYou okay?â she asked gently.
You nodded too fast. Your throat tightened anyway.
Across the room, the couple by the table started slow dancing properly now. The girl rested her head on his chest.
And it hit you.
Steve had done that once.
At that stupid winter formal with the same song playing in the back.
Heâd rested his chin on top of your head and whispered, âIf we break up, Iâm never dancing again.â
You laughed then.
You didnât laugh now.
Your vision blurred.
You blinked hard.
Too late.
Tears slipped down before you could stop them.
Robin swore under her breath. Of course, sheâd heard the song. She just hoped you didnât.
Hey, heyââ She stepped in front of you slightly, blocking your view. âDonât do that. Come on, look at me.â
You tried.
The shift was immediate.
Robinâs face fell. The joking edge disappeared. Her shoulders tightened.
Now she looked like she was hurting too. Itâs like she was catching your sadness.
âI didnât think it would still feel like this,â you admitted, voice cracking. âItâs been a month.â
âThatâs not that long,â she said quickly.
âIt feels like it is.â
Around you, people were still laughing.
Still dancing.
Still moving on.
You werenât.
You wiped your cheeks angrily.
âI feel like I never donât cry.â you muttered bitterly. âAt a party. Or a bar. Or anywhere, for that matter.â
Robin gave you a sad smile. âWell, youâre very committed to the bit.â
You let out a broken sound that was almost a laugh.
But she was right.
Every time you tried to be normal, it ended like this.
You thinking of him.
You crying.
Robin getting quiet because she didnât know how to fix it.
Your sadness was contagious.
It leaked into every room.
âI canât keep doing this to you,â you whispered.
Robinâs expression hardened.
âDoing what?â
âRuining everything.â
âYou are not ruining anything,â she said immediately. âYouâre heartbroken. Thatâs different.â
The song swelled again.
Someone cheered.
You pressed your palms to your eyes.
âI thought I was better at this,â you said. âI used to be better at this.â
Robin wrapped an arm around your shoulders.
âYeah,â she said softly. âBut this one mattered.â
That was the problem.
That was always the problem.
Across the room, the couple laughed again.
You couldnât watch.
That's when you started to drink again. You just couldnât handle the thoughts. You ordered something you didnât even know the contents of, just that it had a high percentage of alcohol.
That's what you need right now. An escape.
i slur your name till someone puts me in a car,
The first shot burned. The second didnât.
That was how you knew you were in trouble.
The alcohol hit your bloodstream fast â too fast. You hadnât eaten. You hadnât slept properly in weeks. Youâd been living on coffee and grief. Robin noticed the switch immediately.
âOkay,â she said cautiously, watching you tip back your third shot glass. âSlow down.â
âIâm going slow,â you insisted, even though you absolutely were not. Your voice already sounded thicker. Warmer. Edges blurred.
The music felt louder now. The lights fuzzier. The room softer.
And for a second â just a second â it worked.
Your chest didnât feel so tight. Your head didnât feel so loud. You laughed at something Robin said. Too hard. Too long. See? You were fine.
Until you werenât.
Because across the room, someone shouted a name that sounded almost like his. And your brain filled in the rest.
Steve.
It was like your body reacted before your mind could.
âSteve wouldnâtââ you started, words tangling together.
Robin stiffened. âWhat?â
You blinked at her like sheâd interrupted something important.
âHe wouldnât dance like that,â you said, gesturing vaguely toward nothing. âHeâ he alwaysâ he always does that thing with his shoulders first. Like he thinks heâs smooth.â
You giggled. It didnât sound right.
Robin stepped closer.
âOkay,â she said carefully. âMaybe letâs switch to water.â
You ignored her.
âSteve,â you said again, testing the name in your mouth like it was something you werenât supposed to have anymore.
It came out wrong. Soft but broken.
You laughed again, but your eyes were glassy now.
âYou know whatâs funny?â you said, leaning in too close to Robin. âHe said heâd never dance again if we broke up.â
Your voice cracked on the last word. Robin swallowed.
âThat was a dumb thing for him to say,â she muttered.
You shook your head.
âNo, no, it wasnât dumb. It was sweet. Heâs sweet.â Your face crumpled slightly. âHeâs soâ Heâs not coming to this stupid thing! Heâsââ
You lost the words halfway through. Instead, you said his name again.
Slower this time.
âSteeeve.â
It dragged out. Slurred. Heavy.
Robin grabbed your arm gently.
âCome on, youâve got to stop thinking about him.â
But you were past that point.
You were at the part where the alcohol doesnât numb â it magnifies.
Every feeling got bigger.
The music got louder. The lights got harsher. The ache got deeper.
âSteve,â you said again, louder now.
A couple of people nearby glanced over.
Robinâs jaw tightened.
âShhh,â she said. âHey, Steve isnât here.â
You shook your head, stubborn.
âNo, heâ he doesnât get to justâ justââ Your words collapsed into themselves. âHe doesnât get to stop loving me.â
That was it.
That was the thing you hadnât said out loud yet.
Robinâs expression changed.
You swayed slightly.
She steadied you.
âI still love him,â you said, blinking up at her like this was breaking news. âRob, I stillâ I stillââ
Your throat closed. Tears spilled fast this time. And you kept saying it.
His name.
Over and over, each time more slurred.
âStevâ Steeââ you huffed frustratedly. âWhy canât I say it right?â
You laughed again. Then you cried harder.
A senior near the bar looked at you weird. Someone whispered something. Robin shot them a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
âThatâs it,â she said quietly. âWeâre done.â
You tried to protest.
âMânot done,â you mumbled. âI need anotherââ
âNo, you need a bed,â she said firmly.
You shook your head, wobbling.
âI need him.â
That one was barely audible, but she heard it.
Her face softened. She wrapped your arm over her shoulder.
âOkay,â she muttered. âWeâre leaving before you confess your eternal love to the entire graduating class.â
You didnât argue this time. You just kept whispering his name under your breath as she guided you toward the door.
âSteve. Steve. Steve.â
Like if you said it enough, he might appear.
The cool night air hit your face and you gasped dramatically.
Robin practically dragged you to the car. You were still talking.
Still slurring.
âYâknow what he smells like?â you said suddenly, deeply serious.
âOh my god,â Robin muttered.
âHe smells likeâ like hairspray and mint gum andâ and summer.â
She opened the passenger door. You try to slide into the seat but you almost miss it entirely.
She caught you before you fell, steadying you at the waist.
âOkay,â she said through gritted teeth. âSit.â
You obeyed⌠mostly. She buckled you in because your hands kept missing the latch. You blinked at her slowly.
âYou think he misses me?â you asked.
The question was so small. So sober in its drunkenness. Yet she didnât have an answer for you. She couldnât tell you if he did or didnât. The door closed gently.
She didnât answer. Instead, she got in the driverâs seat, starting the engine of her car. As she pulled out of the parking lot, you pressed your forehead to the window.
The glass was cool.
Comforting.
You whispered his name again.
Softer now. Like you were afraid it might shatter if you said it too loud.
Robin gripped the steering wheel.
She hated this. Hated watching you unravel. Hated that she couldnât fix it.
Behind her, the bar lights faded in the rearview mirror.
In the passenger seat, you were still murmuring:
âSteve.â
And this time, your voice broke completely.
June, 1986
Ever since that day youâd gotten drunk at the senior party, you hadnât touched an ounce of alcohol.
The waves of hurt came back every now and then when there was a reminder of him, but youâd grown to deal with the pain in different ways.
Itâs been two months now.
Two months since the break up.
Schools out, meaning it shouldnât hurt much anymore. Less seeing him. Less hearing about him. Less forced proximity.
But it doesnât hurt less.
Because in those months, you had something to hold onto.
But now? Now it just feels like he's gone completely. Like what little of him you had has disappeared before your eyes.
The weight behind your ribs hasnât gone anywhere.
Itâs only intensified.
i find the artifacts, cried over a hat.
Your house felt bigger in the summer. Emptier. The air was heavier, like it was holding its breath.
You told yourself you were cleaning.
That was the excuse.
School was out. Closets needed sorting. Shelves needed dusting. You needed something to do with your hands.
Because when they were idle, they reached for things they shouldnât.
Like bottles.
The box had been under your bed since April. Youâd shoved it there the night after the break up.
Not thrown away.
Just⌠hidden.
Out of sight.
You hadnât been brave enough to look.
Until now.
You knelt on the floor slowly, the wood warm against your knees. Reached under the bed. Your fingers brushed cardboard.
You froze.
Your pulse quickened like youâd touched something alive.
It was ridiculous.
It was just a box.
But it felt heavier when you dragged it out. Like it knew what it contained.
You sat back on your heels.
Stared at it. Two months. Youâd survived over two months. You could survive this.
You lifted the lid. The smell hit first.
Not strong. Not obvious.
But faintly familiar.
Laundry detergent. Old paper. A trace of something like cologne that had long since faded but hadnât disappeared entirely.
Your chest tightened.
Right on top was a movie ticket stub.
You picked it up carefully.
Back to the Future.
July, 1985.
You could see it instantlyâ
The two of you squeezed into the back row. Steve whispering dumb commentary in your ear. His arm draped around you. The way he laughed too loud during the skateboard scene.
Youâd shushed him.
Heâd kissed your temple in retaliation.
Youâd kept the ticket because heâd drawn your initials with a plus sign between them, surrounded by a heart.Â
Your thumb traced the faded ink.
You set it down gently beside you.
Under it was a cassette tape.
Handwritten label.
âRoad Trip Mix â S.H.â
Your throat went dry.
You remembered that drive.
Windows down. Summer air loud and warm. Him drumming his fingers on the steering wheel off beat. You yelling at him for skipping your favorite track.
Heâd said, âI made this for you, you menace.â
Youâd said, âExactly. For me. Donât skip the best songs!â and hit his shoulder playfully.
Heâd laughed.
You pressed the tape to your chest for a second before placing it down too.
Nextâ
A hoodie.
Dark blue.
Too big for you.
You didnât have to unfold it to know that it was his.
Youâd stolen it one night when youâd fallen asleep on his couch. Heâd let you keep it.
You lifted it slowly.
Brought it to your face.
The scent was faint now. Almost gone.
That hurt worse somehow.
You remembered sitting in the passenger seat wearing it. Sleeves swallowing your hands. Him glancing over at red lights like you were the best thing heâd ever seen.
âYou look better in my clothes than I do,â heâd said once.
Youâd rolled your eyes.
But you wore it every chance you got.
You folded it carefully and set it aside.
Underneath thatâ
A polaroid.
Your breath caught.
It was taken at the lake two summers ago.
Steveâs arm wrapped around your shoulders. Your head tilted toward his. Sunburn across both your noses. Water dripping from your hair.
You were laughing at something outside the frame.
He wasnât looking at the camera.
He was looking at you.
You stared at it too long. Set it face down.
You dug deeper. A folded note.
You unfolded it slowly.
His handwriting. Slanted and messy.
âStop overthinking everything. Youâre braver than you think. I believe in you.â
Your vision blurred instantly. You remembered the day.
Youâd been panicking about everything happening in Hawkins. Convinced you werenât strong enough.
Heâd pressed that note into your hand before you left.
âI mean it,â heâd said quietly.
You swallowed hard. Your hands shook now. You kept going.
A cheap plastic bracelet from the carnival.
You remembered him winning it for you and acting like it was diamond.
A crumpled receipt from Family Video with your names scribbled in the corner.
A matchbook from The Hideout from the first time heâd taken you somewhere that wasnât Scoops or the movies.
Each thing a portal.
You werenât imagining it. It had been real.
You were still sitting there, surrounded by artifacts of a relationship that felt archaeological now, when your fingers brushed fabric again.
White with navy letters.
You knew before you fully saw it.
Your breathing changed.
Slow. Careful.
Like approaching something fragile.
You lifted it. The Scoops Ahoy hat.
Well, not the Scoops hat, but one of them. He had two. Since he was at your place before work on too many occasions to count, he left one there in case he was in a rush and had to take the back up.
Bright white. Blue trim. Slightly bent at one corner.
You stared at it like it might blink. It shouldnât have hit you this hard.
It was stupid. A costume.
You remembered the first day he wore it. How dramatically offended heâd been about the shorts. How youâd teased him mercilessly.
âAhoy, sailor,â youâd said, tipping the hat off his head.
Heâd grabbed your wrist and pulled you close over the counter when no one was looking. âYou better behave,â heâd murmured.
Youâd laughed into his shoulder.
You remembered sitting on the counter after closing, stealing cherries from the topping bar while he counted the register.
You remembered the way heâd adjust the hat in the mirror and ask, âBe honest. Do I pull this off? I feel like itâs blowing my best feature.â
Youâd told him yes every time.
You remembered leaning over the counter one slow afternoon, watching him argue with Robin.
You remembered the way heâd lean his elbows on the glass and grin at you like you were in on some private joke.
You remembered how proud heâd been the day he got out of that job. How youâd told him he deserved better. How heâd kissed you in the parking lot after his last shift.
The hat trembled in your hands.
And suddenlyâ You couldnât breathe.
This one artifact, those stupid string of memories it brought, it was undoing you.
The fact that there had been so many normal days. So many moments that werenât dramatic.
Just him.
You pressed the hat to your chest. Your shoulders started shaking before you even realized you were crying.
Not the loud kind. Not the hysterical kind.
The quiet, breaking apart kind.
You bent forward slowly, curling over it like you were protecting something. Because in a way, you were. You were protecting what it had meant.
Your tears soaked into the fabric. You thought about how careful heâd been with you.
How much heâd tried. How scared heâd been of losing you. How youâd both said things you didnât mean.
You thought about the crease by his eyes when he smiled. The way he pushed his hair back. The way he said your name when he was tired.
Grief lived in the details. You understood that now.
You pressed your forehead to the brim of the hat.
âI didnât mean it,â you whispered to the empty room.
But the weight behind your ribs shifted slightly. Not lighter. Just clearer.
You werenât moving on. You werenât healing. You were still in it. And that was the truth.
July, 1986
Three months.
Three months and somehow, you still hadn't come to terms with any of this.
You still haven't drank any more alcohol, but the pounding of your head and the way you always stood shakily would suggest otherwise.
You had gotten a little better at masking it all, though.
Still, you couldn't ever imagine yourself with another guy. Couldn't imagine waking up beside someone new. Couldn't imagine going to a winter formal with an unfamiliar face.
You couldn't imagine a life without Steve.
i heard your key turn in the door, down the hallway.
The house was too quiet again.
Summer had a way of stretching the hours thin. The cicadas outside buzzed lazily in the heat, sunlight pooling golden across the hardwood floors. Your parents were both goneâyour dad still out of town, your mom working a double shift.
You hadnât planned to remember what today was.
You truly hadnât.
But when youâd woken up that morning and looked at the calendar pinned beside your desk, it had been circled in faded blue ink.
July 14th.
Youâd circled it when you got the calendar. When you were still together. One year since your first official date. Not the dance. Not the âare we?â phase.
The real one.
The night heâd shown up at your door with flowers heâd very obviously bought from Melvaldâs and tried to pretend were expensive.
Youâd forgotten to erase the circle. So now it sat there. Mocking you.
You told yourself it was stupid to care.
You told yourself anniversaries didnât count when you werenât together anymore.
You told yourself it was just a date. A random day ofÂ
But all day, everything felt heavier. You tried reading. You couldnât focus. Tried cleaning more. There was nothing left to clean. Tried not to think about him.
That failed immediately.
By early evening, the house had started to feel like it was closing in.
You wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge without knowing why. Stared at nothing. Closed it again. Walked to your bedroom and sat down on your bed.
The quiet was loud.
And thenâ
You heard it.
A sound so small you almost thought you imagined it.
The faint metal click of a key sliding into the front door lock.
Your body went completely still.
Your heart didnât race at first.
It stopped.
Then it slammed against your ribs so hard it felt like it might bruise.
No one else had a key.
Exceptâ
The lock turned.
The door opened.
For a split second, your brain tried to rationalize it. Your mom? No, she wouldnât be home for hours.
A burglar? But burglars didnât use keys.
And then you heard it.
That familiar creak of the door swinging shut gently. Not forceful. Not rushed.
Careful.
Like someone who knew exactly how much pressure the hinges needed.
Your breath left you in a shaky exhale.
Footsteps. Soft. Familiar.
It had to be your mom. She mustâve gotten off work early, or had to swing by the house to grab something.
If not your mom, your dad. Maybe his business trip had been cut short, so heâs back now.
Thereâs no way it couldâve been anyone else.
You stepped out of your bedroom without thinking. The hallway felt impossibly long.
Your pulse roared in your ears as you moved toward the front of the house.
And thenâ
You saw him.
Standing just inside the doorway was Steve Harrington.
He looked different somehow. Or maybe it was just that you hadnât seen him up close in months. His hair was longer. Slightly messy like heâd run his hands through it too many times.
He froze when he saw you.
Like he hadnât expected you to appear that fast. Like maybe he hadnât expected you at all.
Your voice came out before your brain caught up.
âOh.â
It wasnât what you meant to say. You meant to say a thousand things. But all that came out was:
âSteve.â
His name tasted different now.
His hand was still wrapped around the key in the lock.
âHey,â he said softly.
You stared at the key. Then at him.
âYou still have that?â
His expression shifted. Almost sheepish. Almost guilty.
âYeah,â he admitted. âI, uh⌠I was gonna bring it back.â
Silence. You stepped closer, slow, cautious.
âWhy didnât you knock?â
You thought maybe heâd forgotten that was the normal thing to do. Maybe, just maybe, heâd spent so much time coming in without a second thought that it was hard to unlearn the habit.
âI did,â he said quickly. âTwice. You didnât answer. I thought maybeââ He swallowed. âI thought maybe you werenât home.â
You hadnât heard anything. Your heart was beating too loud. He pulled the key out slowly and held it up like evidence.
âI shouldâve given this back weeks ago,â he said quietly.
You looked at him fully now. Really looked at him. His eyes were tired. Red around the edges. Like he hadnât been sleeping much either.
The hallway felt smaller.
âWhy are you here?â you asked.
Your voice wasnât sharp. It wasnât angry. It was fragile.
He inhaled slowly. âI didnât want today to pass withoutâŚâ He stopped himself.
Your stomach flipped. âWithout what?â
He looked at you like he was debating whether to jump off a cliff.
âWithout saying something.â
Your chest tightened. You hadnât mentioned the date. You hadnât told anyone.
But he remembered.
Of course he remembered. He remembered everything important.
âYou remembered,â you whispered.
His laugh was quiet. Not amused. Just soft.
âYeah,â he said. âI remember a lot of things.â
That did it. Your eyes burned immediately. You folded your arms around yourself, not defensivelyâjust to keep from shaking.
âI didnât think youâd come,â you admitted.
You're not sure what you meant. The day or ever.
He flinched slightly. âYeah,â he said. âI know.â
Silence stretched between you again. The kind where both people are holding something breakable.
âI thought you were done,â you said quietly.
His jaw tightened. âI thought you were.â
You both stood there, the weight of those months settling between you like a third presence.
âI didnât mean it,â you said suddenly. The words came out fast. Urgent.
âI didnât mean that we werenât right for each other. I was scared and you were pushing and I felt like you didnât trust me and Iâ I panicked.â
His face crumpled slightly. âI know,â he said quickly. âI know. I shouldnât have let it get there.â
âYou said it too.â
âI know.â His voice broke on the last word.
âIâve replayed that fight like a hundred times,â he admitted. âEvery single night. I keep thinking if Iâd just said something different. If Iâd just listened instead of getting defensive.â
Your throat tightened painfully.
âI thought you didnât come back because you didnât miss me,â you whispered.
He stared at you like youâd just insulted gravity.
âAre you kidding me?â
His voice wasnât loud. But it was intense.
âI didnât come back because I thought you needed space. Because I thought if I showed up, Iâd just make it worse.â
âI thought you didnât care.â
âI care so much itâs ruining my life,â he said before he could stop himself.
Silence. You blinked at him.
âWhat?â
He ran a hand through his hairâthere it was, that nervous habit you knew so well.
âI havenât slept properly in months,â he admitted. âI keep thinking about you walking out that night. I keep thinking about how I let you leave.â
Your heart felt like it was splitting open.
âI didnât want to leave,â you said.
âI didnât want you to either.â
The words hung there. Raw. Unfiltered. Your breathing grew uneven.
âI thought youâd moved on,â you said.Â
He stepped forward slightly.
âThere hasnât been anyone else.â
Your breath caught.
âThere wonât be,â he added, softer.
The hallway felt charged now.
Like static before a storm.
âI still love you,â you said.
You didnât plan to. You didnât build up to it. It just fell out of you.
You wish it hadnât. But there was no pride left to protect. His eyes closed briefly, like the words physically hit him.
âGood,â he whispered. Your heart stopped again.
âBecause I still love you too.â
And this time, it didnât feel like grief. It felt like oxygen. You took a step closer. Then another.
You were close enough now to see the faint crease between his brows. The way his hands trembled slightly at his sides.
âI almost didnât come,â he admitted. âI sat in my car for like ten minutes. I thought maybe youâd slam the door in my face.â
You shook your head immediately.
âI could never.â
He looked at you like he wasnât entirely convinced.
âIâm sorry,â he said suddenly. âFor making you feel like I didnât believe in you. I was scared. I didnât want anything to happen to you. I thought if I just protected you hard enough, I could control it.â
âI know,â you said.
âI shouldâve trusted you.â
âI shouldâve trusted you too.â
The space between you disappeared. It wasnât dramatic. It wasnât rushed.
He reached for you slowly.
Like you might vanish.
His hands settled at your waist, hesitant at first.
You let out a breath that sounded almost like a sob and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.
And then you were crying.
Not the broken kind from the hat.
Not the drunk kind from the bar.
He held you tight.
Like he had been holding himself back for two months and finally didnât have to anymore.
âI missed you,â he murmured into your hair.
âI know,â you whispered back. âI did too.â
He pulled back just enough to look at you.
There were tears in his eyes too.
âYeah?â
âYeah.â
And then he kissed you. Not desperate. Not frantic. Slow. Careful.
Like relearning something sacred. His hand came up to cup your jaw. Yours slid into his hair automatically.
It felt the same. It felt different. It hit different.
Because you almost lost it. Because you know now what it feels like without him.
He rested his forehead against yours when you finally pulled apart.
âIâm not letting you walk out like that again,â he said quietly.
âIâm not planning on trying again,â you replied.
A small, shaky smile tugged at his mouth. âGood.â
The house didnât feel empty anymore.
The hallway that had felt impossibly long now felt like the beginning of something again.
And somewhere in the quiet of July, with the cicadas humming outside and the last of the daylight slipping through the windowsâ
It didnât hurt anymore. Because it was him. And it always had been.
guys guys guy i like REALLY need fic recommendations. im actually so stuck in writers block rn. so like, yk, steve or robin requests, ill write anything for them! pleaseeee drop recs!!
summary - steve goes out with tons of girls, but never once had he seen that the girl right in front of him was crushing on him hard. all it takes for the realization to finally hit him is a bit of distance. but he doesnt want distance. not now.
word count - 2.5k
warnings - angst, fluff, jancy if you squint, jealousy, clueless steve, sassy robin, fluff, let me know if i missed anything!
a/n - this probably sucks, but it was based on a request i recieved! i hope this was what that person was looking for!!! keep the requests coming, ty for reading! also this was kinda just dumping my brain quickly, sorry again if it sucks!
For as long as you can remember, youâve liked Steve Harrington.
The tightness in your chest each time you see him isnât a new phenomenon. Itâs reoccurring.
And youâre starting to grow sick of having to feel it without getting to be with him.
Each and every day at Scoops is torture to you. Sure, the pay sucks and itâs not the most ideal job, but that isnât the worst part of it all.
Having to watch him flirt with countless girls, never getting to be one of them yourself? That definitely tops the list as your least favorite thing about working with your two best friends.
While most of his attempts end in embarrassing failure (and yet another tally under Robinâs âYou Suckâ section of the whiteboard), there have been a few instances that didnât follow this blueprint.
For example, just last week he had landed a date with Lauren Smith. Sheâs a cheerleader. A popular one, at that. Sheâs got blonde curly hair and rosy bowed lips and a presence that effortlessly draws attention.
Sheâs effervescence, blue eyeshadow, and satin ribbons.Â
All of which you happen to not be.
Thatâs the type of girl youâd expect to be with Steve Harrington. Someone whoâs the perfect poster child. The cheerleader who gets whatever she wants.
But a part of you wondered if it could ever be different. If Steve could like someone who wasnât absolutely flawless.
Because yeah, you like him. And youâre not like Lauren. Not at all.
You werenât a cheerleader. You werenât insanely rich. Your hair was darker. (whoâs wasnât? her hair was the lightest shade of platinum possible.)
Youâd known Steve forever. The two of you are extremely close. This all makes you wonder if he really canât see how you feel about him. How when you look at him, your head tilts a fraction further than where itâd normally rest. How your eyes get this glint whenever you realize heâs talking to you. How you drop everything to listen to him.
Youâd done everything right for years, and yet, you still werenât the option.
But youâd been good at keeping it all in throughout your life. You donât want to risk the years of bond that the two of you had built.
Best to stay quiet than to ruin something youâd deemed perfect.
ââ
You found out about Lauren because Dustin canât keep his mouth shut for his life.
Steve had become a mentor and dear friend to Dustin over the years. The two were practically inseparable. Codependent on each other.
Steve needed Dustinâs advice and Dustin needed Steveâs.
Everyone had been in the Wheelers basement one hot summer night. School had only let out a couple weeks prior, making it the beginning of July.Â
Lucas and Max were laying side by side on the floor, laughing about something no one else knew.
Mike, El, and Will were talking on the couch, sprawled out across the cushions with a bag of chips.
Nancy and Jonathan had gone upstairs ages ago. No one bothered to ask or intervene.
Dustin and Steve were on the floor. No one knew why when there were several chairs open that they could choose to occupy. Nonetheless, they were on the floor, watching the tv.
You were sitting with Robin, comparing your schedules for Scoops in July. All the same hours. The third person listed with the two of you was Steve.Â
I guess they liked to put all the teens on one shift. The busiest shift, at that.
You werenât really aware of anything else going on in the basement, too busy laughing at a stupid joke Robin cracked. That was until you heard Dustinâs voice.
âSo Steve,â he began, the smirk already appearing. âHow are things with Lauren?âÂ
There it was. That feeling in your chest that never seemed to disappear all the way. It softened at times, but it was always there. Pressing against the back of your ribs.Â
Lauren.Â
You knew the name.
There was only one Lauren in Hawkins High, and that was Lauren Smith. The cheerleader. The girl whoâs effervescence and blue eyeshadow and satin ribbons.
The girl everyone envied.
Robin knew how you felt about Steve. Which is why once she heard the words from Dustin, she reached for your arm, showing you that you had someone in this world.
You gave her a weak smile, swallowing the lump in your throat.
Thatâs when you decided that you couldnât be around Steve anymore.
Being around him meant having to hear of this girl. Having to hear of his relationship.Â
And hearing of his relationship meant a constant state of melancholy.
You needed to get over him. Being upset all the time wasnât fair. Not to Steve or yourself.Â
Distance was the best thing you could think of. If you werenât around him, there wouldnât be anything to add to your dismay.Â
So thatâs what you did. You pulled yourself away. Slowly, at first. Then you withered quickly.Â
The further you got from him, the lighter your chest felt.Â
ââ
As time went on, Steve slowly started to realize you had been pulling back. He just didnât know why.
So he went to Robin. The only girl who knew you better than he did.
You were on break in the back of Scoops, your Walkman blasting some tape at full volume. The two of them were in the front. The rush had came and left, leaving an opening for Steve.
He leaned his forearms on the counter across from Robin, looking straight at her.
âI can tell somethingâs up.â Robin had sighed, wiping down surfaces with a cleaning solution and a cloth. She pushed Steveâs arms off the counter when he got in her way.Â
âWhat is it, Harrington?â
He walked back around the counter to her side, letting out a long exhale, fingers drumming on the edge of the glass case.Â
âDo you know if I did something to make her hate me?â He asks her; pointing with his thumb to the wall that youâre behind.
Of course Robin knows whatâs going on. Sheâs known since the beginning.
âNo idea, dingus. Sheâs probably just tired of your idiocy.â She said, shrugging with a lift of her eyebrows.
Steve rubbed his temple at that.
âYeah, really funny. You seriously donât know?âÂ
âNot a clue, as I said.â She replied, looking at him as she finished wiping the counter.
ââ
Today, you got off work early. You had plenty of sick hours and something was particularly bugging you today. Robin and Steve insisted they had it.Â
So you left. Went home and just sat on the couch, watching reruns of 80âs rom coms.Â
Steve had bugged Robin for the rest of the shift.
âSeriously, Robs. Youâve got to know something.â he says while shutting the window to the back for the night.
Just five minutes to closing.
Robin had to keep telling herself that. Only five minutes and she can get out of there.Â
But the headache was pounding. And when Steve asked again, she relented.
âYou canât be that stupid! She likes you, Steve! And the whole Lauren thing is crushing her!âÂ
She yelled the words at him, far too loud for the almost empty mall.
Oh shit.
Steveâs face fell. Now he understood.
He wasnât even with Lauren anymore, but he hadnât mentioned that. Not once.Â
Maybe if he had, things wouldnât be so shitty. Maybe his own best friend, the girl heâs known for over a decade, wouldnât be avoiding him.
âYouâre closing by yourself, Buckley. Iâve got to go.â
ââ
Itâs a little past 10 when you hear a knock on your door.
At first, you think you imagined it.
No one comes over this late. Not unless itâs an emergency. Not unless somethingâs wrong.
The knock comes again. Firmer this time.
Your heart does something strange in your chest. A stutter. A lurch.
You push yourself off the couch, wiping your palms on your shorts like youâre about to take a test you didnât study for. The TV continues playing behind you â canned laughter echoing down the hallway as you make your way to the door.
You donât check the peephole.
You donât know why you donât.
You just open it.
And there he is.
Steve Harrington.
His hair is slightly flattened on one side like he ran his hand through it too many times. His Scoops uniform is still on, sailor hat shoved into his back pocket. He looks a little breathless. Like he ran up your driveway.
For a second, neither of you speak.
Your throat tightens immediately.
âHi,â he says softly.
That stupid tightness in your chest returns full force.
âHi,â you reply, just as quiet.
Thereâs a beat. Then another.
âIââ He exhales sharply and rubs the back of his neck. âCan I come in?â
You hesitate. Not because you donât want him to. But because you donât trust yourself if he does.
Still, you step aside.
He walks in slowly, like heâs entering somewhere sacred. You close the door behind him, the click sounding much louder than it should.
He turns to face you.
And God, he looks nervous.
âI talked to Robin,â he blurts.
Your stomach drops.
âSteveââ
âNo, justâ just let me say this. Please.â
You nod.
He runs a hand over his face.
âIâm so sorry.â
The words hit you harder than you expect.
âIâm sorry I didnât see it. Iâm sorry I didnât notice you pulling away. Iâm sorry if I ever made you feel like you werenâtââ He stops, swallows. âLike you werenât important.â
Your eyes sting.
âYou are,â he says quickly. âYouâve always been. Youâreâ youâre my person, okay? Youâve been my best friend since we were kids. And I didnât even realize I was hurting you.â
You look down at your hands because looking at him feels like too much.
âItâs not your fault,â you whisper. âYou didnât do anything wrong. I justâ I needed space.â
âBecause of Lauren.â
You nod once.
Steve lets out a breath. âWe went on two dates.â
You blink.
âWhat?â
âTwo,â he repeats. âAnd the second one was a disaster. She spent twenty minutes talking about herself and didnât ask me a single question. I broke it off a week ago.â
You look up at him then.
âA week ago?â
âYeah.â
Your chest tightens for a different reason now.
âI didnât tell you becauseâŚâ He huffs a small, humorless laugh. âI donât know. I guess I didnât think it mattered.â
âIt mattered,â you say before you can stop yourself.
He softens.
âI know that now.â
Silence settles between you. Not uncomfortable. Just heavy. Full.
âI never meant to make you feel like you werenât⌠enough,â he says carefully. âOr like you werenât an option.â
You flinch slightly at that word.
Option.
âI just figured you didnât see me that way,â you admit. âYou go for girls like her. Cheerleaders. Girls who walk into a room and everyone turns their head.â
He stares at you like you just said something unbelievable.
âYou think thatâs what I want?â
âIsnât it?â
He steps closer. Not touching you. Just closing the space.
âIâve dated that,â he says quietly. âYou know what itâs like?â
You shake your head.
âItâs exhausting.â
You let out a soft breath that almost sounds like a laugh.
âI donât want perfect,â he continued. âI want someone who knows me. Who calls me out when Iâm being an idiot. Who laughs at my jokes even when theyâre bad.â
Your pulse is pounding in your ears.
âSomeone whoâs been right in front of me for years,â he finishes.
The air shifts.
Your voice comes out smaller than you intend. âSteveâŚâ
âI was scared too, you know,â he says. âYouâre my best friend. I didnât want to mess that up. So I kept everything⌠normal. Safe.â
Your heart skips.
âEverything?â you ask.
He looks at you like itâs obvious.
âYou think I didnât notice how you look at me?â
Your breath catches.
âYou tilt your head,â he says softly. âJust a little. Like youâre trying to understand something important.â
Heat floods your face.
âAnd when I talk,â he continues, stepping even closer now, âyou get this look. Like Iâm the only person in the room.â
Your back nearly brushes the wall.
âI thought I imagined it,â he admits. âSo I ignored it. And then Dustin opened his big mouth and you started pulling away and it felt like someone yanked the ground out from under me.â
Thereâs barely any space between you now.
âI donât want space,â he says.
You can feel his breath.
âI donât want distance.â
His voice drops.
âI want you.â
The world goes quiet.
âAre you sure?â you whisper.
âYeah,â he says instantly. âFor once in my life, Iâm really sure.â
Your hands are trembling slightly. You hate that they are.
âSteve, if this ruins usââ
âIt wonât,â he says. âBecause Iâm not choosing you as some experiment. Iâm choosing you because youâre the first person I think about when something happens. Because when you stopped talking to me, I felt it everywhere. Because I donât care about perfect.â
His hand slowly lifts, hesitates.
Then he cups your cheek.
âI care about you.â
Thatâs what breaks you.
You surge forward before you can overthink it, your hands gripping the front of his shirt, pulling him down.
The kiss is soft at first.
Tentative.
Like both of you are afraid the other might disappear.
But then he kisses you back.
Really kisses you.
One hand sliding to your waist, the other still warm against your cheek. Itâs not rushed. Not desperate. Itâs slow and full and years of unspoken things finally finding somewhere to go.
Your heart isnât tight anymore.
Itâs open.
When you pull back, your foreheads rest together. Both of you a little breathless.
He smiles against your skin.
âThere she is,â he murmurs.
You let out a shaky laugh.
âSo⌠what now?â you ask.
âNow?â he says softly. âNow I stop being an idiot. And I take you on a real date.â
You smile.
âYeah?â
âYeah.â
He brushes his thumb along your cheek.
âI choose you.â
The words settle deep inside you.
Choose.
For so long, you felt like you were standing on the sidelines. Like you were the safe option. The background character. The girl who watches.
But standing here, with his arms around you, with his lips still warm from yoursâ
Maybe you donât have to watch anymore.
Maybe you can be the girl who gets chosen.
Maybe you always were.
And as he leans in to kiss you again, softer this time, slowerâ
You think that for the first time in years, your chest doesnât hurt at all.
summary - when you applied for a job at scoops ahoy alongside your girlfriend and best friend, you'd never have expected to get roped into the mess you did. evil russians, monsters from another dimension, all sorts of shit you have to endure. and sometimes, the injuries get bad. but robins always going to be there by your side.
word count - 2.7k
warnings - injury, mentions of blood, violence, homophobia, steve mentions, fluff, comfort, dizziness, fractured ankle, lmk if i missed anything!!
a/n - i wrote this up really fast for a request i had for robin x reader comfort, so sorry if it sucks. if anyone has any requests, please leave them! always open to ideas!
When you applied for a job at Scoops Ahoy, the tiny ice cream shop tucked in the corner of Starcourt Mall, you never wouldâve expected this.
Well yes, you expected minimum wage and loud days with long shifts and Steve, your very good friend, and Robin, your girlfriend, to be arguing constantly.
Youâd only wanted the job as an excuse to hang out with them.
But you never wouldâve expected to become entangled in a whole mess with the Russians.
Nonetheless, once Robin had cracked that Russian code, youâd of course gone along with them to figure out more on the subject matter.
The Russian guards had captured Steve, Robin, and yourself, the two younger kids, Dustin and Erica, having escaped your grasp. In the process, youâd rolled your ankle, most likely fractured.
When that guard got in Robin's face, the cruel words he had said to her just set you off. Completely. There was no way you could stay silent.
âDonât talk to my girlfriend like that.â You bark at him, all heads snapping in your direction.
Shit.
From the moment you spoke the words, you regretted them. Itâs not that you donât love when people know Robin is yours, itâs that now they have something against the both of you.
If torturing one of you doesnât work, they can just move to the other.
His mouth twists.
Not confusion. Not surprise.
Something far uglier.
He looks at Robin like sheâs something stuck to the bottom of his boot. Something unwanted and disgusting. Something that doesnât belong.
He looks back at you, gaze still full of what he had directed at Robin.
âGirlfriend?â He echoes, tilting his head slightly.
His eyes drag between the two of you, never once flickering to the other person tied with you. He doesnât need to look at Steve. Not when heâs already gotten a knuckle to the jaw. He doesnât want another. Not with how hard that guy can hit.
âIn my country,â The guard begins, tone cool and bitter, âthis is not something youâd announce so proudly.â
Of course, neither of you give a fuck.Â
Youâre too in love to care.
A slow, humorless smile spreads across his face. âBut it does make my job⌠easier.â
And this is what you had feared. This is why you had to press your eyes closed for a moment after letting the nature of you and Robin's relationship slip.
âYou love her?â He says, turning back to Robin, leaning in close as if heâs mocking the way she canât move right now.
She doesnât answer.
Because sheâs stubborn, and because she gets worked up when anything is negatively said about you, she spits in his face.
âGo to hell.â she snapped, jaw tight and eyebrows narrowed.
He stills instantly, shutting his eyes and wiping the spit from his cheek.
Then he laughs.Â
Itâd be shocking if it didnât lack humor. But it did.
âI guess Iâll see for myself.â He says, taking a couple strides back to you, planting himself there.Â
The first punch is quick.
You almost donât even comprehend what happened. You wouldnât have if it werenât for the pain splitting though your skull.
His fist had struck you in the corner of your eye, hard and heavy, head throbbing.
Itâll make for a nasty black eye.
âHoly shit- donât touch her!â Robin yells. You can hear it over the buzzing of your mind. At least you know youâre still partially in there.
âDonât touch her, you say?â The guard turns to her, smiling unwaveringly.
His fist makes contact again, only this time, his eyes stay locked on Robin.
The pain ripples from your temple now, spreading throughout your skull and intensifying in waves. Your ears ring on impact.
Another, square between your eyes, harder than the last.
You turn your head to see at least a bit of her. Sheâs struggling against the rope that binds her ankles and hands, face contorted in pain like it hurts her more than it hurts you.
Now, she stays quiet. She knows that talking gets you injured. And even though she could run her mouth for hours, she holds her tongue.
You couldnât tell that the alarms of the secret base were sounding. You thought it was just the ringing of your ears. The way the guards all turn and rush out of the room is the only way you truly know that they were called.
Itâs a miracle, really. Impeccable timing. As soon as they leave, Erica and Dustin burst out of the vent on the side of the wall.Â
âWhat the hell happened to you guys?â Erica asks, voice low as she rushes over to cut the ropes binding Robinâs wrists.
Dustin comes to your aid, untying your wrists and cutting the cord tethering your ankles to the chair. While Erica works on Robinâs ankles, Dustin helps Steve out of his restraints.
âEvil Russians.â Robin mutters, but there's something deeper in her tone.
Before, the five of you would joke about the enemy. Call them evil for fun, get a good laugh out of it. But after what theyâd done to you tonight, Robin no longer thought of it in that way. She thought of them as truly, purely evil.
The second she's free, she rushes to your side, kneeling in front of you. You hadnât been able to stand up from your chair yet, head absolutely reeling. The ceiling is spinning with a combination of heavy drugs and getting your lights punched out.
Her hands find yours, taking them gently, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your knuckles as if she needs to show you sheâs there. She brings one to her lips, pressing a kiss to your wrist to get your eyes to lift to hers.
They do, reluctantly.
You donât want her to see the severity of your injury. To know just how badly that Russian hurt you. Thatâd set her off.
But you canât hide from her.
Your head feels like itâs splitting in two, blood staining your color-drained face in several lacerations. Your forehead, the corner of your eye, your temple.Â
She drops your hands, taking your face in her hands.Â
âHey, baby. Do you think you can stand?â she asks gently, brushing your hair out of your face. You give her a weak nod as response, eyes meeting hers.
âOkay, good, that's good.â She breathes a sigh of relief, face lightening a bit. The fact that you still have at least a shred of awareness is comforting to her. âSteve, come help me.â The concern in her voice is practically radiating off of her.
Each of them takes one of your shoulders, holding you up and helping you stand. Between the fractured ankle, the way the drugs theyâd injected cause the room to spin, and the pounding in your skull from the fists of the guard, you need all the help you can get.
The five of you make your way down the halls, slipping undetected through corridors. You move as fast as you can for someone who feels theyâll collapse at any moment.
Getting back is difficult, sure, but you learn to manage.
ę§âę§
You donât remember the details of returning to Starcourtâs ground level. You only remember that Robinâs hand had never once left yours.
Because everyone's either leaving or in the theatre for the night's last showing of Back to the Future, including Dustin and Erica, the three of you that remain decide the bathroom would be a good place to hide out. Especially considering everyone's current condition.
Robin has a hand around your shoulders, the other holding onto yours, leading you gently and slowly to the bathroom. Sheâs supporting much of your weight because of your ankle.Â
Steve seems to be following, but Robin is determined to put a stop to that.
âHarrington, go to the boys bathroom.â She says, voice leaving little room for argument.
Steve tries anyway.
âWhat? Why? I can help-â he begins, hands out slightly, protesting against Robin.
âYou are not helping me clean the blood off my girlfriend in the girlsâ bathroom.â
That's the end of it. He knows she's serious, hears the authority in her voice. He walks the other way, muttering something about it being ridiculous as he pushes open the bathroom door.
The girlsâ bathroom is too bright.
Fluorescent lights hum overhead, reflecting harshly off white tile, off mirrors that Robin immediately avoids looking into. The door swings shut behind you with a hollow echo, and suddenly itâs just the two of you.
Just the quiet.
Just the shaking.
Robin guides you down slowly until your backs hit the cool tile wall. She slides down first, easing you with her so you donât jar your ankle. Her arm never leaves around your shoulders.
âOkay. Okay.â She exhales like sheâs convincing herself more than you. âWeâre good. Weâre good. Weâre alive. Thatâsâ thatâs step one.â
You try to smile at her. It doesnât fully form.
Her hands come up immediately.
âDonâtâ donât move.â Her voice softens instantly. âIâve got you. Just sit there. Let me see.â
She pulls away just enough to look at you properly, and the second she does, her face falls.
Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
Just⌠quietly devastated.
Thereâs bruising already forming near your eye. A split along your temple. Dried blood at your brow. Nothing catastrophic â but enough.
Her jaw tightens.
Her hands hover for half a second before gently cradling your face.
âThe lights make it look worse, I promise.â you try to assure her, though youâve got no idea what she's seeing, or if your words are true in the slightest.
âIâm gonna clean it up, okay?â she says softly. âIt might sting. Iâll be quick. I promise.â
You nod faintly. All your trust is in her. Youâd let her do anything.
She scrambles to her feet for a moment, grabbing paper towels and wetting them with shaky hands. You notice it â the tremor that the drugs bring.
Sheâs for sure feeling nauseous from what those Russians injected her with, even though sheâd never admit it. You just wish sheâd let you take care of her too.
âRobin,â you murmur.
âIâm fine.â She cuts in quickly. Too quickly. âDrugs are stillâ whatever. Doesnât matter. Youâre bleeding.â
She kneels back in front of you.
Carefully, so carefully, she dabs at the blood near your temple. Her touch is featherlight, like youâre glass.
You flinch.
She freezes.
âDid I hurt you? Iâm sorryâ Iâm sorryââ she begins, words tumbling quickly from her lips.
âNo,â you whisper. âIt just stings.â
Her shoulders drop a fraction. âOkay. Okay. Sting is normal. Sting means youâre⌠youâre alive.â She swallows. âAlive is good.â
She resumes, slower this time. Wiping gently. Cleaning the cut near your brow. Her thumb brushes your cheek instinctively afterward, soothing.
You notice she looks pale.
âYouâre gonna pass out before I do,â you mumble.
She huffs softly. âRude. I am being an incredible girlfriend right now.â
That earns the smallest laugh from you.
Her expression softens immediately at the sound.
âThere she is,â she murmurs. âThatâs my girl.â
She leans in and presses the softest kiss just beneath your uninjured eye, lips lingering after the contact is broken
Her forehead rests against yours for a moment after, your eyes fluttering shut.
âIâm so sorry,â she whispers. The way her voice cracks tells you all you need to know.
Your eyes open. âYou didnâtââ
âI spit in his face.â Her voice trembles again. âI shouldâve known heâd take it out on you. I justâ I couldnât let him talk about you like that. About us.â
You reach up weakly, fingers curling into the fabric of her Scoops uniform.
âI can take the punches, Robs. Iâd do it again,â you say quietly. âFor you.â
Her breath shakes.
.Donât,â she says, voice firm but small. âDonât say that like itâs noble. I donât want you hurt for me.â
She pulls back just enough to really look at you.
âWhen he hit you,â she continues, voice lower now, raw, having to swallow the lump in her throat before she can continue, âI couldnât do anything. I couldnât move. I couldnâtââ She swallows hard. âIâve never felt that useless in my life.â
You gently cup her wrist.
âYou werenât useless,â you whisper. âYou were tied up, Robin. Itâs not like itâs your fault.â
Her eyes flicker over your face, searching for doubt. There isnât any.
She exhales shakily and leans forward again, this time kissing your forehead â careful of the cut.
âI hate that they touched you,â she murmurs against your skin. âI hate that they made you bleed.â
You give her a faint smile. âYouâre shaking.â
She laughs softly through her nose. âYeah, well. My bloodstream is like ninety percent Soviet mystery chemicals right now.â
Despite that, she shifts closer, bracing one arm behind you to support your weight fully so you donât have to hold yourself up.
âAnkle,â she says gently. âLet me see it.â
You hesitate.
She raises an eyebrow. âI am not above giving you a lecture while concussed.â
You sigh dramatically but extend your leg slightly.
Sheâs careful as she touches it, fingers light, assessing without pressing too hard.
âOkay. Swollen. It could be worse.â she says, though it sounds as if she's trying to ease her own nerves more so than yours. âWeâll ice it when we can. Or steal ice from Scoops. Crime is okay tonight.â
You smile at that.
She notices every tiny shift in your expression.
âHead still spinning?â she asks.
âYeah.â
âOn a scale of one to Steve Harrington flirting confidence?â
You snort weakly. âLike⌠senior year Steve.â
âOof. Okay. Thatâs severe.â
She shifts again, this time pulling you gently so your head rests against her shoulder instead of the tile.
âThere,â she murmurs. âUse me. I make a better pillow.â
You melt into her without hesitation.
Her fingers comb carefully through your hair, avoiding the sore spots. Slow strokes. Over and over.
She presses another kiss to your hairline.
âYou scared me,â she admits quietly. âWhen they all left and you werenât responding right away, I thoughtââ
She stops herself.
You squeeze her hand.
âIâm here.â
She nods against you.
âI know. I know.â A beat. Softer now. âAnd Iâm not going anywhere. Okay? Not because of some asshole with a badge. Not because of some country that thinks weâre wrong.â
Her thumb traces slow circles on your arm.
âYouâre mine,â she says quietly. âAnd I am very stubborn about keeping whatâs mine.â
You tilt your head up slightly to look at her.
âPossessive much?â
She smirks faintly. âOnly when concussed.â
Then her expression softens again.
âYou did nothing wrong,â she says firmly. âNothing. Loving me isnât something to regret.â
Your throat tightens slightly.
âI donât,â you whisper.
âGood.â She kisses the corner of your mouth softly. Not heated. Just tender. âBecause Iâd announce it again too.â
You sit there for a while like that.
Her holding you.
You breathing against her collarbone.
Both of you shaky.
Both of you alive.
After a minute, she nudges your chin gently.
âHey.â
âHmm?â
âWhen we get out of this,â she says, brushing her nose lightly against yours, âyouâre letting me baby you for like⌠a week. Minimum. Iâm talking ice packs. Terrible movies. I will fight Steve for remote control privileges.â
You hum faintly. âYou already fight Steve for that.â
âTrue. But now itâll be justified.â
Another soft kiss. This time to your lips.
Slow. Careful. Checking if youâre okay.
You are.
She rests her forehead against yours again.
âTell me if you feel worse,â she murmurs. âTell me if the room spins more. Tell me if youâre scared. Donât try to be brave about it.â
You nod.
âIâm a little scared,â you admit quietly.
Her grip tightens gently.
âOkay,â she says softly. âThatâs okay. Iâm scared too.â
A beat.
âBut weâre scared together. And thatâs way less lonely.â
Her hand laces through yours, squeezing once.
âAnd if anyone ever touches you like that again,â she adds, voice dropping just slightly, still calm but firm, âtheyâll have to go through me first.â
You believe her.
Completely.
And for the first time since the base, your breathing evens out.
pairing: robin buckley x fem!wheeler reader
summary: navigating a same sex relationship in the 80's is harder than you anticipated. but for robin? you'd endure anything. when you invite her over for dinner after growing sick of waiting, things blow up. your conservative parents are less than happy to say the least. what will the two of you do when your relationship is stretched to the thinnest? will you stick together, or break under the pressure of this town?
total word count (so far): 17.7k
warnings: conservative parents, homophobia, comfort, fluff, tears, arguments, kissing, robin being the cutest person ever, lmk if i missed anything!
-------------
part 1: But Daddy, I Love.... Her?
part 2: on the way!!
part 3 on the way!!!
-------------
click here for my blog and to leave requests!! open to requests for this fic as well as anything for steve harrington, nancy wheeler, or jonathan byers!!!!
summary - summer doesn't last forever, but the memories do. while trying to focus on the difficulty of yet another crawl, you can't seem to ignore the looming memories of what you and steve shared. how ever since then, there's been great distance between you, despite never being more than a few feet apart.
word count - 8.7k
warnings - heavy fluff, lots of kissing, robin and reader friendship, robin being hilarious but gentle, comfort, tears, mentions of smut, no actual smut, rekindling of old flames.
a/n - i had sooooo much fun writing this!!! if anyone would like to, PLEASE submit some requests!! i need ideas and i'll pretty much write anything for steve, robin, jonathan, or nancy. i hope you enjoy reading as much as i did writing!!!!
It was another crawl. 4 pm in the basement of âThe Squawk,â the workplace of two close friends, Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington. It seemed it became an unspoken rule for nights like this, that everyone was to arrive early. You always found ways to spend it, though. Ways to lighten the mood before the difficult tasks.
Itâs loud and messy in the cool basement, but comfortable. Like a safe place in this whole tangled jumble of fate.
Dustin says this could be the end of the word.
Robin insists that over the top.
Most people donât offer an opinion. They donât want to be so badly mistaken.
To be honest, you yourself donât know what to make of it all. The only thing thatâs really made sense recently were these moments before crawls, where everything was chaotic and providing an outlet for escape.
You like it best like this.
Dustin and Will sit on the rug, arguing about some dumb science project from 3 years ago that no one seems to remember. Mike watches from afar, as does Joyce. They seem to both be keeping an eye on Will. Crawls create tension for the Byers. They never know when Will could face an issue.
Heâs been teetering on the edge for a while now.
He has good and bad days.
Max and Lucas are tucked away in a quiet corner, whispering something to one another, giggling softly. They havenât really left one anotherâs sides ever since Max came out of her coma. She sits across from his seat in her wheelchair, both hands in his. Itâs comforting to see love bloom even in the darkest of times.
Eleven and Hopper are upstairs right now. They didnât tell anyone they were going. It was more like a silent leave of absence. Whatever they are discussing, it must be important.
Robin and Nancy are standing at the towering shelves of vinyl records that are stored down in the basement, looking through them and sharing thoughts on albums. Normally, thatâs where youâd be. With them. With your friends.
Well, youâd be there or in the one other location youâve yet to think over.
The couch. The couch where Jonathan is sitting, leaning back against the cushions and laughing in a low tone on the occasion.
You wouldnât be over there because of him, though. Youâd be over there because of the boy beside him. They boy who before and during last summer, you knew better than anyone. The boy who youâd confidently say knew you better than anyone.
Steve Harrington.
Itâs not like you guys had a fight or anything. Just after what you two shared this summer, after the no strings attached agreement that harmed more than it helped, you drifted apart.
Last year, youâd be next to him on that couch, laughing at each other and talking too loudly without a care in the world. But this year, thatâs all changed. You keep your distance because you know itâs best if you do. He keeps his distance and youâre not really sure why.
Maybe heâs in the same boat as you. Trying to uphold his end of the deal.
Or maybe because he saw you, really saw you, this summer, he doesnât want anything to do with you now.
If either, you sincerely hope itâs the first one.
You try not to appear too lost in your thoughts, though. Even through the chaos, itâs inevitable that with such a large group of people, someone would notice the absence of anotherâs spark.
âWhy couldnât this be in the summer? Like, after this, I have a calc test to study for.â Dustin complained from the rug, Will nodding in agreement beside him.
âOh my gosh, do you guys remember last summer? Iâd give anything to go back to those times.â Robin adds from the side where the vinyls are held. Sheâs shuffling through the discs, occasionally stopping to ramble about one with the older Wheeler child beside her.
âI know, right? Everything was so much easier then.â Lucas says from the corner, his unwavering gaze on Max broken for a moment. His eyes still flicker to her though, like the very thought of losing sight of her again is painful to him.
The words, though not uttered for just you, hit like theyâre personal.
Steve still looks unfazed. You wonder if he cares at all. If he remembers it all like you do. If he remembers the time you shared together over the months where the sun was high and burning in the sky.
It takes you back. Back to the hot, sticky month of August.
ę§âę§
The air felt different back then. Not just warm and humid. There was something more in that air, something delicate and perfect and suspended in gold. It felt like it would never end. But it did. All good things seem to end.
Yet that one, that moment, that summer, felt perfect.
August had a way of doing that. Stretching time until it felt endless, until it felt impossible to imagine a future where things werenât exactly like this.
The smell comes back first.
The heavy scent of gas. The aroma of warmth in the air. The sweet fragrance of the freshly cut blades of grass mingling with the perfume of poppies and blooming daisies.
And then there was him.
Steve.
You can vividly remember the sound of his voice that evening, the soft, low sound that carriedÂ
through the open windows of his Beamer.Â
You can see the colors of the sky again, just like they had been on the day. The fiery reds and glowing oranges of the sunset were already faded, replaced by the blue hues that rushed to fill their space and bright twinkle of stars. The sun had already set, but the sky was still light.Â
8:57. That was the time that his carâs digital clock read.Â
Youâd memorized every detail of your time together. You never thought youâd be thinking it over in these circumstances, though.
In that moment, so little yet so long ago, you were sitting in the driver's seat of Steveâs beloved car. Your hands were tight around the steering wheel, knuckles white. The engine's low hum filled the air in the field, windows rolled down.
Steve sits beside you, one arm resting lazily on the open window, the other one lightly holding your knee, like he could ground you through the light contact alone.
âRelax,â he laughs out, soft and deep and so completely Steve. Itâs not teasing. Not cruel.
âYouâre acting like itâs going to explode.â
âYou never really know, do you? Not until itâs already too late!â you argue, though you canât wipe the smile off your lips. Your eyes are fixed in front of you, staring out into the wide meadow of grass that stretches on under and past the car. âIâve never driven a car before.â
âThatâs kind of the point..?â he says, turning his head to look at you. His lips curve upward in that sweet, familiar smile, eyes crinkling in the corners. âYou have to start somewhere. So how about here?â
Heâs surprisingly calm in all of this.Â
Steve, who never let anyone even step too close to his Beamer out of fear theyâd scratch it. Whoâd only take his car out when the weather was nice and he could ensure thereâd be no threat to his car. And yet, heâs letting you, someone who hasnât ever driven before, drive his car.Â
Itâs strange how trusting he is of you. In fact, youâre more nervous than he is.
You groan, dropping your head back against the seat dramatically. All of the thinking and anticipation that the situation was creating was quite taxing on the brain.
âYouâre so inspirational. Truly. Have you considered getting into motivational speaking?â you throw at him, head turning against the seat to face him with the slightest smirk despite your nervous demeanor.
He snorts, shaking his head while his eyes remain stationary on your face.Â
âOkay, jeez,â he relents, leaning closer to you now. âPut your foot on the gas. Slowly. Like youâre trying not to drive us into Lovers Lake.â
You roll your eyes, but press your sneaker into the pedal anyways.
The car lurches forward.
âOkay, Steve, I canât do this.â you say, foot leaving the gas in an instant. The nerves are getting to you. Youâre worried that something could happen, that youâll do something wrong and mess up his beamer in some way and heâll never talk to you again.
Itâs ridiculous, sure. With how close you two are, you donât believe that anything could set you two on different paths.
If only youâd known back then, what a single summer could do.
âHey, just look at me for a second.â he says, syllables quickly following your own spoken words. His hands reach gently for your wrists, trying to provide some soothe to your ne
âYouâre fine. I wouldnât have suggested you drive if I didnât think you could do it.â he mutters, voice impossibly gentle, but still holding the tone he always has. It makes your breath catch in your throat.
He doesnât drop your hands. He guides them to the steering wheel, his own resting over yours, fingers slotted in the gaps between yours.
Your heart seems louder than the engine now. You're afraid he can hear it, hoping he canât.
Your foot presses lightly on the gas, his car moving steadily forward through the grass. Itâs nerve racking, driving without any experience. Especially when you canât focus on much when Steve is next to you. You guys have always been close, ever since first grade. Familiar with one another. Doesnât make it easier.
âSee?â he states as if he knew it all along, eyes darting from you to the ground ahead and back and forth. âYouâre a natural.âÂ
Something in the way he says it is different than you normally hear him speak. It sounds softer, like heâs admiring you more than complimenting.
You glance over at him. Heâs already looking.
Even when you look away, eyes on the field, you can feel his eyes burning holes on you. Upon returning your attention to driving, you realize youâre close to the bank of Lovers Lake. Not dangerously close, but getting there. You step off the gas instantly, gaze turning back to him.
His eyes havenât left your face when you look back. Theyâre unwavering.
For a moment, the world feels quieter than it should be. Like the field has stopped breathing, like the cicadas in the trees have paused just to listen. The only thing that feels real is the warmth of his hands over yours and the softness of the blue sky.
âYouâre staring.â You murmur, trying to sound casual. Thereâs this little hint in your voice that you feel might give you away. After all, he knows you.
He scoffs lightly, no bite behind the noise.
âYeah, because you almost drove us into Lovers Lake.â he counters, but his thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles, as if to absentmindedly trace a pattern across them. His eyes fall down to where your hands are under his, pressed on the wheel.
âI need to supervise.â he adds, looking back up at you with mock seriousness.Â
ââSupervise?ââ you repeat, laughing softly at his choice of wording. âYou sound like my dad. Donât tell me youâre getting all wise.â
He makes a face at that, nose scrunching. âOkay, rude,â he begins. âFirst of all, I am so much cooler than your dad.âÂ
You let out a small laugh at that, the tension in your chest easing just a little. The car bumps slightly over uneven ground, and instinctively, Steveâs hand tightens on yours.
âBe careful,â he murmurs when your foot bumps the gas. Something in the way he says it feels different.Â
You know it isnât about the car, itâs about you. He needs you safe, not his beamer. No matter how much he loves that car, you come above it on the list of his priorities.
âDoes it feel weird?â You suddenly blurt out into the relative quiet of the car, shifting your body slightly to face him more directly.
âWhat?â He blinks, slight confusion crossing his gaze.
âDriving,â you clarify quickly, eyes back on the road. âLike, being in control of something that could go wrong so easily. Does it ever get easier?â
You can see him contemplating through the way his eyebrows furrow. A small action, but a pronounced one.Â
âIt doesnât, I guess. You just get more comfortable.â he admits. âIf you think about it, itâs better that way, right? If everything was always safe, life would be pretty boring.â
You hum in response, not sure if you truly agree.
âI think your definition of boring is different from mine.â you laugh, gaze unwavering. Itâd be hard to look away now.
âOkay, whatever. But itâs not like youâre alone on that road.â he adds, voice quieter like speaking too loud would shatter the embrace of the nightfall. âIâm here. Most of the time.â
âMost of the time? Jeez, really reassuring to the girl behind the wheel.â you joke with him, though something tightens in your chest. Truth be told, it does make you feel a bit lighter. Like driving isnât some distant thing. Like next year, with his help, when you actually begin taking courses, it wonât be the worst thing.
Itâs always been easier with him. Itâs more comfortable, less pressure to be preformative. With him, you can be whoever you want to be.
His words are simple. Casual. Probably harboring no meaning to him.
But for you? Itâs a completely different story. The syllables that spill from his lips, each settling deeper and deeper into your chest, hold the meaning of the world. They in themselves could tell stories that no novel could.
Something gives you the courage to reverse the car. One of his hands drifts from yours on the wheel, but he keeps the other close by. He wouldnât ever stray far. Not that summer.
When you come to a natural stop in the center of the grassy meadow, a heavy silence settles over the two of you. The faint hum of the engine keeps the lack of noise from being awkward.
âYou did good,â Steve says finally, voice softer than before. Less teasing.
Having looked the opposite direction in the mirror while reversing, you turn back to him now, eyebrows slightly lifted.
âThatâs all? No dramatic, over the top speech about my hidden talent and bright future as a race car driver?â You joke. Joking is easier than letting the hard feelings linger. A smile is spreading gently across your face, dimples appearing defined on your soft, pink cheeks.
He laughs, one of those laughs that starts low and raspy somewhere deep inside, before it cracks into something brighter. Itâs messy and real and so unmistakably Steve. For someone youâve seen this way hundreds of times, it sure does do something to you. This summer changed everything. It made you see him differently than you ever have.
âYouâre impossible,â he replies.
âCorrection,â you interject sharply, holding up a finger. You can't help the smile that's still wide on your face, crinkling the corners of your eyes and stretching your cheeks. âIâm talented.â You tilt your head to the side, expression changing gradually into a smirk.
He shakes his head at your antics, but his smile remains present.Â
For a second, there's soft silence. No one speaks.
His hand remains atop yours, neither of you moving.
And somewhere in the quiet beginning of the month, you both knew something was different. What you didnât yet know is what it would ultimately end up doing to what you had.
And what it did was destroy it.
ę§âę§
âHelloooooo..?â
 You hear, a hand waving over your face at the same time. The voice matches Robins, which checks about, because upon glancing diagonally up, your eyes land on her freckled face.Â
Now everything feels like itâs coming in comparison to the summer.
While she still harbors the light markings dusted across her nose and cheeks, they are less pronounced than they were in the height of the heat. Her eyes are a shade more grey than blue, while the exact opposite was true in the humid climate of the month you dread dwelling on.
You blink, coming back to your senses. In the basement. Before a crawl. Everyone is here, not just you and Steve.
Get it together.
âThought we lost you there for a second.â Robin says with a sigh of relief.
You blink again, forcing your thoughts back into place. The basement feels louder now. Brighter. Too alive compared to the quiet field youâd just been standing in moments ago.
âSorry. Iâm fine,â you reply quickly, the words tumbling out faster than they should. âJust zoning out.â
Robin narrows her eyes slightly, clearly unconvinced, but she doesnât push. Thatâs one thing youâve always loved about her. She knows when to ask questions and when to let things go.
You and her were actually brought together by Steve, when they both worked at Scoops. Naturally, you found yourself there most days in the summer, hanging around Steve. This was 2 summers ago. Not the summer when August lingered like old, stale memories.
You and Robin clicked in an instant. Now, itâs hard to imagine life without her by your side. Since everything with Steve got rocky, youâve been with her even more often. But still, what you shared with the boy remains a mystery to her and everyone else.
âYou looked like you were about to cry.â She softly adds, placing a hand on your shoulder as she stands next to you. Itâs quiet enough so no one but you can make it out, loud enough for you to hear.
âNo, I didnât,â you protest, scoffing lightly. It doesnât come out how you want it to.
âYeah, you did.â
âRobin,â
She smiles softly, like it hurts her to do. Like seeing you in this state doesnât deserve the grin thatâs normally plastered on her face with the inability to be willed away. âOkay, okay. Iâll drop it. But tell me if somethingâs really up, okay?âÂ
You nod, pushing down the lump in your throat.
âYouâre dramatic, Buckley.â You force a smile that doesnât quite reach your eyes. Her handâs still on your shoulder, still looking down at you. You hope she canât read you, but you know she probably can.
âThatâs rich coming from you.â Itâs a joke, one made in an attempt to lighten things.
Before you can respond to that, Dustinâs voice cuts clean across the basement.
âOkay, but seriously,â he says, sitting up straighter on the rug, âsummer is objectively the best season. No school, no homework, no life-threatening interdimensional monstersââ
âAre you trying to jinx it?â Mike mutters instantly, hands thrown out to the sides.
Jonathan laughs from the couch. âYouâre forgetting the most important part.â
Everyone turns toward him.
âThe drives,â he says, leaning back casually. âYou know, late-night drives where nothing feels real and everything feels possible.â
You get what he means. The nights where it feels like it couldnât ever be too late, like youâre free to do whatever you want to do. Like you can be whoever you want to be.
Something inside your chest tightens. Itâs so sudden that it hurts.
Steve, whoâs sitting beside him, stiffens. It wouldnât be noticeable to anyone who wasnât watching him, but you caught it. You always do.
âYeah,â Lucas adds thoughtfully from the corner. âThose nights where going home just doesnât seem like an option.âÂ
Max nods, squeezing his hand.
Robin hums. âOr when you end up doing something that definitely wasnât planned, but feels right anyways.â
Her tone is light. Harmless.
But the words hit you like a tidal wave.
Your fingers curl into your palms, nails biting crescent moons into the skin of your palms. The pain gives you something to focus on other than the words uttered meaninglessly. Your gaze drops to the floor.Â
The basement feels smaller.
The laughter around you continues. Dustin arguing with Mike again, Nancy chiming in with some sarcastic remark, Jonathan laughing too loud. Someone turns up the radio slightly. Someone else drops a box of supplies with a clatter.
But their voices blur together.
All you can hear is the echo of a different night.
A different car.
A different kind of silence.
When you look up from the floor, thereâs someone else who doesnât look present in the light banter of the group. Steve. His eyes are already on you. If you thought you may be able to bear it before, you know you definitely canât now.
You stand up before anyone can stop you.
âIâm gonna get some air,â you say, voice too casual to be convincing. As you get up off your seat, Robin's hand tightens in the slightest in your shoulder.Â
âAre you sure?â she asks, expression softer than before. Whatever hint of teasing was present earlier is completely gone. Itâs hard for her to really convey her feelings through tone, but you can tell.Â
âYeah, itâs just stuffy in here.â You nod quickly.
No one questions it.
No one follows you.
You take the stairs two at a time, the noise of the basement fading with each step. When you push open the back door, the cold evening air hits your face, sharp and grounding.
You inhale deeply. Once. Twice. Nothing changes.
It seems as if you canât get enough oxygen into your lungs no matter how hard you try.
Because the memory has already came back. Itâs already resurfaced, looming over you like a dark cloud.
Itâs worse than the other one. It burns deeper in your chest. And suddenly, youâre not standing outside the Squawk anymore.Â
Youâre in the backseat of Steve's car, hair plastered to your forehead and neck with sweat.
ę§âę§
The air in the backseat is thick.
Too warm. Too close. Like the night pressed itself into the car with you, refusing to give either of you space to breathe.
The windows are fogged over, streaked with half-dried fingerprints and the remnants of summer heat that refuses to let go. Your skin sticks where it touches the leather seat. Steveâs shoulder brushes yours every time the car shifts slightly, settling deeper into the grass beneath the tires.
Neither of you is talking.
You donât know when that happened â when the teasing stopped, when the jokes fell away, when the space between you became something charged and fragile instead of familiar.
Steve exhales, slow and unsteady. You feel it more than you hear it.
âThis isâŚ,â he starts, then stops. Swallows. Tries again.
âThis might be a bad idea.â
You laugh softly, breathless, because it already feels too late for that.
âYeah,â you murmur. âProbably.â
But you donât move away.
Instead, you tilt your head toward him, just slightly. Close enough that your forehead brushes his temple. Close enough that you can feel his pulse â fast, uneven â where your hands are braced against the seat.
The closeness does something to him.
You feel it in the way his breath stutters, in the way his fingers curl reflexively at your side, like heâs holding onto you without realizing heâs doing it.
âTell me to stop,â he says quietly.
You should.
You know you should.
But all you can think about is how the summer has already changed everything, how this feels like the final step over a line youâve been standing on for weeks.
So instead, you whisper, âSteve.â
Just his name.
Itâs enough.
The world narrows to heat and breath and the soft sounds you make when neither of you is pretending anymore. Time stretches, warps, becomes something unrecognizable. The car creaks slightly as you shift closer, closer, until thereâs nowhere left to go.
For a while, nothing exists but the two of you and the night pressing in around the car.
And then â just as suddenly â reality rushes back in.
Itâs quieter afterward.
Not awkward. Not uncomfortable.
Just⌠heavy. Like the line that the two of you just crossed is too far gone for you to ever switch back to the side you were on. Like you two can never truly go back to the before.
Youâre sitting beside him again now, backs against opposite doors, knees still touching in the center like neither of you quite knows how to move away yet. The windows are still fogged, the engine still humming low, the stars still scattered across the sky like nothing has changed.
But everything has changed.Â
Steve drags a hand down his face, then lets it fall into his lap. He doesnât look at you right away.
âYou okay?â he asks, voice rough around the edges.
You nod, even though your chest feels tight. âYeah. Are you?â
Another pause.
âYeah,â he says. Then, quieter, âI just⌠I donât want this to mess things up.â
The words land harder than you expect.
You turn your head to look at him. His gaze is fixed straight ahead now, jaw tight, like heâs already trying to build distance between you and what just happened.
âWe said no strings,â you remind him softly.
âI know,â he replies quickly. Too quickly. âI just meantâ I donât want to hurt you.â
Your throat aches.
âYou wonât,â you say, because you mean it. Because you believe it. Because admitting otherwise would break something youâre not ready to face.
He finally looks at you then.
Thereâs something unreadable in his eyes. Something like regret, or fear, or maybe the realization that this summer is already slipping through his fingers.
âOkay,â he says quietly.
Okay.
It sounds like an agreement.
It sounds like a promise.
It sounds like the beginning of the end.
Once the moment dies down, you both slip your shed clothes back on, ignoring the heat that just spilled between your bodies like it was the most natural thing in this world.
When he starts the car again, the headlights cut across the field, illuminating the tall grass one last time before you pull away.
You donât say another word to him that night.
But youâll think about this evening for a long time.
ę§âę§
The night air feels colder than it should.
It seeps through your clothes, presses against your skin, but it doesnât help. If anything, it makes the tightness in your chest more obvious. Like there isnât enough space inside your lungs. Like every breath you take is too shallow, too fast, like youâre borrowing air you havenât earned.
You rest your hands on your knees, leaning forward slightly as you try to steady yourself.
In.
Out.
Nothing works.
The door creaks open behind you.
You donât have to turn around to know who it is.
âOkay,â Robin says softly, carefully, like sheâs stepping into a room where something fragile might break. âEither youâre secretly practicing for a hyperventilating competition, or something is very wrong.â
You let out a weak huff of a laugh that barely counts as one.
âThat bad, huh?â you murmur.
She comes to stand beside you, not crowding you, just close enough to be there. Her shoulder brushes yours, grounding in the way only she knows how to be.
âYou disappeared,â she says. âYou looked like you were about to bolt into another dimension. Steve almost followed you.â
That does it.
Your breath stutters.
Robin notices immediately.
âOkay. That reaction tells me everything I need to know.â She gently nudges your arm, attempting to lighten the mood. When you donât respond, head dropping lower, her demeanor shifts.
âHey,â she mutters softly. âTalk to me.âÂ
You shake your head, eyes fixed on the pavement. Itâs always been easy to tell Robin everything going on in your life. She gets you in ways no one really could.
âI justâŚâ Your voice cracks, and you hate how weak it makes you feel. âI feel like Iâm suffocating. Like the walls are closing in or something. I donât know why itâs hitting me so hard right now.â
Robin doesnât laugh. Doesnât tease. Doesnât rush you.
She nods instead.
âOkay,â she says calmly. âThatâs fine. We can work with that.â She demonstrates exaggeratedly. âIn through the nose. Out through the mouth. Pretend youâre blowing out birthday candles.â
Despite yourself, you snort.
âFunny,â you mutter, though thereâs no bite behind it.
âThatâs me,â she replies in a joking manner, then softens. âYouâre safe. Youâre here. No monsters, no impending doom, just me and the worldâs ugliest back door.â
You breathe with her. Slowly. Deliberately.
After a moment, the pressure in your chest eases just enough to think.
Robin watches you the whole time.
âDoes thisâŚpossibly,â she begins gently, voice low as if to not break whatever shred of this world youâre holding on to. âHave anything to do with a certain boy? Specifically, Steve?â
Your heart drops.
You glance at her, startled. âHowââ
âI have eyes,â she says simply. âYou two have been⌠weird. Capital W.â She hesitates. âAnd you guys have been distant. Thatâs not on brand for you two. You used to be inseparable.â
You swallow.
âNo one knows,â you say quietly. âNot Nancy. Not Jonathan. Not anyone.â
Robin lifts a hand, solemn. âCross my heart, hope I never have to work retail again.â
You laugh weakly.
Then the words start spilling out.
You tell her about the summer. About the drives. About Lovers Lake. About the no-strings agreement that felt safe until it wasnât. About how close you got without ever saying what it meant. About the night in the car, the weight of it. The way everything changed afterward. The way Steve pulled back just enough to make you doubt yourself. How things werenât ever the same once it was over.
Robin listens. Really listens.
She doesnât interrupt once.
By the time you finish, your throat aches and your eyes sting.
âI think,â you admit quietly, âthat I fell in love with him without realizing I was allowed to. And now I donât know how to exist in the same room as him without feeling like Iâm drowning.â
Robin exhales slowly.
âOh,â she says. âOh, honey.â
She turns fully toward you and pulls you into a hug before you can protest. Itâs warm and firm and smells faintly like laundry detergent and vinyl sleeves.
âIâm really sorry,â she says into your hair. âYou donât deserve all this. And that sounds⌠really hard.â
You cling to her for a second longer than you mean to.
âI hate that no one knows,â you whisper. âIt feels like it didnât even matter.â
She pulls back just enough to look at you, hands still on your arms.
âHey,â she says seriously. âJust because it was private doesnât mean it wasnât real. Some things are just⌠sacred. Even if they hurt.â
You nod, tears finally spilling over.
Robin grins softly through it. âAlso? Steve Harrington is not in control of his emotions. Thatâs not on you.â
That makes you laugh. Really laugh.
âThank you,â you say, wiping your eyes.
âAnytime,â she replies. âYou and me? Weâre a team. Always.â She bumps your shoulder. âNow come on. Letâs go save the world or whatever. But if you need to bail at any point, I do know how to fake an emergency.â
You take one more steady breath.
This time, it feels like enough.
But you know itâs fragile. That one small thing could set you back to where you were.
Robin reaches for the door handle first.
âReady?â she asks softly, thumb brushing against the chipped paint of the back door like sheâs giving you an out.
You nod, even if itâs a little unconvincing.
âAs Iâll ever be.â
She squeezes your hand once before pushing the door open, the noise of the basement bleeding back into the nightâvoices overlapping, someone laughing too loudly, the radio crackling faintly through old speakers. For a split second, it feels like too much again.
The door barely even cracks open before you hear it.
âHey.â
Steveâs voice.
Itâs quiet, but not uncertain. Heâs not in the wrong place.
Robin stops instantly. Slowly, she turns her head back toward you, eyebrows lifting in a silent question. You feel your heart drop straight into your stomach.
Steveâs standing a few feet away, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket like he doesnât quite know what to do with them. His hair is a messâmore than usualâand his eyes flick between you and Robin like heâs bracing for impact.
âCan I⌠uh,â he clears his throat, jaw tightening. âCan I talk to you for a minute?â
The world seems to narrow.
Robinâs gaze snaps to you. Protective. Steady. She waits.
You swallow.
âYeah,â you say, before you can overthink it. âOkay.â
Robin nods once, already backing away. âIâllâuhâgo make sure Dustin doesnât blow something up,â she says, pointedly. Then, quieter, just for you: âIâll be right inside.â
She gives Steve a look that very clearly says donât screw this up, then disappears down the stairs, door clicking behind her.
And suddenly, itâs just the two of you.
Steve gestures toward the steps outside, the ones tucked just beneath the overhang of the back door. âCan we sit?â
You nod again.
You sit beside him, not touching, but close enough that youâre aware of the warmth radiating off his arm. The night has settled fully now, darker than before, quieter. Somewhere far off, a car passes. Crickets chirp. The world keeps going.
Neither of you speaks.
The silence stretches.
Itâs not empty. Itâs heavy. Full of everything youâve never said.
Steve drags a hand through his hair, then lets it fall to his knee. He stares out at the parking lot, eyes unfocused.
âI saw you leave,â he says finally. âYou looked⌠upset.â He utters the last word like heâs settling, like he wouldâve chosen another word if he could find it in the moment.
You huff out a quiet laugh. âYeah. Guess I was.â
Another pause.
âI almost followed you,â he admits. âDidnât know if youâd want that.â
You glance at him then. He still isnât looking at you.
âI didnât know what I wanted,â you say honestly. âI just knew I couldnât breathe in there anymore.â
That makes him wince.
âIâm sorry,â he says immediately. âI didnât mean toâ I mean, I know I didnât do anything tonight, butââ
âItâs not just tonight,â you cut in gently.
That finally gets him to look at you.
Thereâs something raw in his expression. Unguarded. The same look he used to get when it was just the two of you in the car, windows down, bodies pressed together, faces flushed. Pretending the world didnât exist.
âI know,â he says quietly. âThatâs why I asked to talk.â
He shifts slightly, turning more toward you. His knee brushes yours, just barely. Neither of you moves away.
âEveryone was talking about summer,â he continues. âAnd it justââ He exhales. âI kept thinking about how easy it used to be. With you.â
Your chest tightens.
âI remember teaching you how to drive,â he says, a small smile tugging at his mouth. âYou were convinced my car was gonna explode.â
You smile despite yourself. âYou told me I was a natural.â
âI wasnât lying,â he says softly. Then, after a beat, âI remember thinking that night that Iâd do anything to keep you safe. Even if it meant not saying the things I wanted to say.â
Your breath catches.
âSteveââ
âI didnât leave because I didnât want you,â he says, suddenly. The words come out rushed, like heâs been holding them in for months. âI need you to know that.â
You freeze.
He looks at you fully now, eyes bright and earnest and a little terrified.
âI left because I thought I didnât deserve you,â he continues. âBecause every time you looked at me like that, or trusted me with something that mattered, it felt like I was stealing something I hadnât earned.â
Your throat aches.
âI thought stayingâletting it keep goingâwas selfish,â he says quietly. âBecause eventually, youâd realize you deserved someone better. And I didnât want to be the reason you settled.â
Silence crashes down around you.
You stare at him, heart pounding so loudly youâre sure he can hear it.
âYou donât get to decide that for me,â you whisper.
âI know,â he says immediately. âI know. And I hate that I did. I justââ He shakes his head. âI didnât know how to be brave enough to stay.â
Something breaks open in your chest then.
âYou didnât hurt me by staying,â you say softly. âYou hurt me by leaving.â
His eyes close.
âIâm sorry,â he breathes.
For a moment, neither of you moves.
Then, slowly, Steve lifts a handâhesitant, like heâs asking permission even nowâand lets it rest against your cheek.
You lean into it without thinking. His thumb brushes soft lines across your skin, grounding in the way that it had been this summer. Exactly how he did it before heâd kiss you in the front seat during a driving lesson. Exactly how heâd do it before taking you in the backseat.
The kiss starts like a question.
Soft. Careful. His lips brush yours once, tentative, like heâs giving you time to pull away.
You donât.
Instead, you press closer, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, grounding yourself in the familiar shape of him. The kiss deepens, just slightlyâwarm and unhurried and achingly familiar.
It feels like hot, sticky August.
Minus the heat and humidity.Â
Like late nights and open roads and the kind of closeness that only exists when youâre young and reckless and honest.
Steve exhales against your mouth, forehead resting against yours when you finally pull back, just a fraction.
âI remember,â he murmurs.
âSo do I,â you whisper.
For the first time in a long time, the silence between you doesnât feel like something waiting to swallow you whole.
It feels like space.
Steve doesnât pull away right away.
If anything, he leans in again, like heâs afraid the moment might disappear if he gives it too much space. His hand stays warm against your jaw, thumb brushing slow, careful strokes like heâs relearning you. Like heâs reminding himself that this is real. That youâre real.
The kiss deepensânot rushed, not desperateâbut familiar. Itâs the kind of kiss that carries memory in it. Late nights. Summer air. The backseat of his car. All of it threaded together in the way his mouth moves against yours, like he already knows exactly how you fit.
You sigh into him without meaning to, and he feels itâresponds instantly, pressing closer, his other hand finding your waist like it always used to. Like muscle memory never forgot you.
For a second, the world narrows to just this. The step beneath you. The night air. Steve Harrington kissing you like heâs finally letting himself want something out loud.
Thenâ
âWow.â
You both recognize the voice.
Steve groans softly, forehead dropping to yours as if the interruption physically pains him. As if tearing your lips from his when he just got the contact back hurts more than thought possible.
You laugh breathlessly and turn your head just in time to see Robin standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrow raised so high it might disappear into her hairline.
She looks between you. Once. Twice.
Then she grins.
âOh my god,â she says, delighted. âI leave you two alone for five minutes and suddenly itâs the worldâs most emotionally charged rom-com outside The Squawk.â
You cover your face with one hand, the other still slung loose around Steve's neck. âRobinââ
She waves you off. âNo, no, donât stop on my account.â Her eyes flick to Steve. âSeriously, Harrington. Took you long enough.â
Steve huffs out a laugh, cheeks pink. âYou gonna tell everyone?â
Robin pretends to think about it, tapping her chin. âTempting. Very tempting. But Iâll spare you. For now.â She steps back inside, then pauses, glancing over her shoulder.
âFor the record,â she adds, smug, âI called it.â
Then she disappears, laughter trailing behind her as the door swings shut.
Thereâs a beat of silence.
You look at Steve.
Steve looks at you.
ââŚSheâs never gonna let me live that down,â he mutters.
You laugh softly. âAbsolutely not.â
He smilesâreally smilesâand shakes his head. âWorth it.â
Then he leans in again, slower this time. Like heâs asking. Like heâs making sure youâre still here, still choosing this.
You answer by kissing him back.
Itâs softer now, but deeper somehow. Less about catching up and more about staying. His forehead rests against yours between kisses, noses brushing, breaths mingling. The night feels quieter. Kinder.
For the first time in a long time, it doesnât feel like something is ending.
It feels like something is finally being allowed to begin again. Like out of the heat of August, the cool night air and satellites that blur softly with the stars looming above, there can finally be something new born. Something far better than the confusion of the summer.
summary - you and robin have been together for ages. it isnât the easiest, being in a same sex relationship in the 80âs. but you both manage. youâre in love, so you endure it. One day, you ask your parents if she could come over to have dinner with you. They accept this idea, thinking itâs a boy. They have no clue that their daughter, who theyâve raised on their own extremely conservative beliefs is dating a girl. Things donât go the best when they find out the nature of your relationshipâŚ
word count - 11k
warnings - conservative parents, homophobia, comfort, fluff, tears, arguments, kissing, light body kissing, slight absence of clothing, no real smut.
a/n - i had sooooo much fun writing this!!! if you guys want a part two, iâd be extremely willing to write one!! left it on kind of a cliff hanger in hopes of making a second part!! lmk in the comments! also, iâm obsessed with my girl robin lately, so here we are!!
A quiet hum of unease was settled beneath your ribs, impossible to ignore, too pronounced to take your mind off of. Fear and hope twisted together somewhere deep in your body, and there was one upcoming event to blame. Specifically, a dinner with your parents.
And Robin.
Robin. Sheâs been your girlfriend for a long time now. Of course, your parents know of her, but they donât know her. Youâve talked non-stop about the bubbling blonde who always has something to say, no matter the situation. Youâve gushed endlessly about the person who never fails to make you laugh, no matter your mood. There was just one thing you conveniently âforgotâ to mention to your extremely conservative parents.
And it was that Robin was a girl.
Your parents hadnât ever really asked, they just assumed it was a boy. So why bring it up to them? They didnât support such beliefs, and they had thought she was a boy anyway, so why burst that bubble?
âWhere does he work?â
âIs he going to college next year?â
âWhat does he like to do for fun?â
Those were all questions youâd been asked by them. You never really bothered to rectify them. On one occasion, you came close to correcting them, weakly interjecting. But you stopped. Better to let them believe what they wanted than to possibly have to ruin your relationship.
But youâd grown tired of waiting.
You asked your parents if theyâd like to meet Robin. If itâd be okay if âtheyâ came over to have dinner with you. They of course accepted this, open to the idea of meeting your boyfriend. Oh, were they in for quite the shock.
In short, Robin will be arriving in about 10 minutes. And you havenât been able to tell them.Â
You sit at your vanity, the warmth and familiarity of your room the only provided sense of comfort throughout this tangle of nerves. The soft colors, the glow of the lights, the gentle decor. Fuck. So much could go wrong. What if theyâre upset with you? Not just upset, but angry? Youâve always tried to be pleasing to your parents, academically and emotionally and in every other way possible.
You were a good kid. Perfect grades, perfect morals, perfect behavior. But you couldnât help that you fell in love with a girl. That you fell in love with Robin Buckley. Itâs the way you were wired.
âEverybody is wired in a certain way. However it is that you are, itâs your business. I like you no matter what you like.â
Thatâs what your friend Steve would say. He was always really supportive of you, and Robinâs sexualities. When Robin came out to the both of you in the Starcourt bathroom, your confession followed suit. Both of you had told Steve, and almost no one else.
Some had their suspicions. Dustin and Will noticed the signs, the indicators of your relationship with Robin. A brush of the knee, a bump of the elbow, a lingering glance. They were perceptive in that way.
You and Robin sat Max down one night and told her. You both had a close relationship with the younger redhead, so you knew you could trust her. She and Steve have practically become your biggest supporters through all this.
Robinâs life was different from yours. She lived all the way across town, over by Mirkwood. You live on Maple Street. Her mom was often at work, but when she was around, she was there for Robin. They talked. She supported her daughter.
You donât have that luxury.
There are so many thoughts racing through your brain. Thoughts of Robin, how seeing her will feel like a breath of fresh air. Thoughts of your friends, of what they know and what they believe. Thoughts of what your parents will do upon discovering that you donât have a boyfriend. That you have a girlfriend.
Your room feels tighter now, as if youâre being suffocated by your own thinking. With a shaky hand, you swipe mascara onto your curled lashes. Itâs harder to take a breath now, but you manage.Â
Itâs fine. Youâll be fine. Youâre overthinking it all.
Thatâs what you tell yourself. But God, is that hard to believe. Hard to believe that your parents who harbor nothing but traditional beliefs will be okay with this.
You try to get your mind off it. Try to think of anything else to bring yourself back. Robinâs laugh. Robinâs smile. Robinâs unwavering, bubbly self.Â
All those thoughts just bring you back to how your parents could crush it all out of her tonight.
Your abundant thoughts are cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing throughout your house.Â
ę§âę§
It came as a slight shock that she came.
You told her everything. You told her your parents likely wouldnât support this, that they may be mad at the both of you. You told her that she might get sent home immediately, that you donât want her to come if she doesnât feel comfortable.
You told her not to come if she wasnât comfortable with it. The last thing you ever wanted was for her to feel out of place.Â
But nonetheless, she was here. She was at your front door.
You rushed down the stairs, curls bouncing against the fabric of the sweater covering your body. God, you were shaking really hard. You make your way to the door, taking deep breaths with each step.Â
âIs he here, sweetie?â your mom called from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. Your dad, who was watching the football game on the couch, stood up too, coming towards the door.
Your heart is beating faster by the second, hands still shaky by your sides. You stride to the door, stopping before it, steadying yourself.
âYeah, Iâll get the door.â you reply to your mothers question.
Deep breaths. Itâs fine. Itâll all turn out okay.
You keep telling yourself that. But the tightness in your chest tells a different story. A story far more tragic that seems way more likely.
A shaky hand reaches for the door, both your parents behind you. You twist the handle and pull it open, revealing Robin standing there.
You turn to your parents. They havenât put it together yet. Theyâre refusing to believe it, that this could be the Robin youâve been talking about all along.
She was standing there in the doorway, that same wide smile on her face, unwavering since the day you met. Her blonde hair is down, reaching almost to her shoulders. Her bangs frame her face beautifully, the blue hues of her eyes matching those of her sweater vest. The navy sleeveless tank top was layered over a white undershirt, paired with her light wash jeans.
Just by looking at her, you can tell she tried her best to look presentable for your parents. She doesnât like dressing up very much. But she did today.
âHello! You must be Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler! Iâm Robin, itâs so nice to meet you both! Iâve heard really good things about both of you!â she spews nervously, brushing a strand of her golden hair behind her ear.
Youâre looking at your parents, the tiniest smile on your face appearing from pure nerves. They still look confused, but you can see the pieces being put together in their minds.Â
Their daughter is dating a girl. This is Robin. This is why the pronoun âheâ never once came out of her mouth when describing who she was in love with.
âOh, uhm⌠itâs nice to meet you too, Robin! Can you just hold on one second?â your mom asks her through a heavily forced smile. Shit. You know things arenât going in a positive direction.
Robin nods quickly, swallowing the lump in her throat as they slam the door on your entire world, the one thing you wanted. Your parents turn to you, eyes fixed on your face. The forced smiles are gone. They are definitely upset.
Your mother is the first to break the silence.
âExplain.â she says in a tone far from light. Itâs just a word, one word, but it lands.Â
You open your mouth, trying to say something, to say anything, but no words come out. You close it again, looking back and forth from your parents' faces. Your dads tight jaw and crossed arms, your momâs downward facing lips and narrowed eyes.
Definitely not happy.
âSo,â he begins, voice low and controlled. Heâs good at keeping his temper. âThat's Robin.âÂ
Itâs not a question. He knows thatâs her.
You nod slowly, head dipping barely before coming back up. You keep your eyes on his face, watching his reactions.
âAnd Robin is⌠a girl.â Again, not a question. Just a fact stated grimly.Â
âYes.â your throat burns. That feeling of tightness from in your bedroom comes back, but this time, itâs worse. It feels like itâs been multiplied. Thereâs a silence between the three of you. Long, stretching, dreadful. Itâs like everyone is holding their breath.Â
It feels like hours rather than seconds before your mother lets out a sigh, rubbing her temple as if to push away the reality of the situation. Sheâs processing this all, how she couldâve raised her daughter so perfectly and done everything right and yet this is still how you turned out.
âWhy didnât you tell us?â are the first words spoken from your mother since the revelation. Itâs a simple question, really. One she could probably answer herself. You didnât tell them because you knew they wouldnât support you. That youâd have to throw it all away to please them.
But youâd rather burn your whole life down than listen to one second of their griping and moaning.
âI- I tried to,â you whisper, voice cracking. You thought you were stronger than this, that you could speak now without sounding weak. âI just didnât know how to.â you finished, getting through your sentence as you swallow the lump in your throat.
âThatâs not an answer,â your dad snapped, voice suddenly sharper than its previous tone. âWe asked about him. About a boyfriend. You let us believe a lie.âÂ
âI didnât lie,â you utter, cheeks heating, but it sounds frail even to your own ears. Your argument isnât sounding the strongest.
âWell you didnât tell us the truth. You knew what we thought.â your mother added, eyes narrowing in your direction.Â
âI was scared.â you say, nails biting crescent moons into the skin of your palms. You focus on the pinch of pain you feel as your fists clench. Anything to ground yourself. Anything to get you to quit thinking about the nervous girl who was trying her absolute best for you and your parents, the same girl waiting out on that porch.
âScared of what? Of telling us the truth?â your dad scoffs out, running a hand over his face before it returns to its original position, crossed tightly over his chest.
âOf disappointing you.â itâs quieter than any other words youâve emitted this evening. While you really didnât want to make them upset at you, you couldnât keep ignoring your heart. You couldnât ignore that you were in love with Robin.
The confession stops them for a moment. And for a second, you think it worked. That itâs over.
Itâs not enough.
âThis isnât normal.â she speaks, the exact words you were afraid of hearing. You knew she thought this. But youâd foolishly let yourself believe you could change her mind. âAnd we arenât going to pretend itâs normal.â
Your heart drops into your stomach. You can hear the unwavering beating of it as loud as a drum. Definitely not changing her mind.
âSheâs not just some experiment, mom. Sheâs my girlfriend.â you say, voice still soft and rather pathetic. But youâre holding your ground. You try your best to keep upright, to stand up to their beliefs. After all, it is for the girl you love.
âNot under this roof.â your dad grunted, expression hardening as his jaw tightens, teeth gritting against one another. This is possibly the most upset youâve ever seen your father.
Those four words hit harder than anything else has.
Your mother takes a step closer, her tone icy cold. âI thought we raised you better than this. We told you not to put us through this.âÂ
You can feel your eyes stinging now, feel the tears pooling in your eyes. You try not to let them fall. You bite your lip to distract yourself, keeping it in.
âItâs not like I chose it.â you whisper. You really didnât choose it. You tried to be normal, tried to please your parents. But the urges became too strong. âI just⌠I love her.â
Your dad lets out a humorless laugh, the sound sharp like a knife to the chest. âLove?â he repeats, like the word tastes wrong when uttered about two people of the same gender. âYouâre a kid. You donât even understand what youâre saying.â
Tears spill down your cheeks before you can stop them. Theyâre full of so many pent up emotions and thoughts. Full of love for your beautiful girlfriend. Full of longing for your parents approval, for them to see things from your perspective. Full of the weight of everything thatâs been crushing down on you. The tears have been a long time coming.
âPlease,â you begin. âJust meet her. Talk to her. I promise, sheâs been really good for me.â the words are uttered through tears and the lump in your throat. She really has been good for you. Sheâs shown you who you really are, shown you that youâre worthy of love.
Your mother doesnât even answer. Not verbally, at least. She just shakes her head at you, gaze on the floor instead of on your face.
âSheâs not coming into our home.â she says firmly, her tone of voice suggesting that thereâs no room for negotiation. The words freeze you in your tracks.
âSheâs still out on that porch and she needs to go home. Now.â your father interjects, each syllable tightening the pain you already felt somewhere deep and twisting inside your chest.
This canât be happening. Youâd known this wasnât a good idea, you knew that you shouldâve protected her. But she had wanted to come. She wanted to help change their minds. And now, itâs hurting you both.
You're about to speak, mouth open, but youâre cut off.
âYouâre not allowed to see her anymore,â your mother continues, her voice leaving no room for argument. âYouâre grounded. Phone, outings, everything. This stops now.â
Your voice breaks completely, holding back shaky sobs.
âYou canât do that.â you interject weakly. You know she can. Her house, her rules.
âYes, we can. Weâre your parents.â your dad adds, confirming your suspicions. They donât support this. They wonât ever support this. Robin, the love of your life, has to leave. After she did all she could to make a good impression. God, did she try.
âShe didnât do anything wrong.â you cry, hands shaking by your sides. âIf anyoneâs at fault, itâs me. I shouldâve told you. Donât punish her for what I did, please.â
You're begging them now. The last thing you want is for her to take the fall for this.Â
Your mothers eyes soften for a second. Your dads jaw unclenches. For a moment, you think that youâre getting through to them, that they are starting to see from your perspective. But no. Both of their lighter features harden again.
âThis isnât about her.â your mom says, voice low.
You know itâs a lie.
âIâll tell her she needs to go home.â your dad begins, turning to the door. It hurts somewhere deep inside your chest. Somewhere deep inside your fragile chest. Your heart lurches at the thought of him talking to her, his anger looming down on the girl who does nothing but love with her whole heart.
âNo,â you gasp, stopping him in his tracks as you grab his arm. âPlease, Iâll tell her. Let me tell her.â you beg, the tears still soft on your warm cheeks.
He hesitates, a contemplative look on his face. Then, a nod. One, stiff nod.
âFive minutes and I want her out of here and you in your room.â he tells you, stepping away and back down the hall.Â
For some reason, this answer feels like a breath of fresh air. Even though youâre grounded and Robin has to leave, you get to break it to her. She doesnât have to face the hatred burning in your fathers chest.Â
âWeâll discuss this later.â your mother says quietly, the final thought added before she returns to the kitchen.Â
And somehow it hurts worse than anything yelled ever could.
ę§âę§
You didnât have to think about it at all. Not for one second. The door creaks open as you step out into the doorway, not shutting the door just yet.
Cold air rushes past your skin, but it doesnât compare to the way your chest feels. The raw, exposed, and shattered feeling of tightness in your chest.
Robinâs still standing there.
For a second, she looks exactly the same as she did minutes ago. Same posture. Same sweater vest. Same hands shoved nervously into her pockets.
But her smile has changed. It doesnât reach her eyes anymore.
Itâs still there, stretched across her face like sheâs forcing it to stay. Like if she lets it fall, the weight of the situation will come crashing down with it.
âHey.â she says softly, the word sounding awfully large through the silence despite its small structure.
It stutters your breath for a moment.Â
When you gain it back, you take a step down from the doorway, landing on the porch. The door clicks to a close behind you. The tiny sound feels too final for the situation.Â
Robinâs eyes run over your face, the same features she grew familiar with over the years. But the second her retinas land, she catches the tear tracks on the glow of your pink cheeks. Itâs more concerning that you didnât bother to wipe them away than the fact they are there. Her smile falters, just for a second.
âYou okay?â she asks, but her voice suggests that she knows the answer to her own question.
You just shake your head.
And thatâs all it takes to get her moving forward. Not rushing, not dramatic, just moving. Like itâs instinct to her, like another option never crossed her mind.
Her hands find your forearms first, her long fingers warm against your cool skin. Then she pulls you in, gently but firmly, like sheâs afraid the both of you will fall apart right there if not held together by something.Â
Your forehead pressed to hers, heads tipped in towards each other. You can feel her breath, can feel her hands moving to your sides, how her grip tightens slightly when she does so. You can feel the emotion radiating off one body to the other.
âIâm so sorry.â you whisper softly, chest cracked open. Youâre sorry for so much. For being a mess right now, for dragging her into this situation, for not telling your parents the truth. You just donât know how to fix it all.
âNo,â she interjected, shaking her head, soft enough that your foreheads never have to part. âDonât do that.âÂ
âThey hate it. They hate us. They said that youâre not welcome here anymore, and that I'm grounded, and that-â youâre cut off by your own sobs. You have to admit, it makes you feel sort of weak. But you never did have to hide from her.
Her hands come up to cradle your face, thumbs trekking across in slow gentle movements. They push the lingering tears from your warm cheeks, wishing she could brush the sorrow away with them.
âHey,â she murmurs softly, that hint of raspiness in her voice still present. âHey. Look at me.â
You try. You really do try for her.
âPlease?â she whispers, voice breaking. Thereâs a hint of melancholy in her words now, like it hurts her just as badly, if not worse.
The sound gets your chin to lift. Her eyes are glossy now too, but you can tell sheâs holding it in. She knows you need her. Thereâs a small, forced smile in her lips, one that wavers every few seconds.
âYou warned me.â she assures you, brushing your curls out of your face on both sides, fingers tucking the strands behind your ears before returning to their earlier position. âRemember?âÂ
You swallow.
âYou told me it could end badly. You told me they might react like this.â She pulls back to look at you for a moment, both hands still cupping your jaw. Her forehead presses into yours once more, more firmly, as if to ground you further.
âAnd I still came.â she whispers, sounding almost like an accusation. Like she blames herself for your dread, even though this is far from her fault.Â
She lets out this soft sound, somewhere between a sight and a light, humorless laugh. âThatâs on me, okay?â she finishes, voice trembling through the syllables.
You shake your head against hers once more, harder this time, willing her to listen to you. You want her to know this isnât her fault. She didnât cause any of this, never.Â
âNo. Itâs not. I shouldnât have even suggested the idea. I shouldâve-âÂ
She leans back to disconnect the contact of your foreheads, lips leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. Itâs a quick peck, but it stops your rambling.
She kisses you again. This time, itâs on your cheek, lingering a bit longer. It feels sacred, like the press of her lips is the only thing that could tether you to this earth. Then another, right above the corner of your mouth. It pulls a half smile out of you, eyes fixed on hers. Acting on instinct, your hands reach for hers, fingers locking into each other.
You know what your parents would think. How disapproving theyâd be of this. But you canât bring yourself to care, not when Robin is right there in front of you, looking and being the most perfect anyone ever could.
âI wonât blame myself if you donât.â she says gently, a small smile on her lips. âDeal?â her thumbs run over your knuckles, brushing soft lines on your skin.Â
âKay.â you relent, lips trembling. It earns a tiny, sad smile from her.Â
âWeâre supposed to be on the same team.â she adds delicately, her voice cracking higher on the last syllable.
Thatâs when the tears really start to fall.
She doesnât hesitate to pull you closer, wrapping her arms around you fully. Your face sinks into her shoulder, and you feel her chin rest atop your soft head of curls. The embrace is familiar, the warmth and feeling it brings.
One of her gentle hands moves up and down your back, steady and warm.
âI heard some of it.â she admits quietly, like she was too afraid to say it for your own sake. Your body stiffens instantly, thoughts coursing through your veins.Â
What if sheâs upset that you didnât fight hard enough?
What if she agrees with them?
What if-
The tightening of her hold is enough to stop the impending cycle of pondering.
âBut itâs okay,â she rushes to tell you, sensing your worry. âI mean, not okay, but⌠I knew, or you told me, it may happen. And I don't regret coming. Not even a little.âÂ
You lift your head softly from her shoulder, careful, as if you could break something thatâs already so fragile. Your eyes are red rimmed, the mascara you had shakily applied earlier staining the skin under your lashes.
âYou donât?â you question softly, almost as if you canât believe she would want to be here. That this girl would want to endure the worst for you.
She shakes her head softly.
âNo,â she emphasized, a hint of amusement in her voice. Itâs like the very thought makes her want to laugh. âIâd rather be here with you for five minutes like this than nothing at all.â
Her voice was more serious on that last bit, gentle but firm. It makes your heart ache, squeezing her hands tighter. It just hurts you worse.
Why would your parents ever want to ruin this girl? To take away the source of your happiness, split you up when itâs so clear youâre both in love?
âI hate that they said those things. About you.â you admit quietly, voice a little shaky from the previous tears. Itâs truly awful that anyone could ever say something negative about her when all she does is love everything and everyone.Â
Robin shrugs lightly, trying to act casual even though her wavering voice betrays the act. Itâs more so for herself than you. She knows you can see through any mask she puts up.
âIâve been called worse.â she jokes softly, though there isnât any real humor behind it. Just a fact.Â
A frown spreads on your face as you remember why you actually came out on this porch. As you remember that you have to send her away, that you arenât allowed to see her.
âRobin.â
She exhales slowly, leaning forward to the point where your noses brush each other. Itâs light contact, but any was always and still enough to stutter the beat of your heart.
âHey,â she mumbles. âIâm sorry, the joke was stupid.â Her smile slowly fades, becoming just a light curve of her mouth. Sheâs missing your point.
You didnât say her name because of the joke, not at all. You said it because you need to get something off your chest. The very words of your parents that have been weighing you down since they were emitted.
âThey said I canât see you anymore.â you utter, voice impossibly soft and quiet, almost as if saying it too loudly would break something thatâs already teetering on the edge.
It doesnât matter how low it came out, because Robin heard you. She had thought your parents told you that in the house, but chalked it up to paranoia. Now she knows itâs true. Exactly what she feared.
Her eyes soften. You can see the words coursing through her body, you can feel that sheâs thinking. It hits her hard, the idea of never being able to hold you again. Never being able to kiss you or brush your hair out of your eyes. Never being able to comfort you in moments like these or celebrate the highs with you.
She pushes it down.
âWell,â she begins, a little shaky, but itâs still her. Still that sweet, raspy voice youâve grown to love over the years. âthey didnât say anything about phone calls.â she attempts a crooked half smile.
A watery laugh escapes your lips despite the dire situation.Â
Robin smiles more genuinely now, relieved that she could get a laugh out of you. It feels like a victory. A small one, but still an accomplishment.Â
Her hands trail down where they had wrapped around your shoulders, finding your fingers once more. Her thumbs trace slow circles across the backs of your delicate hands, trying anything she can to ground you in this.
âItâs not your fault.â she breathed softly, her voice quieter than earlier. You nod, even though it hurts to do. It still feels like youâre the one to blame for this predicament.
She leans down to press one more soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment in silence.
âI love you.â she speaks, like her chest has been cracked open and the words came straight from her heart. Itâs one of the most genuine statements you've ever heard. From anyone.
It shocks you that someone could love you that much. You used to believe you were impossible to love, that you didnât even deserve it. That in order to be liked, you had to be the most perfect that was possible. Robin showed you that you were worthy of it, that you were meritorious of affection. For that, you owe everything to her.
âI love you too.â you mutter back, heart swelling painfully. The strong love that both of you feel for one another is overwhelming.
She squeezes your hands one last time, as if to memorize every single detail of how they feel in her own. Reluctantly, she steps back. But she doesnât drop your hands.
Not until the very last second does she loosen her grip. Without hers to hold onto, your hands shake by your sides, watching as she retreats.
ę§âę§
Your house is quiet. Too quiet.
Itâs not the soft, comforting quiet. No, itâs the kind of quiet that presses against your ears, heavy and suffocating. The hallway light is off now. Your parentsâ bedroom door is shut. The television downstairs has long been turned off.
Youâre lying in bed, the soft colors of your room swirling in the surrounding. It should be comforting, the familiar warmth. But it isnât. Not when you havenât stopped thinking about her.Â
About her physically, sure. The soft blond lockes of hair that caught the light of the setting sun. The blue of her sweater vest and eyes that matched perfectly. The gentleness of her hands on your body. The curve of her cupid's bow. You could think about her beauty for hours.
But thatâs not whatâs sticking right now.
Whatâs really got you hung up is the way she handled everything tonight. The softness of her voice. How calm she kept. How focused she was on grounding you. How her thumbs brushed the tears off your cheeks. How she kissed your forehead. How she didnât let go until she absolutely had to. She really was perfect.
You try to focus on whatâs around you. The soft patter of rain on your window. The hum of the heater beside your bed. The glow of the bedside lamp with the tiny tulips painted on its shade.
And then thereâs a ringing. The phone.
One ring comes, freezing you in your position. Your heart stutters, caught in your throat. You decide to wait a moment. Maybe itâs not her.
But it rings again.
You get up off your bed this time, walking over to the opposite wall where your pasted phone sits against the baby blue walls. You lift the phone slowly off the wall, almost as if youâre afraid to answer it.
âHello?â you whisper into the transmitter, afraid that any sound too loud would wake your parents. They're just down the hall.
Thereâs a pause over the line, complete silence other than the hum of electricity.
Then comes the sound.
âOkay, good. For a second I wasnât sure you were alive.â the raspy, familiar voice of the girl who was on your porch just hours ago.
You clamp a hand over your mouth to keep the sound of your laugh from echoing down the halls.
âRobin.â you breathe out quietly, voice full of shaky relief. You lean against the wall of your bedroom, sliding down until youâre sitting with your back against it. Your knees are pulled up against your chest, phone cord stretching to where you sit.
âYeah, thatâs me.â she says softly. You can hear her smile through the line.
Her voice sounds closer than it should, like sheâs in the next room over rather than all the way across your town. God, do you wish she was here right now.Â
âDid I wake you up?â she asks, suddenly worried. It is pretty late.
You shake your head even though she canât see you, leaning back until your skull hits the wall with a soft thud.
âNo. I couldnât sleep anyways.â you say, a light smile on your lips. You're glad to be talking to her, even if it is over the phone.
âSame.â she admits immediately, a small silence following. Itâs not an awkward moment. Itâs comfortable. It says more than a lot of words could.
âSo,â Robin starts, breaking the quiet. âon a scale of 1 to âmy parents confiscated my entire existence,â how bad is it?â she says it in that signature teasing tone, the one she uses to lighten a situation.
You have to bite your lip to keep them from parting into a smile.
âIâm grounded until further notice,â you mumble under your breath, afraid that mentioning something related to the topic could alert your parents. Theyâre asleep, so hopefully they stay that way.
âAhh, typical.â she says thoughtfully. Thereâs a lightness in her voice though.
You laugh quietly under your breath, stifling the sound by pressing your face into the fabric of your pajama pants.
âYou arenât taking this one bit seriously.â you say, picking your head back up to speak into the phone once more.Â
âYes I am,â she says quickly, a light sound thatâs halfway between a sigh and a laugh following. âIâm just⌠strategically coping with my humor. You know, since I'm really funny and all.âÂ
Sheâs really good at making you feel better.
You smile even wider, gaze dropping to the floorboards. One hand twirls the cord of your phone gently around your fingers, the other holding it to your ear. Sitting on the cold floor, back against the wall, you feel grounded. Like you couldnât possibly be in the predicament that began earlier.
âAre you okay? Really okay?â you ask her, emphasizing the âreally.â She has a tendency of telling half the truth to avoid your worry. She doesnât ever lie, at least not to you.
She hesitates a second.
Then, âYeah,â she utters. âI mean⌠yeah. Iâm fine.â Her tone of voice suggests the complete opposite of what she told you. Combine that with the hesitation and stutter of her breath, and you are certain that sheâs not alright.
âRobin.â you say, gently but firmly. As if to let her know that youâre there for her, but that she needs to tell the truth. You know better than to let it slide.
âOkay, maybe Iâm a little not fine,â she relents with a sigh, the sound carrying across Hawkins to your receiver. âBut I'm not shocked.â
Your fingers tighten around the handset.
âI hate that they hurt you.â you whisper, referring to your parents. You absolutely loathe how they treated Robin today, how they wouldnât even allow her in the house.
âThey didnât hurt me.â she says gently, and for a second you donât believe it. âThey hurt you. Which is worse.â she finishes, and now you do trust her.Â
Itâs enough to make your chest ache.
Thereâs another pause, shorter than the previous one, still comfortable. She clears her throat dramatically on the other end, apparent that she is about to say something out of the blue.
âAlso,â she starts, her voice already conveying that sheâs holding back a laugh. âYour dad is absolutely terrifying.â
You giggle softly, breathy and quiet.
âRobin.â
âIâm serious! I only saw the guy from outside, but I mean, I have to admit, he made me shake harder than I was already.â she tells you, tone light and airy. Something in the way she says it tells you that itâs the absolute, embarrassing truth.
You bury your face into your knees once more to stifle the soft sounds spewing from your lips. You canât get caught now.Â
âStop,â you start, muffled by the plaid cotton of your pants that cover your knees. âYouâll get me caught, dingus.â
âSorry.â she mutters through her own breathless laughs, a soft thud carrying across the line. âBut I'm already banned from your house. So I might as well leave something behind.â She's joking, but God, do you love it.
Youâre smiling so hard it hurts, cheeks lifting, eyes crinkling in the corners.
âYou know, you looked really pretty tonight.â Robin says suddenly, the truth in her voice thick. It catches you off guard for a moment, the confessions unexpected arrival. It aches somewhere in your chest to hear her compliment you, even after everything she had to endure this afternoon.
âWhat?â you question, voice sort of high pitched in confusion.
âYeah,â she continues softly in a convincing manner. âLike⌠stunningly beautiful. I just didnât want to say anything on the porch because your mother looked like she would legally prosecute me.â
It flusters you for some reason, cheeks heating and flushing a light shade of pink. Itâs not like itâs new, the syllables that spill from her tongue. But every time, it pulls some thread of your heart.
âYou looked really nice too.â you admit quietly, like a sacred confession that canât be spoken too loudly for the fear that itâll ruin something.
âYeah?â she asks.
âYeah,â you nod once more, despite her lack of view. âThe sweater vest brought out your eyes. And your hair was cute. Like always.â
âIâll have you know the second I got home, the sweater vest came off.â she says through a laugh. She never really did like to dress up. You imagine her now, sitting on her bed, phone held to her ear, probably wearing a big t-shirt and sweatpants. Thatâs the Robin you love most. The real, raw, Robin. Your Robin.
âOf course it did. I wouldnât expect any different from you, Robs.â the nickname slips out, rolling off your tongue with ease.
Thereâs a soft silence, broken only by the soft sound of your voice. Less teasing now, more open.
âRobin?â you whisper, as if you're questioning if you should even be speaking in the moment.
âYeah?â her voice comes through, soft and full of question.
âI really, really miss you.â you admit, voice impossibly low, words barely even spoken. But she knows you mean it more than anything else you said tonight. That even though itâs only been a few hours without her, you long to be in her presence again.
âI miss you too.â she says back, and the tone of voice that conveys her happiness isnât hidden in the slightest.
You smile into the darkness of your bedroom, another quiet moment passing through.
âSo hypotheticallyâŚâ she starts, back to that regular voice of hers, the one thatâs full of energy and heavily teasing. It makes you tense, to hear her suddenly switch up.
âHow creaky would your bedroom window be if you were to⌠oh, I donât know. Leave through it..?â she finishes, the last few syllables cracking in a higher pitch.
You blink, biting your lip softly.
âRobin Buckley.â
âWhat? I said hypothetically. Iâm just asking.â She feigns innocence, though nothing about the previous words she had blurted out previously. You can almost see what sheâs doing right now, how her shoulders are lifted in anticipation. You know her.
âHypothetically, theyâd be creaky. Very, very creaky.â You answer, giving into her games.
âOkay, then hypothetically,â she keeps going, smirk evident in her voice. Itâs amusing how good she is at all of this. How she can play a situation so well without even thinking too hard about it. âhow grounded are you?â
âExtremely.â you whisper under your breath, afraid that speaking any louder would cause you to crack and let out a laugh or some strangled sound. You canât risk it.
Thereâs a soft pause on both parties before she breaks it.
âAnd hypothetically, what if we were to ignore that one little obstacle?â she asks, a hint of reluctance in her raspy voice.
Your heart pounds in your chest. You have to bite your lip to keep a look from spreading on your face. She does make a good point. You donât always have to be the rule follower that your parents want. In fact, now that they know your secret, itâs best if you didnât listen to their rules. Youâre done letting them control you.
They canât counteract the chemistry between you and Robin, nor can they undo the destiny.
Robin laughs over the line, shattering the thoughts. âIâm kidding. Mostly. Unless⌠you donât want me to be?â she continues, though thereâs a desperation in her words. Sheâs hoping youâll tell her you want to sneak away from your life. That you want an escape.Â
An escape to her.
âMaybe I will,â you say, no hint of a joke anywhere. You truly do mean it. Youâve been dying to see her, dying to get away from this house that feels like itâs suffocating you.
âYeah?â she asks, almost like she canât believe that you would actually agree to it. That you, whoâs only ever done what would please your parents, is going to sneak out. Especially at night. And especially to go against their wishes and hang out with a girl.
âYeah. See you in 30?â You ask, hopeful she actually wants this. Hopeful she wants you.
âOkay, yeah. See you then, rebel.â she teases. You can hear the faint rustle of sheets and she moves around on her bed, a smile spreading on your face at the nickname.
âIâll see you then.â you reply before hanging up the phone, standing up off the cold floorboards of your room.Â
This is sure to be fun.
ę§âę§
Your heart is still racing as you hang up the phone, gently resting it back on its hook, clicking it into place on the wall. For a moment, you just stand there, breathing in the silence.
Youâre going to see her soon. The thought alone lightens the feeling in your chest.
Itâs sort of hard to believe that youâre sneaking out. Your parents donât ever bother to check your room, so youâre in the clear.
You move quietly across your bedroom, every step calculated. The floorboards creak beneath your feet, but you pause after each one, listening carefully for movement from down the hall.
Nothing.
You slip on a hoodie, tugging it over your head, then grab your sneakers from beside your door. You donât bother with socks. There isnât time. Your fingers fumble slightly as you tie the laces, nerves buzzing through your veins.
You glance at your window. It stares back at you like a challenge.
Carefully, slowly, you slide it open.
The night air rushes in immediately, cool and damp against your skin. The smell of rain hits you all at once. You hadnât realized it was still storming.
You swing one leg over the windowsill, then the other, lowering yourself carefully onto the soft grass below. The ground is wet, your shoes instantly soaking through, but you donât care.
You take off down the street before thereâs time to think twice. You need to see her. The rain isnât gentle at all.
It pours down.
It soaks your hair within seconds, curls plastered against your forehead and cheeks. Your hoodie clings to your skin, heavier as the water seeps deep into the fabric. The streetlights and the satellites blur with the stars as droplets stream across your eyelashes, dropping off and sliding down your cheeks. They mirror the path of your earlier tears that have since dried.
You keep walking though. Why wouldnât you when the girl youâve risked everything for is waiting at the end of the road?
That thought alone is enough to keep you going, to carry your feet all the way across town.
By the time you reach her house, youâre soaked down to the bone. Of course, it was all worth it. Now that youâre here, you canât imagine being anywhere else.
Her porch light is on. You only hesitate a second before telling forward onto her doorstep, knocking softly on the grey-painted wood. It swings open almost immediately, the hinges creaking softly.Â
Robin stands there. Sheâs wearing an oversized, white band t-shirt, the sleeves rolled up slightly. He plaid pajama pants, much like your own, hang low on her hips. Her hair is up in a messy bun, like she had tied it back to prevent her fingers from running through it a million times as she awaited your arrival.
The sight is refreshing.
âOh my God,â she breathes through a tiny laugh, eyes widening as she takes in the sight of you. She canât believe you followed through.
You try to laugh, but it comes out shaky.
âI didnât think youâd actually come here. You snuck out?â she says in disbelief, stepping closer to you, voice somewhere between concern and awe.Â
You shrug, rain dripping from your lashes. âGuess I'm taking a page out of your book. Iâm a ârebelâ now.â It's followed by another shaky giggle, shaking your head softly as the water drips from your curls.
âIt was worth it, though.â you add with a smirk, head tilting to the side.
Something in her expression softens upon hearing your confession, her hands reaching out to hold your wrists. Gently, she pulls you inside the house, door shutting behind the two of you with a click.
Her house is warm. Much warmer than the cool night air that mingles with the piercing rain. Itâs there in the familiar warmth of her home that youâre suddenly aware of how soaked you are.
Water drips from the ends of your hair, down your hoodie, splashing down onto Robins carpet.Â
She stares at you a second, then laughs. A real, raw laugh, the sound that brings a lightness to your chest. Itâs not teasing or loud. Itâs just soft and fond, full of love.Â
âYouâre soaked.â She gets out through her giggles, still holding both your wrists. There's a smile on her lips, light and refreshing. âYouâre dripping all over my floor.â There's no anger in her tone, just a teasing lightness of her voice.
âI noticed that.â You say, letting out a laugh that mirrors her own, though a bit more breathless. You glance down at your clothes, watching the droplets fall over one another to the floor. When you look back up at her, there's something different in her expression. Something new and changed.
Her lips twitch. âYou should probablyâŚâ she gestures vaguely at your hoodie, fingers leaving your wrists. âTake this off.â she fakes innocence in her voice, a small smirk visible on her face. Sheâs good, really good. Your breath stutters.
âBecause,â she rushes to add too quickly, head tilting down. Her eyes donât leave yours though, looking up at you through her lashes. âYouâre going to catch a cold. And that would be bad. Very bad. And extremely medically irresponsible of me to let happen.â She rambles on, hoping that the more she speaks, the more convincing she becomes.
You raise an eyebrow at her in amusement.
âMedically irresponsible?â
âYes,â she nods seriously, like this is the most obvious thing sheâs said all night. âI care about public health, Wheeler. Donât discredit me.â itâs teasingly low, soft, like it's meant only for your ears to hear.
You laugh at her, shaking your head softly, wet curls bouncing from side to side with the motion. Water droplets fling from the strands, spiralling across the room. âSure you do.â That earns a grin from her.
âWell?â she asks, lifting her hands slightly, shoulders scrunching. âUnless you want to walk around soaked like some tragic romance novel character.â In true Robin fashion, she has the most specific jokes. Funny, though. She always manages to make you happier.Â
You hesitate for a moment before slowly pulling your hoodie over your head. Underneath, your loose t-shirt clings to your skin, soaked as well. You drop your hoodie to the ground by her front door, fixing your hair once it's discarded.
Her eyes flick away for half a second before returning to you.Â
âOkay,â she says, voice softer, almost shy. Youâve never heard her this way. âYeah, that one should probably go too.â There she is.
âRobin.â
âIâm just saying,â she says quickly, hands up like she's been caught in crime, defending herself. Her eyes are up now, suddenly interested in the pattern of her ceiling. âHypothetically. From a medical standpoint.â
You laugh again, your cheeks burning. But ultimately, you nod, giving in to her jokes and pulling the t-shirt off. You throw it to where your sweatshirt is placed on the ground, leaving you in only the soft fabric of your bra.
Itâs colder without the covering of the cloth, but you donât mind it. Normally, youâd be shy. Youâd be trying to cover yourself in any way that's possible. But you donât really mind if Robin sees you. She already knows you better than anyone, inside and out. So what can it hurt?Â
She swallows, trying to pretend her eyes arenât actively tracing your every feature.
âIâll get you something to put on,â she says as she disappears down the hallway, not leaving any room for you to say anything. You stand there awkwardly for a moment, crossing your arms over yourself in the absence of her presence. You listen to the soft sounds of the rain, pattering on the glass of the windows and the shingles on the roof.
Her footsteps sound again as she comes back with one of her t-shirts.
Itâs much too big for you, but that was expected. Robin only really wears loose shirts, so you had anticipated the larger size. She hands it to you, fingers brushing your own.
âHereâ she says softly, one hand rubbing the back of her neck while you slip on the shirt. It smells like her. Like her perfume that she's worn the same for years. Like laundry detergent and something warm and familiar that you canât name.
She watches you for a moment, how the fabric hangs loose from your frame. Then, she takes a step closer to you. Her hands lift hesitantly, hovering near your waist like she's asking silently for your permission, head tilted gently.Â
You nod, a smile spreading on your lips.
Her arms wrap instantly around your waist, your body melting at the contact. Your own encircle her neck, having to reach slightly upwards. Your forehead rests in the space between her shoulder and neck, her hands warm and steady on your sides.
âAre you sure that youâre real?â she murmurs into your wet curls, her face pressed into your crown. She plants a kiss to the top of your head, gentle and grounding.
âI think so.â You whisper back, pulling your face out of the crook of her neck, shifting so that your foreheads press together. Her nose brushes yours lightly, and for a moment, you forget everything from earlier. Forget that your parents insist this isnât normal.Â
It feels too right to ever be considered wrong.
âSoâŚâ she begins quietly, her voice low like speaking too loudly or suddenly would break the fragile moment. âWorth it?â a tiny smile forms now.
âYeah.â You reply without a moment's hesitation. Itâs not something that required thought. Not at all. In fact, you cannot think of another place on this earth that youâd rather be right now.
Her smile widens at that, your hands leaving her neck and trailing down to her waist. They find her shirt, fingers curling into the soft, white fabric. For a moment, there arenât any words exchanged between the two of you. It seems like itâs been that way a lot recently, even though you both tend to always have something to talk about.Â
You breathe each other in through the silence until Robin tilts her head in slightly, lips hovering closer to your own. She hesitates a moment, unsure if this is what you want. If this is what she even deserves, after what your parents put you through today.
âIs this okay?â she mutters under her breath, not pressuring you in the slightest. If you were to say no right now, sheâd back up immediately.Â
But you wouldnât say that.
âYes.â You say instantaneously.Â
Her lips meet yours softly, unrushed and slow, full of emotion. Itâs pronounced enough to let you know she's there, but soft enough that she wouldnât break something fragile by accident. Your hands slide up to her shoulders as hers grip your waist more firmly.
It makes the world melt away.
Everything from earlier fades. The rain, the fear, your parents. All that's left is her and the contact, the soft kiss, the grip of her hands that know you inside and out. When you pull away, your foreheads stay together.
Robin exhales a shaky breath, eyes half lidded with a smile.
âOkayâŚâ she whispers, head tilting slightly to the side without breaking the press of your heads.
You smile back at her, teeth showing in amusement. âWhat?â you question her. She just shakes her head lightly, pulling back from your forehead to run her eyes over your face.
âNothing.â she starts, looking down at you. âJust thinking about how great my idea of sneaking you out was.â It earns a laugh from your lips, her smile cracking open. For the first time since your parents yelling, you feel safe.
ę§âę§
It was sort of a blur how you ended up in Robinâs bedroom.Â
One minute, you were standing in the hallway, rain still dripping from your hair, her hands warm on your waist. The next, she was guiding you backward, fingers laced with yours, bumping softly into the edge of her bed.
She laughs quietly when you stumble a little, hands tightening on yours instinctively.Â
âGraceful.â she murmurs, voice low but not quiet. It cracks as she speaks, that raspy tone more present when combined with the shortness of breath from her lips crashing onto yours repeatedly.
âYou love it.â You whisper back to her, head tilting to the side. You know she does.
The bed dips as you sit, and she follows immediately, knees brushing as they land on either side of yours, hands still holding onto you like sheâs afraid youâll disappear if she lets go. The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of a bedside lamp and the faint flashes of the streetlights that shine through the heavy rain.
Everything feels heavy, quiet, charged. Like one wrong move would set something off.
Itâs not awkward. Itâs right.
Full of everything you didnât get to say. Full of everything that you almost lost tonight. Full of the fact that youâre here now, in her presence.
Her eyes flick over your face, slower than before. More intentional. Her thumb traces the line of your jaw gently, like sheâs memorizing you.
âYou okay?â she asks softly, a light smile on her lips that looks like it would disappear if you said no.
You nod. âI am now.â your hands slink around her neck with your words, clasping together behind her. It steadies you and ground her.
Thatâs all it takes.
Her lips meet yours again, slower than before, but deeper this time. Not rushed or frantic, no. Just full. Warm, soft, safe. Everything about it is familiar in just the way you love, perfect in the way she is.
Your hands slide into her hair, fingers brushing the loose strands that escaped her messy bun. She exhales softly into your mouth, one hand moving to your waist, the other resting at your lower back, pulling you closer until thereâs barely any space left between you. Itâs not like there was much before anyways.
The kiss deepens. Not rough, not aggressive, just emotional. Like everything you couldnât say is pouring into the contact instead.
When you break apart for air, her forehead rests on yours. Your breath kindles with hers as you both breathe deeply, faces flushed from the kisses, noses brushing.
âGod,â she whispers, like itâs meant for your ears and your ears only. âI missed you.â it comes out shaky and raw and real.
âWell Iâm here now.â you reply with a cheesy smile, fingers twirling the strands of her hair gently.
Her hands slide down your sides, fingers grazing the hem of your (actually, her,) shirt. She hesitates a second, like sheâs torn between speaking the words that popped into her head or just kissing you again. Her fingers hook into the fabric, and thatâs when she chooses talking.
âI know you just got this on,â she murmurs, voice lifting at the end in that soft, nervous way, âbut would it⌠would it hurt to take it off again?â her tone climbs, like sheâs reluctantly getting the words off her tongue.
Thereâs this tiny, almost shy smile on her lips when she says it. Not confident or cocky. Itâs just the face of a girl whoâs completely lovestruck, hopeful and in need of you.
Your breath catches, pressing your forehead into hers once more.
âOnly if you help me.â you relent, causing her soft breath to stutter into a laugh. She giggled in that unpolished way she always did, half breathy, half raspy, like it was being dragged from somewhere deep inside her chest. She never could contain it. And you loved it.
Her fingers gently pull the shirt up, slowly and carefully, giving you every chance to stop her. You donât.
You lift your arms to let her pull it over your head. Normally, youâd be shy. Youâd be reluctant and trying to hide behind the nearest structure.Â
But itâs just Robin. You know you donât have to hide.
Even though thereâs an absence of clothing now, the room feels instantly warmer. Her eyes run over your frame, not hungrily, though. Like savoring every view. Full of awe more than anything else.
âWow.â she breathes quietly under her breath, like the word slipped out without permission.
You laugh, soft and flustered. âDonât be weird, Robs.â you joke, cheeks heating. She flusters you, even after all this time.Â
And right now, this is when you know. Your parents canât change this. They canât take it away.
They canât change the beat of your heart when she touches you.Â
âIâm always weird.â she utters back in an unserious manner, smiling at the red hues spreading on your cheeks. She kisses you once more, before you even have time to say another word.
This oneâs different. While the ones before were slow, deep, un-rushed and perfect, this one takes all of those components and multiplies them. Everything feels more charged, heavier and more intentional. Itâs perfect.
Her hands find your waist again, holding you like youâre something precious, something fragile. Yours slide over her shoulders, down her arms, pulling her closer.
The bed creaks softly as she shifts, guiding you back until youâre lying against the mattress, her body hovering over yours, not trapping, not heavy. Just there.
You feel safer here than you have in most other places, surrounded by the comforting familiarity of her room and body.
Her lips trail from your mouth to your cheek, sliding down to your jaw, back up to your temple, each and every kiss slower and more deliberate than its predecessor. There's a deep meaning behind every press of your mouths.
âTell me if anything feels too much.â she breathes against your lips, not daring to kiss you again until you agree.
âI will.â you nod softly. âI promise you, I will.âÂ
Thatâs all the confirmation she needs.
She kisses you again, long, slow, emotional. All while sheâs trying to memorize the feeling of you under her hands and body.
The world outside fades away completely.Â
The rain.
Your parents.
The fear.
The yelling.
The grounding.
All of itâs gone.
Thereâs only her.
Her warmth.
Her hands.
Her voice.
Her presence.
Thereâs not really anywhere else youâd rather be right now.
And for a moment, you let yourself believe that this is enough. That this is all youâll ever need. that even without your parents approval, this is the answer.
Robinâs hand finds yours again, fingers intertwining like itâs the most natural thing in the world. Her thumb brushes over your knuckles slowly and she pressed your hands into the bed beneath you, grounding you in the moment. Her forehead rests against yours, noses brushing softly, breaths tangled together.
âYouâre shaking,â she whispers, voice low, gentle. You hadnât noticed, but of course she had.
âIâm not,â you lie quietly, though you can feel the tremble running throughout your frame.Â
Robin doesnât call you out on it. Instead, she shifts to sit up on her knees, her arms wrapping around you again, pulling you up into a seated position as well. You melt into her immediately, your cheek resting against her collarbone. Her heartbeat is steady beneath your ear.
âHey,â she murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. Then another. And another. âYouâre safe here, okay?â itâs as if she sensed what your thoughts were wandering to. She probably did. After all, she does know you. Really know you.
The words settle deep in your chest.
You tilt your head up to look at her, eyes meeting hers in the dim, warm glow of her bedroom. Thereâs something different in her gaze now. Not just love, though there is a lot of it held in her eyes.
Thereâs something more fragile, almost like sheâs afraid. Not for herself, just for this. Just for fear that this could end if the wrong person caught you.
âHey,â you whisper back, lifting your hand to her cheek. Your thumb brushes under her eye gently. âDonât look like that.â
She lets out a quiet, breathy laugh. It sounds the same as it usually would, but it doesnât reach her eyes this time. Her blue irises that would normally light up with mirth now donât have a singular spark.
âIâm just thinking.â she serenely admits, almost like she didnât want to tell you.
âAbout what?âÂ
She hesitates at that. Her eyes part from yours for a moment, head tilting back to gaze at the ceiling. You can see the movement of her throat, how she swallows deeply, gathering every bit of courage she has.
âAbout how mad they looked.â Her eyes drop down again, meeting yours softly. They look a little glossy, not to the point of tears though. It twists something deep in your stomach that sheâs still thinking about it. You donât want her to worry.
For a second, the world rushes back in. Your house. The slammed door. Your motherâs voice. Your fatherâs words.
You swallow hard, just as she had seconds before.
âThey donât matter,â you say, though your voice isnât as steady as you want it to be. You wish you could fake it better, that you could mask it all for her.
Robin studies your face carefully, like sheâs trying to memorize every detail. Then she leans forward again, brushing her lips against yoursâsoft, slow, reassuring.
âIâve decided Iâm done listening to them,â she whispers against your mouth, voice low and teasing. âmainly because I really want to kiss you again.â a quiet laugh bubbles out of her lips, your hands tightening in her shirt.
âOkay⌠then Iâm done too.â you say with a smile, closing the gap between your lips, pressing them together softly.
But even as you say it, something uneasy settles in your chest. Because deep down, you know your parents better than anyone. And they donât let things go that easily. If they caught the two of you⌠you donât even know what would spark.
Robin kisses you again, slower this time, her hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head. The bed shifts slightly beneath you as she leans closer, her warmth surrounding you completely.
It makes you forget again.
Until thereâs a sudden, sharp sound. Not just one sound, three. Like knuckles hitting the solid wood of Robinâs front door.
Knocking, is what it was. It stops your heart.Â
Robin freezes, her body going completely still. Her eyes snap toward the hallway, then back to you. Someone would have had to knock hard to get the sound to carry all the way down her halls to this room.Â
âDid you hear that?â She whispers, head tilted to the side as if she imagined it. She knows she didnât when another, heavier knock sounds.
Your breath catches painfully in your throat. Robin shifts herself off your lap, keeping a hand around your waist.
âUh⌠are you expecting someone?â she murmurs, trying to sound calm, but her voice cracks.
You shake your head slowly. âNo.â Who could possibly be here, at Robinâs house, and especially at this hour. In the pouring rain. The silence that settles over the both of you is unbearable and looming.
Robin swallows, brushing her hair back nervously. âOkay,â she whispers. âOkay, maybe itâs just my neighbor or something. Or Steve. Orââ
âRobin,â you softly interrupt her, a hand placing gently on her arm.Â
Youâre already reaching for the shirt on the bed when she looks at you, your hands shaking as you pull it over your head. Your heart is pounding so loudly youâre convinced she can hear it.
âJust stay here, all right? Iâm sure itâs no one.â you murmur, flashing her a smile that doesnât quite do the job as you stand up from her bed.
âAre you sure? I mean, what if-â she starts, about to ramble nervously again.
âIâve got this, okay? Iâll be back in a second.â you say calmly, even though you can feel your pulse pounding through your entire body. You kiss her temple as she often does to you before walking down her hallway.
Your feet hit the floor delicately, landing yourself in front of her grey door. You reach for the handle to pull it open, reluctantly and carefully. Because deep inside, youâre terrified. You donât know why, but you can feel the shaking of your limbs.
As soon as it opens, your breath disappears.Â
Youâd had thought you were safe earlier, that your parents wouldnât bother to check your room that night. That they never did, so why would they start now?
But they mustâve turned the handle to your door, discovered your absence, and heard the sound of rain too loudly, coming from your open window.
They mustâve known you snuck out that night.
Thatâs the only explanation that could explain how they are on Robin's doorstep in this exact moment.