݁ 𓈒 ཐི 𓉸 𝓢O 𝓖AY. !!
⏜︵ pairing 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 robin buckley x harrington!reader
꒰ 🛼 ꒱ synopsis 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 robin gets steve to do her gay reconnaissance work, which mostly involves him asking questions about movies and boobs and learning nothing useful.
THE THING ABOUT WORKING AT FAMILY VIDEO IS THAT TIME DOESNT PASS SO MUCH AS IT LOOPS.
robin is pretty sure they’ve already had this tuesday. or maybe it was last thursday. or june. or the entire month of march compressed into one purgatory where the carpet smells like popcorn grease and the same three customers keep asking if they have anything new like that’s not the most insulting sentence a video store employee can hear. (they do. it’s called “leaving.”)
she’s behind the counter, leaning on one elbow because if she stands straight for too long her brain starts buzzing. there’s a laminated sign taped to the register that says PLEASE REWIND BEFORE RETURNING and robin reads it every shift like it might suddenly reveal a hidden message. nothing so far.
steve is re-shelving in action, which means he’s putting the same five tapes back in the wrong place with the confidence of a man who has never once read a label in his life. she can hear him muttering to himself—something about Stallone, something about this one goes here, right?—and she doesn’t look because if she looks she’ll have to fix it, and she’s already fixed it three times today.
don’t look, she tells herself again, because the second she looks she’ll clock the mistake and then it’ll itch. alphabetical order is not a suggestion, steve.
the store is quiet enough that every sound feels amplified. the distant whir of the rewinder machine in the corner. steve’s sneakers squeaking every time he pivots, which he does a lot, because he keeps changing his mind about where First Blood belongs. action, steve. it belongs in action. the clue is in the name.
robin leans her hip against the counter and lets her head tip back just enough to stare at the ceiling tiles. one of them has a water stain shaped like florida. or maybe a dog. she’s been trying to decide for weeks. she drums her fingers, then stops because it’s loud. everything is loud when nothing is happening. slow days stretch.
steve wanders back up to the counter empty-handed, like he’s accomplished something. he plants his elbows down and sighs. “okay,” he says. “hypothetically.”
robin doesn’t move her head. “off to a great start, harrington.”
“if someone were looking for, like, a cool action movie—”
“already wrong,” she says. “next.”
“—and they didn’t care about, you know, accuracy—”
“steve.”
“—would it be a crime,” he finishes, “to put Stallone next to Schwarzenegger?”
robin stares and lets the silence do some work.
he frowns. “they’re the same genre.”
“they are different species.”
“you’re being dramatic.”
“i am being correct.”
he decides to laugh, the sound bouncing too loud off the empty aisles, and robin feels that familiar, begrudging fondness settle in her chest. this is the part she doesn’t say out loud: that she doesn’t actually mind fixing his mistakes. he reaches over the counter and taps the bell with one finger. ding. robin jolts. “do not.”
steve, of course, does it again.
she slaps his hand away. “i swear to god, harrington, i will unionize against you.”
he grins, unrepentant, leaning back on his heels like this is exactly the reaction he wanted. “relax. it’s dead in here.” which is true. painfully so. the aisles stretch out in long, empty rows, tapes lined up like they’re waiting for something to happen. the hum of the lights feels louder now, filling the space where people should be. she exhales through her nose and reaches for the returns pile, flipping a case over in her hands. she doesn’t even have to look to know where it goes. she does anyway. steve watches her for a second, then says, “you ever think about how weird it is that this is our lives now?”
“i try not to think, actually.”
“no, like—” he gestures around. “us. here. after… everything.”
she slides the tape into place with a soft click. “if we don’t talk about it,” she says, “it can’t hurt us.”
he gives her a look. she gives him one back. “…that’s not how that works, is it?” he says.
“absolutely not.” she agrees cheerfully.
steve wanders back toward action, muttering to himself again. robin pretends not to notice him immediately undoing the thing she just fixed. her gaze drifts to the front windows. it’s getting darker out. late afternoon bleeding into evening, the sky doing that thing where it can’t decide what color it wants to be. she remembers when nights used to mean parties. bonfires. packed houses where you couldn’t hear yourself think.
she turns her head without meaning to and—
oh. right. harrington. younger harrington.
steve’s little sister by a year, which is deeply unfair because it means you were always right there, adjacent, orbiting the same social solar system but somehow brighter, shinier, better lit. cheer? you bet. grades? good. friends? endless. robin had clocked that immediately. years ago. oh. that kind.
hawkins high still talks about the harringtons. steve, obviously. king steve. hair, smile, legend. but you too. a matched set. popular in that effortless way robin had always suspected was genetic, like you came out of the womb knowing where to stand in a room. you’re wearing a nice outfit, hair pulled back today, a little loose around the face, like you didn’t try very hard and somehow that made it worse. better. whatever. robin looks away too fast. normal. casual. you are a professional adult woman with a nametag.
you step inside with the kind of ease that says you’ve never had to brace yourself for a room in your life. jacket slung over one shoulder, hair slightly wind-messed. familiar, even now. hawkins-famous, even if you pretend not to be. steve lights up instantly. “hey,” he says, already moving toward you. “you’re late.”
“traffic.” you say easily.
robin reaches for a stack of returns and immediately fumbles one. the tape clatters to the floor, loud in the quiet store. steve’s head pops up. “you good?” he calls.
“thriving,” robin says instantly. “living the dream. don’t come over here.” she crouches to pick up the tape, heart doing something deeply unnecessary, and her brain decides now is a great time to remember sophomore year.
she should be used to this by now, you coming in near the end of shifts. sometimes just to go home with steve, sometimes because he told you to come hang out, it’s dead and you actually listened. it’s not new. it’s practically routine. she slides the tape back onto the cart like that solves anything.
back then, it had been the same. steve got the attention. the crowds. the shrieks in the hallway when he flipped his hair like it was an event scheduled on the school calendar. robin had watched all of that from a safe distance, unimpressed in theory, overwhelmed in practice. you were different. quieter. not shy, god no, just selective. you smiled when people talked to you, actually listened, which in high school was basically a superpower. you held doors open, said thank you to teachers, remembered names. there’d been a day in chemistry when someone spilled something acidic and everyone panicked, and you’d just calmly grabbed paper towels like it was no big deal.
every girl she knew had been obsessed with steve. obviously. robin had noticed you. standing just to the side, laughing, letting him take the spotlight without fighting for it. she straightens now, shoving the cart a little too hard toward the returns shelf. her chest feels tight in a way she pretends is posture-related. robin had avoided you back then, a traitorous voice reminds her.
which is true. painfully so.
it had been easier to pretend you didn’t exist than to risk saying something stupid. easier to duck into bathrooms, change routes between classes, busy herself with literally anything else. robin had been very good at strategic avoidance. you hadn’t done anything wrong. you’d been polite. friendly, even, in that effortless harrington way. a nod in the hallway, a smile, a casual “hey.” each one had sent robin’s brain into emergency shutdown.
now, years later, here you are again. you don’t say anything to her. you never do. you and steve always talk, inside jokes, shared history, shorthand robin will never exactly crack. she fills the gaps by busying herself, pretending not to listen while absolutely listening. of course you’re kind, she thinks, watching the way you hand steve a tape instead of tossing it. of course you are. it should be easier by now. she should be immune.
the truth is she never stopped thinking you were cute. never stopped wondering what might’ve happened if she hadn’t turned left every time you turned right. if she’d stayed in the room. if she’d said hi one more time.
okay. enough. moving on.
robin drags a hand down her face and forces herself to look anywhere else. the register. the wall clock that hasn’t worked since reagan’s first term. the “be kind, rewind” sign that feels increasingly passive-aggressive. anything that isn’t you, standing three aisles over, sleeves pushed up, already halfway to doing steve’s job for him. it starts innocently. steve sighs, designed to be noticed. “man,” he says, staring at a stack of returns. “i’ve been on my feet all day.”
you glance at the cart, then at him, unimpressed in a way that suggests lifelong immunity. “i can do it.”
steve brightens immediately. “you sure?”
“yeah.”
“you’re the best.”
just like that, he hands you the stack and peels off like he’s been freed from a curse. robin watches, helpless, as you tuck the tapes against your hip and start sorting them with actual competence. alphabetical. genre-aware. careful. oh my god, she thinks. she’s even good at this.
she makes herself look busy. she fails. her eyes keep drifting back, the way you tilt your head to read the spines, the little hum under your breath, the familiar-but-not voice she remembers from hallways and bleachers and one very specific memory of you laughing during a pep rally while everyone else screamed. steve sidles up to the counter beside her, leaning his elbows down like he owns the place. “slow night.” he says.
“riveting observation.” robin replies, too fast.
he squints at her. “you’re weird.”
“i’m always weird.”
“no, like. weirder.”
she fumbles with the receipt printer. it whines in protest. perfect. “congrats,” she says. “you’ve discovered nuance.”
steve doesn’t buy it. he follows her line of sight, and then—oh. he looks back at her, eyebrows lifting. “is there a reason you’re staring at my sister like she’s about to rob the store?”
“what—i’m not—i wasn’t—”
he considers robins face, assuming she was just being awkward about finding a way to engage like she usually was, and leans forward, trying to be helpful. “you know she’s nice, right?”
yes. obviously. she knew.
“because,” he continues, oblivious or pretending to be, “she’ll just do my job if i ask. it rules.”
robin presses her lips together and nods like this is new information, like steve hasn’t just described the sun as “warm” and expected applause. nice. yeah. nice in the way that makes people instinctively step aside for you. nice in the way that never asks for anything back. nice in the way robin had catalogued, and then very deliberately avoided because it felt safer to admire from a distance. “right,” she says. “i’ll alert the academy.”
steve frowns at her, tilting his head. he’s trying. she can tell. this is him doing that thing where he senses social weirdness and decides the solution is to walk directly into it with confidence. “i just mean—” he gestures toward the aisles, toward you, toward robin’s entire internal collapse. “you could talk to her.”
robin lets out a laugh that is one part humor, one part panic. “oh, i could. sure. huge fan of talking.”
“you talk to me.”
“against my will.”
before he can respond you reappear at the end of the aisle with an empty cart, hands brushing together like you’re dusting off a job well done. steve lights up again immediately. “see?” he says, pointing. “she’s a saint.”
you roll your eyes, fond, and set the cart aside. “i just alphabetized your disaster. you’re welcome.”
“i raised you right.”
“you’re a year older than me.”
“still counts.”
robin watches the exchange, the ease of it. the shorthand. the way you lean in without thinking. family, safe and obvious. then you check your watch. “oh—” you pause. “shit.”
steve looks worried for you. “what?”
“i left my jacket at carol’s. i told her i’d swing back before she leaves.”
steve’s face falls. “now?”
“yeah, i—sorry. i didn’t realize how late it got.” you’re already backing toward the door, apologetic smile in place. you wave. at robin, too, which is unfair. “see you guys.”
then you’re gone, bell chiming, door closing. just like that. steve stands there for a second. two. then his shoulders slump dramatically. “wow.”
robin exhales, like she’s been holding her breath since you walked in. “she forgot something. it happens.”
“she didn’t even hug me.”
“o-kayy.”
“i’m her brother.” he crosses his arms, staring at the door like it betrayed him. “unbelievable. i do everything for her.”
robin bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “you let her do your job.”
“exactly.” he turns to her, still offended. “did you see that? she didn’t even say bye-bye, steve.”
robin nods solemnly. “tragic.” because steve is still looking at her like he expects a trial.
he follows her behind the counter, still muttering. “i mean, not even a wave at me specifically. just—” he gestures vaguely. “general goodwill. like i’m a stranger.”
“maybe she sensed you’d start crying.” robin says, already reaching for the register key.
“i don’t cry.”
“you get glassy.”
“that’s wind.”
there is no wind. they are inside. steve starts pulling down the metal grate with unnecessary force, like the store wronged him tonight. robin counts receipts, the numbers blurring a little because her brain is elsewhere. which is rude. her brain does this a lot. the truth, the annoying truth, is that she really should be used to you showing up by now. this isn’t new. it’s normal. it’s fine. it’s—
(it’s still you.)
she remembers sophomore year. remembers how everyone went insane over steve harrington. meanwhile, robin had noticed you instead. “—and another thing,” steve is saying, dragging her back. “who forgets a jacket in april? it’s not even cold.”
robin hums, nods, stares at the countertop. her mouth opens before her brain can intervene, which is unfortunately on brand. “i used to have a crush on your sister.”
silence. steve freezes mid-motion, one hand still on the grate. slowly, he turns to look at her. “…what.”
robin winces. okay, maybe that was too blunt. “i mean—past tense. very past. ancient history.”
“you had a what.”
she laughs, high and nervous. “okay, hear me out—”
“no,” steve says immediately. “absolutely not.”
“it was high school!”
“that makes it worse.”
“how does that make it worse?”
“you were children!”
“so were you!”
“i was normal.”
“debatable.”
he points at her. “you had a crush. on my sister.”
“had,” she stresses. “past tense. buried. six feet under. with a headstone.”
steve stares at her like she just told him the building is on fire. “why didn’t you say anything?!”
she shrugs, suddenly very interested in the receipt tape. “because i’m me.”
steve rubs his face. “she’s nice.”
“i know.”
“she’s my sister.”
“i know.”
“i will kill people for her.”
“noted.”
he exhales, trying to recalibrate his entire understanding of reality. “you’re serious.”
robin nods, smaller this time. “yeah. i just—” she gestures vaguely, helpless. “missed my window.”
the grate finally hits the floor with a clang. steve leans against the counter, looking at her like he’s seeing her for the first time and hates it. “you’re unbelievable.”
“thank you.”
he shakes his head. “i can’t believe this.” robin exhales, one of those sighs that’s part frustration, part regret, part oh god what am i doing. she watches steve lean back on the counter, arms crossed, chin tilted up like he’s a god surveying his kingdom of videotapes and awkward confessions. “i can’t believe this!” he repeats. he’s exasperated. she can tell he’s thinking about how impossible she is and how much trouble the world must be to put up with her all at once. robin can’t help but admire that. the way he doesn’t hesitate, even when he has no idea what’s going on, he just acts like he does until he figures it out—or until it explodes spectacularly. the harrington confidence is absurdly contagious, even years later.
in all her time with steve, it’s slowly rubbing off on her. robin swallows. “steve,” she blurts, her words spilling faster than she can manage. she hates it, she loves it, she’s trapped between panic and daring. “i need you to find out if your sister likes girls.”
he freezes. she watches the way he blinks, like the concept is bouncing off the walls in his brain. “wait,” he says, incredulous. “what? robin, no—”
“steve,” she interrupts, voice urgent, leaning forward slightly, counting on the quiet store and the looming grate as cover. “i’m serious. i… she’s great. she’s kind. she’s funny. i’ve liked her for a long time, and i lied just now when i said it was past tense.” she bites the inside of her cheek.
he groans dramatically, throwing a hand over his face. “robin. she’s my sister.”
“i know!” robin says quickly. “that’s why you’re perfect for this. you know her better than anyone.”
he peeks through his fingers at her, skepticism and worry warring in his expression. “this is insane. first, i am not getting involved in your… feelings. second, this is my sister. third—what even are you asking me to do?”
“i’m asking you to… casually, find out. no pressure. just pay attention. notice. stuff you’d naturally do. you know, like you always notice.”
he eyes her, but there’s a flicker in his eyes, curiosity. she recognizes that spark. he wants to know, even if his protective instincts are yelling no at a million decibels. “and if she’s not?” he asks carefully, still half in disbelief, still worried about boundaries and fallout.
“then i live with it. move on. stop staring at her like a complete idiot. but if she is…” she trails off, because she can’t finish that thought without admitting more than she wants.
“but—”
“steve.” she leans in again. “you told me once. be brave. go for it. take chances. stop overthinking. this is a chance. you said it. right? so help me.”
his jaw tightens. “robin…” he mumbles again, the way he mumbles when he’s torn between being a best friend and being a brother who’s willing to fight anyone for his sister. he straightens, sighing, hands on the counter. “fine. fine. i’ll… see what I can… notice. subtly.”
if there’s one thing steve harrington has never been good at, it’s subtlety.
the next few days are basically a masterclass in how not to be subtle. he hangs around you more than usual, for reasons he cannot articulate without groaning into his palm. he hovers, he leans casually (or what he thinks is casual) against the counter while you alphabetize his tapes for him, he asks about your coffee preferences like he’s conducting a psychological survey, and he smiles too much at nothing at all.
part of him is revolted, grossed out at the thought of robin liking his sister. his sister. that is a thought that belongs in the dumpster of bad ideas alongside neon parachute pants and his own hair gel inventory. the other part, the responsible, decent, i-trust-you-with-my-life part, is rooting for robin. he wants good things for her. she’s his best friend. if anyone deserves this, it’s her. and you? well, he trusts you too, even if figuring out your romantic preferences is basically rocket science circa 1985.
he has no idea how to approach it. nobody ever talks about this stuff. nobody. “do you like girls?” is not a conversation anyone has unless they are about to get expelled or start a riot. so he improvises. terribly.
on tuesday he tries roundabout methods. “so…… which actress do you think is… hottest?” he asks, leaning against the aisle like he’s discussing nuclear physics.
“uh… hmm. depends.” you say, shrugging, not giving him anything he can work with.
“yeah, but, like, imagine… hypothetical scenario. if you were into, uh, women?” he chokes on the words halfway through, clears his throat. “i mean. not that you are. i’m not assuming. i—never mind.”
robin, standing at the counter pretending to alphabetize sci-fi tapes, stifles a laugh. steve’s teeth grit. he hates this. he feels ridiculous.
on thursday, he tries again, less directly. “so, you been crushing on anyone recently?” he asks while leaning a little too close as you stack carts of returns.
“i… don’t know. not really.” you answer, casually.
“right. cool. no big deal.” he says too fast. he’s thinking, why is this my problem? but he knows the answer: because robin matters, and robin is good, and he wants both of you to be happy.
by friday he’s reduced to absurd stunts. he asks about your favorite pop stars, actresses, female characters in movies, anything that could—maybe—possibly—indicate a preference, all while convincing himself it’s casual. “i mean not that this is a test or anything.” he mutters under his breath, glaring at himself in reflection more than at you. you roll your eyes at some of the dumb hypothetical questions but can’t help noticing his awkward attentiveness.
robin watches all of it from the other side of the counter, thinking damn, he cant do anything right. still, probably the only person in hawkins who could accidentally investigate this without making it weird for everyone. as she watches she can’t help but feel that a dangerous spark of hope that maybe steve’s incompetence at subtlety might actually work in her favor for once. even if it’s not a yes, you like girls, she’ll still have her answer and can decide from there what to do with her feelings.
it’s one of those lazy saturday afternoons. you’re at steve’s place, finally, a normal hangout, no video store, no tapes, no robin. just you, him, and a stack of VHS he dug out of some long-forgotten closet. the blanket is mostly on the floor, snacks are everywhere, and he’s already halfway through a bag of chips, which is apparently a prerequisite for starting a movie. he leans back, tossing a remote onto the cushion. “so,” he starts, voice casual but eyes like he’s about to drop the dumbest thing in the world, “i’m gonna say something.”
you glance at him, unimpressed. the blanket slips a little under you as you shift, knees pulled up. “what do you mean?”
“i mean about—movies. boobs. nudity,” he blurts, waving his hands like he’s conducting an orchestra he’s never practiced with. “sometimes they’re just… there. do you… notice? care? think it’s too much? or… like… okay?”
you blink. he’s leaning forward, elbows on knees, eyes ridiculously intense, like this is a life-or-death question. “uh… i mean,” you start slowly, trying to parse the logic of his brain, “depends on the movie? context matters?”
“right! context,” he says. “exactly. that’s what i mean. like, boobs are nice, obviously—just… part of life. right?”
you shrug, still confused because honestly what even is this conversation. you mean, sure, boobs are nice. everyone knows that. why are you analyzing it on a saturday afternoon? “i mean… yeah. boobs are nice.” you say finally, just to end the weird tangent.
“exactly. right?” steve says, eyes lighting up like you just solved a huge problem. he leans back like he just won a gold medal in subtle psychology, totally missing the fact that all he’s confirmed is that yes, boobs exist, like, everywhere.
a few days later steve is back at the video store with robin hovering nearby. he’s pacing slightly, talking faster than necessary, hands gesturing like he’s delivering a TED talk about espionage or moral philosophy. “okay,” he says, “i tried. i really tried. and… nothing.” he throws his hands up. “she —- she’s… normal. too normal. doesn’t like anyone—i mean, i didn’t see anything. nothing. at all.” robin stares at him, eyebrows high, trying not to laugh at how flustered and dramatic he is.
“so,” she says, voice level, “you’re telling me… what exactly?”
he’s selfishly relieved at the lack of evidence. lack of evidence means no awkward confessions, which means no weird moments, which means no potential disaster involving his best friend and his sister. perfect. zero risk. zero drama. maybe for once, he got something right. there’s no way you liked girls. right?
“look, robin, i’m just saying, i don’t think she—likes girls… like that. not… in that way,” he says, flinging his hands out for emphasis, like the motion alone will somehow clarify the vague, impossible-to-quantify thing he’s talking about. he’s trying to be gentle, like he’s delivering a eulogy for your nonexistent relationship, but also he’s steve harrington so it comes out loud and chaotic.
robin folds her arms, watching him flounder. he’s actually… trying, she thinks, a little grudgingly. it’s sad and infuriating at the same time. she can see how he wants to let her down softly, to avoid her hurting too much, but also, he sucks at this. he’s basically telling her the impossible: that he can know someone’s feelings without anyone actually saying anything. “steve…” she starts, trying to keep her voice calm while her brain is rolling in dramatic disappointment, “you didn’t really find out anything, did you?”
“i did!” he insists. “i observed! subtly! and—nothing! nada! zero. she’s so boring. no… um… no girls-for-her patterns.”
robin can’t help a little laugh, though it’s tight and a little bitter. he really tried. and he failed so spectacularly, she thinks. “so you’re saying she definitely doesn’t like girls?” she prompts, almost dreading the answer, because the combination of steve’s methods and the 80s environment basically guarantees… nothing.
steve frowns. “i mean… she could. maybe. but i didn’t see anything. literally nothing. like, i’d have noticed. probably. hopefully.” he shrugs, looking like he’s just admitted to failing a final. “i tried to be subtle. i don’t know what’s subtle anymore.”
“great job, steve. really scientific. zero conclusions. excellent work.”
“hey,” he says, frowning, “subtle observation takes time. you don’t know what it’s like.”
“oh, i know.” she says, deadpan. she can feel the little spark of hope extinguish slowly, like a candle in a draft. fine. it’s nothing. move on. but she can’t help the small tug at her chest—disappointment doesn’t even begin to cover it.
a few days later it’s near closing time at family video again. the sun is dipping low, brushing the front windows with gold, and you’re there, like usual, stopping by just to hang out with steve, maybe grab a quick movie, maybe sneak a soda from the back. steve is behind the counter, reorganizing some horror section with his trademark nonchalance, tossing tapes without looking, muttering things about Freddy and Jason that you don’t fully hear because your mind is wandering. you perch on the edge of a display, jacket over your shoulder, half-watching him, half-scanning the shelves for any excuse to delay going home.
you end up ducking toward the back, crouching slightly like you’re some kind of amateur ninja trying not to wake the tapes, though honestly steve wouldn’t care if you knocked over the whole store. you’re already halfway to the cooler when you notice movement, and then you see her. robin. sort of stiff, like she’s trying to make herself part of the background. for a second you hesitate, surprised, because you haven’t seen her out in the front at all since you got here, and now she’s here, in the shadows. she freezes a little when she notices you, like you caught her doing something she didn’t want anyone to see. “uh… hey,” you say, tilting your head, trying to keep your voice casual. “what are you doing back here?” she straightens, eyes darting down, and you notice she’s holding something—something she’s clearly trying to hide behind her back. a VHS. you narrow your eyes playfully. “what’s that?”
“n-nothing,” she mutters, a little too fast, shifting her weight like she’s ready to bolt.
you grin, leaning against the shelf, letting the cooler hum between you. “that looks like… definitely something.”
she sighs, shoulders relaxing just a fraction, like she knows she’s caught, but still trying to protect the secret. she holds it a little lower, then reluctantly lets the cover peek out. you blink. the title hits you immediately. Another Country. your brain does a little hiccup, like it’s rewinding a few steps. “oh my god. i love that movie.” the words tumble out before you can stop them, and your voice is way too loud.
robin stiffens again, eyebrows raising, clearly not expecting that reaction. she flushes slightly, tugging the VHS closer. “i—uh, it’s… a good movie. thought i’d watch it again.” she glances at you, expression tight, trying to hide something—something bigger than just the movie. you notice the way she holds it a little defensively, but you also notice the spark of something else. maybe pride. maybe nervous excitement. you can’t tell yet, but it’s there. “thanks,” she says finally, her voice quieter now, but a little easier. “i didn’t think anyone else—” she cuts herself off, like she almost said something she shouldn’t have.
“i mean,” she starts, voice a little faster than usual, words spilling out before she can stop herself, “it’s just… god, the tension! the way they’re all delicate and cautious with each other, and the—i don’t know—the kind of unspoken… longing? it’s insane! and the music, oh my god, the music is like—perfect! and the costumes! it’s so restrained, but the emotions are everywhere if you know how to look! and the lighting! the lighting alone, i mean, c’mon, you can’t —- i just love how it captures… everything.” she notices how your eyes are wide, genuinely following, and she keeps going, because it feels like she can. “and that scene by the river? the one where he—well, you know!—oh man, it’s so heartbreaking and beautiful, and every time i watch it, it’s like…” she trails off, hands flailing a little, laughing softly, embarrassed at her own enthusiasm.
she catches herself, a little. a flicker of self-consciousness—she’s rambling. she’s always been a talker when she’s nervous or excited, a fact she’s never quite fixed. but you’re laughing, animated, and you’re talking back, your voice full of the same spark, analyzing the subtle glances and gestures and stupidly clever lines she never thought anyone would notice.
“exactly!” she blurts, her voice bouncing with relief and surprise. for a moment, robin forgets about the missed chance, the months of thinking about what could have been, the distance she’s always tried to maintain. this is enough, she tells herself, the way you’re here, talking, laughing, your eyes bright, and—shit—the way she can’t look away.
for a second, she just exists there with you. the muffled thump of steve dropping tapes somewhere out front, the way the light flickers like it’s thinking about giving up. you’re smiling at her, actually smiling, not the polite harrington-social smile, but the kind that means you’re engaged, interested, present, and it knocks the wind out of her a little. don’t make it weird. don’t make it weird. do not make it weird.
she clears her throat, adjusts her grip on the VHS like it’s doing something useful. “i mean—” she starts, then stops, then tries again, because words are suddenly very slippery. “i don’t really know anyone else who… likes that kind of movie. like. that movie specifically. or, uh. movies like that.” brilliant. vague. professional. you tilt your head, curious, and robin’s brain goes oh no, abort, but she keeps going anyway, because stopping now would be worse. “would you maybe wanna—totally no pressure—” she gestures between the tape and you, then herself, “…watch something together? sometime?”
words arranged carefully enough to give her plausible deniability for the rest of her life if this goes south. she rushes to fill the silence, because of course she does. “i mean, not this one necessarily! we could do something less… intense. or more intense. or stupid. like something with explosions. or terrible acting. i’m very flexible.” she winces. why can’t she stop talking.
her heart is doing that thing where it feels like it’s sprinting in place, and she suddenly becomes very aware of how close you’re standing. how she can smell your shampoo. how she’s never, in all the years she’s known of you, actually been this close to you without steve acting as a human buffer.
she risks a glance up at your face, trying to read it. please don’t look confused. please don’t look weirded out. neutral is fine. neutral is great. she holds her breath, because now she’s actually standing here, waiting for an answer, and please don’t ruin it, robin. don’t ruin it.
you blink once, then again. there’s that pause where people do the thing in movies—the one where the character has a sudden epiphany—and she feels it radiate off you in a tiny shift. oh. and then it all clicks. steve. the incessant, fumbling questions. the half-convincing “context matters” debates about boobs and girls. the awkward little tests you thought were ridiculous at the time. suddenly, it’s not ridiculous at all. it’s a breadcrumb trail, and you’ve followed it perfectly, and she’s just standing there, dumbstruck.
your lips twitch, the faintest, sly little curl, the one that says i know exactly what i’m doing and also i’m not telling you how much fun i’m having with this. she swallows and realizes she’s holding the VHS like it’s a lifeline. “it’s a date.” you say finally, soft, but firm.
robin freezes. her brain is trying to parse three hundred different ways this could be a lie or a trap, and simultaneously, she’s panicking because holy shit, do you mean it the way she thinks you mean it? “it is?”
you give that shy-sly smile again, one eyebrow lifting just a little, and it’s enough to make her knees weak. “yeah,” you add, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “it is.”
she blinks, heart hammering, hands gripping the tape so hard it’s probably leaving imprints. her thoughts are like someone dumped a bucket of glitter into a blender and turned it on. i am so gay right now. so gay. so completely gay.
you start to leave the room, casually, like you just said it to close a conversation about which movie to watch first. you’re not running; you’re not skipping; you’re walking in that ridiculously effortless way that makes everything you do look planned but somehow carefree. robin’s eyes follow every step, she wants to say something, anything, but all she can manage is a strangled little laugh that sounds like it belongs more in a silent movie than real life. “wow,” she finally whispers to herself. “wow. wow. wow.”
robin blinks, then blinks again, then realizes she’s been holding the VHS like a weird, protective talisman while her brain is running an entire interpretive dance of emotions, none of which have names that make sense outside of her own head. she lets out a laugh, the kind that sounds like someone just tickled her with a feather, and immediately slaps a hand over her mouth because yes. yes, definitely too loud.
she’s practically vibrating, a happy electricity zipping through her. she’s walking toward the front of the store, still clutching the movie, thinking about your smile, the way you said it’s a date like it was nothing, like it was obvious, like it was exactly what she’s wanted for years without admitting it to anyone—least of all herself. i am so gay, she thinks, because no other words could possibly capture this mixture of relief, disbelief, and joy. so gay. so gay. so completely gay.
when she steps out into the front, blinking against the late sun filtering through the display windows. you’re gone. vanished, leaving only the memory of that sly smile. steve, of course, is there, leaning against the counter, trying to look casual but failing miserably. his eyes flick to robin, and something about the way her shoulders are raised, hands clutching the tape like a victory flag, tips him off. “why did my sister look so happy just now?” he asks slowly, suspiciously. he’s trying to read her, and he never reads people this carefully unless he thinks the world is about to end, so robin knows she has him exactly where she wants.
she swallows, trying not to squeal, and says with all the calm of someone who is very, very not calm inside: “guess who has a date?”
steve freezes, eyes go wide, brain registers, then sputters, then does that weird little stammering flip where he doesn’t know whether to be horrified, confused, or slightly impressed. “who—wait—your—what—robin—no, what do you mean—?”
she grins like she’s just pulled off the world’s smallest heist, eyes twinkling with dangerous delight. “me. and your sister. that’s right, harrington. i’m gonna do gay stuff with her.” steve literally chokes on the word stuff, which makes robin snicker. she’s pacing slightly now, in that overexcited, can’t-stand-still way people do when they’re about to explode with happiness, waving the tape like a victorious flag. “don’t worry. i mean, it’s very consensual. but mostly… very gay.”
steve is frozen, blinking, trying to piece together whether he should throw a fist, call her a menace, or cheer her on. it’s all happening too fast, his brain juggling best-friend-over-lover-of-his-sister logic. “robin,” he finally croaks, voice somewhere between horror and admiration, “you—you’re—i don’t even know whether to… congratulate you or be—like—disgusted? or—what?”
robin just laughs, tossing the tape on the counter like she’s conquered everest. “choose both,” she says, spinning on her heel dramatically, and marches toward the door, arms flailing slightly in celebration. “but mostly—congratulations are in order, steve! your sister’s mine! gay rights! gay everything!”
robin spins once more, grinning, totally, irredeemably, completely happy, and for the first time ever family video feels like it might actually be magical.
STARTED 12.16.2025. POSTED 12.16.2025.
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