Archive of Our Own ^beta

Lovers Lake is peaceful. The water is so crystalline and calm that Robin can almost forget they’d all very nearly died under it — that Patrick had. She holds herself half out of the water, arms pillowed on the wooden jetty, and gazes up at Steve. He’s pacing. He started when they arrived and hasn’t stopped since. His hair is a mess, floppy and deflated from running his fingers through it. His eyes are glued to his feet, mole-ridden arms firm against his chest. 

“I’ll be holding your hand the whole time,” Robin says, kicking her feet lazily in the water. 

“Why didn’t we bring floaties?” Steve asks, gnawing at his cuticles. 

He’s clearly terrified. Robin doesn’t need to use their weird twin-flame joint-brain to recognise that. Steve lets his guard down with her completely; she’s the only person he feels one-hundred percent safe with. He’d whispered that to her the summer after the mall fire, little-spooned and small in her arms, despite his almost six-foot frame. His eyes are big pools of muddy brown, swirling with panic. There’s a pinprick of red on his bottom lip where he keeps playing with the chapped skin of his lips. 

“Just dip your toes in,” Robin encourages. “Come on. Sit down, Steve. You’re gonna make me tired.” 

Steve sits. His face is very pale and his mouth even whiter, thin and stretched into a grimace. He sucks in a few short, sharp breaths. Then he shakes his head.

“Can’t do it.” 

His feet are right there so Robin reaches out and wraps her spindly fingers around his left ankle. Steve isn't super tactile by nature, unused to gentle touch and phyiscal proof of love, but Robin and the kids are helping with that. He doesn't flinch anymore. Sometimes he reaches out first. Today, despite his fear, he lets Robin hold him.

“Relax,” Robin murmurs, very carefully guiding his rigid limb towards water. “Trust me, okay? I’m not gonna force you, but you clearly need the help. Come on, sailor.” 

Steve’s eyes bore into hers with laser certainty. His arms are wrapped around himself like it’s the only thing keeping him together. He’s wearing an old swim meet shirt because he hasn’t yet made peace with his demobat scars. Steve hasn’t made peace with a lot of things. Robin gets it. There’s a lot of things she’s struggling with too. None of them are re-emerging aquaphobia, however, so the least she can do is help Steve with his. 

“Trust me,” she repeats, instead of you’re okay, Steve, because Steve can handle a lot of things, but he hasn’t quite figured out how to be comforted. 

When his toes touch water he sucks in a breath so sharply that Robin winces, her own throat aching. He’s all terrified rabbit, eyes wide and unfocused, forehead sweaty, chest frozen before he starts panting. Robin holds his ankle, presses her other hand to his knee. 

“Breathe,” she says. “Just me, Steve. Just me.” 

She gently drags his foot back and forth through the water. It’s not working, so Robin does what she does best. She talks. And talks. And talks. 

Robin’s halfway through describing how her and Erica have been painting mini figurines so that Eddie can pull an extra shift a week at the mechanics when Steve comes back down to Earth. His legs have long stopped shaking, his hands falling from his shirt to the deck. Steve cracks his neck and takes a few breaths. Robin’s polite; she keeps complaining about Eddie’s awful lack of female figurines until Steve drops his other foot into the water. 

“Surprisingly warm, right?” 

“If that’s you trying to hint you peed yourself, Buckley,” Steve starts, tiredly. He dredges up a smile, face softening when Robin drags her nails over his calf. 

“You’re disgusting,” Robin tells him. “I only pee in the shower.”

That sets them off into a peal of giggles. Steve leans forward and brings with him a waft of sunscreen-coconut. Robin loves the smell of his sunscreen — rich, upper-class shit, and aeons better than anything the drug store sells. She’s probably going to burn within the next twenty minutes if she hasn’t already. She’d stupidly assumed Steve would only need a few minutes to hype himself up, but they’ve been dithering around for at least forty. At least Steve looks happier. Still tense in the sweep of his shoulders and his fingers twitch against the wood, but he looks proud of himself.

“Next time we’ll bring floaties. I wanna buy one of those blow-up flamingos.” 

“I want one of the giant ice creams. I could really work on my tan.” 

Robin rolls her eyes. “Adonis Steve is making a comeback, I see.”

Steve grins, pleased. “You calling me a God, Buckley?”

“I’m saying you’re going to get ripped to shreds by a bear.” 

Steve bursts into laughter. He swipes the back of his hand over his forehead and smears the resulting sweat across his shirt. He tips his head back so that his face is pointed towards the sun. Robin lets go of his foot and swims a few feet back.

“I’m gonna dunk my head, I think,” she says, because she’s certain Steve’ll have a heart attack if she disappears. 

Steve doesn’t say anything but he does watch her until she comes back up again, so she figures it was a wise choice.

Lovers Lake is just as peaceful below the surface. Even this close to shore, the water sprawls out endlessly, a blue-black cosmos with hundreds of fish as its stars. Robin watches the light trickle through the surface and dissipate a few metres down. She wonders how they’d all had the nerve to swim down down down to the distant depths, but then, adrenaline is a powerful tool. 

Robin surfaces with a little gasp and shoves wet hair away from her eyes and mouth. Her fingers rub at the permanent ring of discolouration around her left wrist. Vecna left a lot of scars on them, physical and otherwise, and she’s certain it’ll take them a long, long time to heal. But, as Steve bravely wriggles a little closer to the edge, Robin smiles. At least they don’t have to heal alone. 

“Steve!” 

Robin swims back towards the jetty as Steve twists to look over his shoulder.

“Lucas!” And then, eyes wide, “Will? Hey, man.” 

Robin peeks over the edge of the wood and then reaches for the ladder. Steve scrambles out of the water, smearing a sweaty hand against the pink-blue of his boardshorts. He does some complicated jock handshake with Lucas, tugging the kid into a firm hug with far too much backslapping. Robin rolls her eyes. 

“Hey, Mini Byers,” she greets, turning her attention to him.  

Funnily enough, Will’s already staring at her. She tilts her head. Unlike Eleven and Max, Will’s stare isn’t probing. It’s like he’s lost in thought. His eyes are focused on her face, but he’s not really seeing her. His head is so high in the clouds that Robin’s surprised to see his eyes aren’t blue. 

Eventually, Will blinks. 

“I need to talk with you,” he says, and his face goes bright pink. “Sorry, that sounds dramatic.” 

Robin snorts. “I think you’re allowed a little melodrama after everything.” She scoops her towel from where it rests over one of the wooden jetty support beams and tosses it over her shoulders like a cape. Her boardshorts, stolen from Steve, are stuck to her legs and cinched tight around her waist. “I forgot how much I hate wearing wet clothes.” 

Steve breaks away from whatever conversation he’s having with Lucas to say, “I’m not sure you can skinny dip at Lovers Lake.” 

Robin tries to smack him with her towel. “Fuck you,” she says. “If only someone had a pool.”

“You’re not skinny dipping in my pool,” Steve hisses. “My pool is a nudity-free zone!” 

Lucas snorts. “I’ve heard the stories, Steve,” he says, apologetic. “I don’t think that’s true.”

Steve, gobsmacked, whirls on him. “Whose side are you on, Sinclair? See if I ever teach you the epic highs and lows of high school basketball now.” 

“I think I’m off the team, actually,” Lucas hums, consideringly. “Not really sure how it works given everything got cancelled thanks to … well. Anyway, I was thinking I’d try swimming instead this year.”

“Why not join our esteemed lacrosse team?” Robin offers, sardonically. 

Will doesn’t even try to hide his laugh when he says, “Hey Lulu, I think you should try cheerleading.” 

“I think you should get to the point of why we’re here,” Lucas snaps as his cheeks go red. He’s not mad, just mortified, and isn’t that something to consider? 

Robin shakes her head. “Come on, pipsqueak. Lucas and Steve can discuss swim meets and other boring, athletic shit alone. Let’s leave before my brain starts melting from all the meathead jock energy.” She starts along the jetty, gesturing for Will to follow. He does.

They settle halfway down the pier, feet dangling into the water. Will takes his time unlacing his shoes and shoving his socks into their openings. He’s wearing ripped, mid-thigh jorts. He’s got a too-big Aloha shirt on, sky blue with red, green, and yellow hibiscus. It’s probably Argyle’s, or maybe even Jonathan’s. Robin’s tempted to pinch one herself. Finally, he breaks the silence. 

“Hey Robin?” He kicks his feet back and forth in the water, hands folded neatly in his lap. Very quietly, he asks, “How did you come out? What … why did you come out?” 

Robin considers him for a moment. He won’t look at her. He picks at his cuticles and his nails are a chewed mess. His hair has grown out a little, enough that the summer heat curls the back of it. Robin met him when he was thirteen, all knobbly-knees and acne, and now he’s fifteen and as tall as her and his eyes, distant and sad, make him look older. Life hasn’t been kind to any of them, but it’s been particularly bad for Will, she thinks. 

“I didn’t want to hide anymore,” she settles on saying. There are lots of reasons why she came out, but this feels the easiest one to explain. “I thought about all the shit we’d been through, about getting drugged with Steve in the basement of a mall, about watching a giant spider-flesh demon try and kill us all, and about Vecna almost managing it.” 

Will looks at her now, eyes a little desperate. Robin’s a bleeding heart no matter how much she doesn’t want to admit it, and it’s far too easy to reach out and take Will’s hand in her own. His fingers curl around hers so tightly they threaten to pop her knuckles but she doesn’t ask him to relinquish his grip. 

“I thought about how I’ve been through so much bullshit and being a lesbian wasn’t scary anymore. How could I be scared of the irrelevant opinions of equally irrelevant people when I’d pegged a molotov at a hairless ballsack freak in kind-of Hell?” 

“That …” Will’s mouth opens and closes as he searches for something to say. His mouth puckers. His brows furrow together, creasing the lines of his face. “That’s actually … a really good point.” 

Robin snorts. Will turns on her, dragging her hand with him as he starts to gesticulate. His eyes are massive and bright, the line of his shoulders less rigid and the slope of his back straighter, like he’s stopped trying to curl into himself. 

“No, that’s a really good point,” he stresses. “I got possessed, Robin. I had a … monster in my head. I was possessed!” He starts to laugh, pressing a hand over his eyes. His bottom lip wobbles a little. “Why am I scared of this? This is nothing.” 

Robin wriggles in a little closer. “Have you ever said it aloud before?” she asks, gently. “Come on.” 

Will lets go of her hand to bury his face in his palms. “I’m not scared,” he whispers, disbelieving. Robin knows the feeling. “I’m Will and I … I’m gay. I’m gay, Robin.” 

He starts laughing again, giddy and airy. Robin wraps an arm around his shoulders and tilts her head against his. When his shoulders start to shake for a different reason and damp, choked noises start to slip from between his fingers, she doesn’t say anything. She just holds him tighter and watches the ducks swim across a distant patch of lake water. 

Three days later, Steve sits atop the counter at Family Video. This is infuriating because he always bitches and whines when Robin does it, citing something about policy and morals and etiquette. She continues to subtly draw a sharpie dick on the sole of his shoe as revenge, listening to him read the back of some boring VHS tape. 

“Thus, they must band together to escape Hell,” he’s saying when she caps the pen. “Hey, speaking of Hell, something exciting happened last night at Hellfire.”  

Robin tucks the sharpie into her pocket and turns her megawatt smile on Steve. He squints at her suspiciously. His hands start to pat at his pockets like she’s managed to pinch something from under his nose. 

“What was the exciting something?” she asks, innocently.

Steve doesn’t turn off the distrustful stare, but he does answer. He starts tapping the VHS against the flat of his palm. 

“Well, Will came out. Apparently, anyway. I wasn’t exactly there.” Never mind he’s the one hosting because Eddie’s uncle works weird hours and needs a quiet house. “Henderson said there was some big bad guy and Will seduced him and then when Mike was like, ‘oh, but he’s a boy?’ Will was all, ‘yeah, that’s kind of the point’ and then after that… anyway, Dustin was pretty excited about it.” 

Robin grins. “Sick.” She hops up onto the counter, Steve’s arbitrary, hypocritical rules be damned, and wriggles around until she’s comfortable. She sends a container of pens clattering to the floor behind the desk. “That’s one way to do it.”

Steve smiles at her. For once, he doesn’t say anything about her ass on the counter. “I guess the talk went well, then?” 

Here’s something lots of people forget about Steve; he’s not great with books but God if he’s not the most people-smart person she’s ever met. He’s remarkably emotionally intelligent, which is both surprising and not in equal parts. Robin wouldn’t be shocked if Steve had known about Will before her. Her sexuality may have shocked him, but he knew her for a matter of weeks. He’s known Will for years.

“Yeah. I just told him there was no point being scared of some deadbeat’s opinion when we literally kicked interdimensional ass.” 

Steve gives her that gooey smile that betrays he’s thinking all sorts of nice things about her. It gives her hives and makes something in her chest feel fuzzy. Ugh, she hates having Steve as her best friend some days. Why couldn’t she get someone as emotionally incompetent as her? 

“He said you inspired him to be brave,” Steve continues, because he’s determined to make her cry before midday.

Robin buries her face in her hands and groans. “Steve, I’m taking this kid from your custody,” she decides, words almost unintelligible through her hands. Her heart pangs. Bowlcut kid is officially under her wing; no one’s taking him from her now.

Steve reels. “Hey, no way! You already took Erica.”

“Too late, you’re parting with Will too. He needs my mentorship.” 

Steve groans. “No. You can’t steal two of my kids. You don’t even like children!” 

“They’re fifteen. I’m fostering teens at that point,” she says, waving her hand apathetically.  

“You’re so annoying!” 

Robin kicks him. The fliers scatter this time which makes Steve whine and try to shove her off the desk. Robin cackles unrepentantly, almost tumbling sideways as she plants her hand in the wrong spot. Steve saves her and they both freeze, staring at each other with spooked, wide eyes. Then Steve’s mouth twitches and they burst into laughter. 

“Imagine if we fell off the counter and brained ourselves and died,” he crows, hand twisting in Robin’s vest like that’ll do any good if they do plummet.

“Imagine haunting Family Video,” Robin snickers, face-planting his shoulder. 

Robin wonders if one day they will. One day, Keith might snap, sick and tired of how very little work they do, and bludgeon them both to death with something out of the horror section, lack of other staff be damned. Robin imagines dying on the stained carpet of Family Video. She wonders if Keith would let her pick the movie he’d murk her with. She’d want something fun, like Ferris Bueller or Carrie. Steve would probably want some dumb shit like Robin Hood or The Muppet Movie. 

“Oh shit,” Steve says, sliding from the counter with graceful efficiency. “Hey, welcome to — oh, it’s just you. Christ, Wheeler, you gave me a heart attack.” 

Robin unfurls from the counter, unsteady, and lands on her feet with far less finesse than Steve had. Mike Wheeler hovers in the middle of the carpet, shoulders hiked around his ears and hands so deep in his pockets it’s like he’s searching for gold. Robin leans back and folds her arms across her chest. She catalogues how Mike won’t look at either of them and how he keeps wetting his lips, eyes darting all around the store. 

Will came out last night, Steve had said. Will came out and Mike questioned it and now Mike is here and he’s never once rented a movie. So. Robin sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and stares, employing some of that intensity Steve often shudders under. Mike catches her eyes and his face bursts scarlet, eyes turning down like some kind of mortified chihuahua. He looks like one of those Mexican rodent dogs: terrified and a breath off keeling over. 

“Let me guess,” she says, “we need to chat?” 

Steve groans. “Three! Three kids!” He tosses his hands in the air and jabs a finger at the breakroom. “You’ve got twenty minutes. I’ll man the front counter. God knows we’re absolutely swamped with customers.” 

Robin ignores his little breakdown. Her gaze stays trained on Mike who, with Steve’s outburst, sinks even further into himself.

“Come on,” she says, not unkindly. “These conversations are best had in more comfortable environments. There’s a really wonderful couch in the breakroom. Steve and I spent two days deep-cleaning it so now it’s only thirty-percent likely to give you leprosy.” 

Mike doesn’t manage a smile. Robin’s not sure she’s ever actually seen his mouth move in a way that wasn’t shocked, unimpressed, or disapproving. She adds terrified to the list and then resolves to getting him to crack. They make their way to the backroom in silence and Mike lingers like a bad smell near the door. He keeps eyeing it like he might throw it open and sprint for the street.

“Sit down.” 

He doesn’t sit.

“Mike, dude. Sit.”

Mike stares at the carpet and then the couch. “Why don’t you invest in a stool?” he mutters. “What’s that black mark?” 

Robin smoothly drops a feral, raggedy, once-blue now-brown pillow over the spot. 

“There,” she says. “Now sit.”

Mike sits. 

“How did you know you liked girls?” It’s like his ass meets the cushion hard enough to force the words from his mouth.

Robin slumps against the couch. “Oh man,” she says, her sigh so heavy it threatens to leave her winded. “It’s gonna be one of those talks, huh? Okay, think of everything you liked about El.” 

Mike squints. “Um,” he says in that snobbish, arrogant way Robin hates. “I don’t think you’re getting the point. I …” His cheeks burn cherry, leaving a splotchy trail down his neck. “I think I might … I think there's a …” He presses his fingers to his mouth like he can force the words away and curls into himself. 

Robin watches the gangly length of him try and recede into itself. Her heart aches. Unlike Will, Mike is struggling. Will had already come to terms with it all. All his fear stemmed from sharing that part of himself. With Mike, he’s actively rejected it. He’s ashamed. Robin understands that. She understands the sickly-sour feeling of looking at another girl and thinking but I want her. She thinks about Steve and his silly, swooping hair and how she was too busy looking at Tammy Thompson and her hair bobbles to ever pay him attention. She thinks about Chrissy Cunningham and her tiny skirts and Vickie Elwood and her peach-pink lips pursed around her clarinet reed, and she thinks about Nancy Wheeler. She thinks very, very hard about Nancy Wheeler. Sometimes, in fact, it’s hard not to think about Nancy Wheeler.

“Robin?”

Robin blinks. “Yeah?” She drags her mind away from Mike’s sister. “Listen,” she says, after a moment, patting Mike’s shoulder stiltedly. “I can’t tell you if you’re gay. I can’t tell you if you’re straight. Hell, I can’t tell you if you’re something in between. All I can say is: there’s a reason you’re questioning. Think about who or what that reason is.”

Mike sucks his lip into his mouth. He looks like a bird, all pinched and sharp. He rubs at his wrists, nervous, and swallows. He drums his fingers on his knees and plays with his watch and finally takes in a breath.

“I … when you and Will came … came out, it made me think. About things.” He speaks woodenly, awkward. “I … I think I used to …” His throat bobs. Then, like ripping off a bandaid, eyes black and harsh, he spits, “I had a crush on Eddie. Tell anyone and you’re dead.”

Robin sits very still and does her best not to burst into shocked laughter. “You … want to unpack that for me, bud?” 

Mike’s jaw is a tense, sloping line. “No,” he says. “Maybe.” He starts to deflate against the couch, eyes still guarded like he’s expecting someone to slam the door open and spew vitriol all over him. “It’s not like I’m daydreaming about him. He’s too old for me. It’s just … he has … he has very nice hair.” 

He clears his throat, tugging at his own self-consciously, and Robin wonders if, not for the first time, he and Dustin have grown theirs out to match a certain someone. It’s cute. Eddie will be over the moon to know he’s had such an influence. 

“You like his hair?” 

“He’s … I think he’s handsome.” Mike’s face scrunches like he might be sick. He looks a little green. “Can we please stop talking about this? It’s not that I wanna kiss,” he hiccups over the word, “him. I just … it made me realise that maybe straight guys don’t get those kinds of urges.” 

“Don’t look at me. I’m no straight guy. The only urges I get around men are ones riddled with despair and exhaustion.”

Mike’s lips twitch. The rigid cut of his shoulders starts to soften. His eyes aren’t black now, just a deep brown, and they’re warmer than before.

“I’m not a lesbian, I’m not gay, but … I don’t think I’m straight.” 

Robin grins. She reaches a fist out. Mike bumps it, a smile starting to peek out from his guarded exterior.

“Nice,” Robin says. “Welcome to the Fruit Basket. Population: three.” 

Will and Robin get milkshakes on Sunday morning. This is something they do now that they’re both out. Will needs someone who gets it and Robin’s just glad that she’s not alone, even if she knows Mike Wheeler is out there, secretly thinking Eddie’s handsome. It’s a little awkward at first, because Will is younger than her and he’s a boy and he switches between awfully shy and biting in seconds. After a while though, they fall into a comfortable routine. Will becomes something of a little brother, and Robin becomes something of an older sister, and that, apparently, means that she has to shout him his weekly milkshake.

“I just think I’d hate this less if you didn’t get fucking banana-lime,” Robin whispers, kicking his shin beneath the table. “I’m not adding whipped cream; you don’t need to die of heart disease before you’re thirty.”

Will looks up at her with those big, sad cow eyes. “I almost died three times before I was fifteen,” he sighs, morosely. He casts his forlorn gaze to the window, purposefully not blinking so they go all shiny and wet. 

Robin shoves her head into her hands. “Fuck you.” She turns back to the waitress who doesn’t get paid enough and therefore couldn’t care less about their spat, and says, “One banana-lime with whip cream and one chocolate malt, please. Also, a basket of curly fries.” 

“Extra aioli, please,” Will chimes in, angelically. 

“I think Joyce is my favourite Byers,” Robin remarks. She leans back in her seat and splays her hands across the table. “She’s capable, smart, doesn’t use me for my wallet—”

Will throws a salt shaker at her. “Call my mum hot and they’ll never find your body. You’ll wish Vecna succeeded.”

Robin snorts. “Christ,” she mutters, “you’re sort of evil.” Her leg bounces beneath the table, all restless energy. “So, any fun gossip?”

Will shrugs. “No. All our friends are boring.” 

Robin folds her arms across her chest. She finds that hard to believe. A few days ago, Mike had come out to her and then declared he was going to come out to everyone else too. Then he’d gone green and pukey again. Robin had to shove a bin under his head as she reassured him that he didn’t have to come out until he was ready, regardless of how many queer friends he ended up having. She’s not about to tell Will though. Mike might be the kid she knows the least, but she recognises that same lost-hurt-anger that all of them have, and he seems sorely in need of more people in his corner. Robin’s happy to set up camp. 

Will sucks his lip into his mouth. He squints at her. Robin squints back. The waitress slides their milkshakes across the table and leaves them to their showdown. 

“Mike told me something last night.”

Robin slurps at her milkshake. “Really?” she says, slowly, carefully, brow raising. “And pray tell, William, what might that be?” 

Will has cream on his nose. Robin doesn’t tell him. He spends some time guzzling the most foul milkshake flavour on Earth and then leans back in his chair. He muffles a burp into his hand and glances around the relatively empty diner. 

He leans in, gestures for her to copy, and then with a little wriggle of excitement, he says, “He likes girls and boys.”

Robin hides her grin, resting her chin on her palm. She taps her fingers against her mouth and says, “That so?” 

It’s unsurprising that maybe I won’t tell anyone just yet doesn’t apply to Will. It’s sweet. Will is to Mike what Steve is to her. Except … Robin drums her fingers against the table and lets her mind wander. She thinks about how Mike used to bring up Will all the time before the Hopper-Byers moved back to Hawkins; about how his energy is always at its highest the more Will is involved; about how Will coming out had spiked the idea that maybe Mike himself wasn’t straight. Robin contemplates this as she drags her gaze across Will’s pink cheeks. His smile is giddy, eyes bright and glazed. Huh, Robin thinks. Everything starts to slowly click into place.

“He say anything else?”

Will fiddles with his straw. “Apparently Nancy and he talked about it for a few hours beforehand. He was really freaking out, you know?” He laughs quietly, rubbing his nape. His face is marshmallow soft. “Nancy told him it was okay and that he was just a little bit more like her than he thought he was.”

Robin pauses. “As in … him liking boys makes them more similar …?” 

Will tilts his head. “Well, yeah, but also because they’re both bisexual.”

The world ceases spinning. Gravity flees Robin’s stomach, leaving her gut to freefall and her heart to do loop-de-loops and her intestines to twist themselves up. Cars crash and planes plummet and the universe explodes. Robin’s head swims. Nancy Wheeler is bisexual. Nancy Wheeler likes girls. Nancy Wheeler is queer. 

“What?”

“Oh, shit. Oh, you didn’t know— Robin, fuck—”

Robin clears her throat. She feels removed from her body. Both her legs are bouncing now and her fingers are twisting her rings round and round. She sucks her bottom lip in and out of her mouth, uncaring how spit-slicked it ends up. Nancy likes girls and Robin is a girl and Robin likes girls and maybe, just maybe, there’s something there? There’s a chance, at least, no matter how slim, and Robin’s pretty sure she’s going to throw up. 

“Robin—”

“This is fine,” she manages. Her voice is reedy. “Oh man, Will. Don’t even stress.” Her laugh is just shy of maniacal. “My lips are fucking zipped and sealed and, and … and suctioned shut.” Her ribcage is an open door, however, heart hanging out of it and screaming into the void of her chest, we have a chance! 

Will fiddles with a napkin. “Okay,” he says, quietly. “Um,” he sinks a little lower in his seat. 

“It’s fine, seriously, Will. I’m hardly gonna blab or hatecrime her.” 

Will shrugs. “Not the point. I just … I actually thought you already knew. Mike didn’t make it out like it was a secret.”

Robin tips her head. “You know,” she contemplates, “she definitely didn’t tell me ‘cause I’d remember that, but maybe she just assumed I would know? I told her and Steve about gaydars once, so maybe she thought I actually had a functional one.”

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” says Will, flatly. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Robin waves him off. “So, Mike told you he’s bisexual?” 

Will blooms now that the topic is Mike again. Yeah, definitely something there, she thinks with a snort. He pillows his chin on his palm and finishes off the last of his milkshake. 

“I like him.”

Robin has to give him credit, Will is brave. Robin’s never been able to voice her crush on Nancy — though Steve’s picked up on it, which is mortifying — but here’s Will at half eleven on a Sunday in a random diner, spilling his secrets. Robin reaches across the table and offers him her fist.

“No accounting for taste,” she says, as he bumps her, “but I guess Wheeler’s not that bad. He’s got elegant bone structure and nice hair.” 

Will flushes pink. “He’s kind,” he argues. “I mean, okay, he’s sort of arrogant and kind of insensitive, but he’s deeply loyal and caring!” 

“Oh,” Robin coos, “this is so cute. Tell me what else he’s deeply—”

Will kicks her under the table. 

“I want to flirt with him,” he says, face so red Robin starts to worry he might have heatstroke. He’s wearing flannel in the middle of summer, after all, even if the brown and yellow is very flattering on him. “If he likes guys, I might have a chance.”

Robin nods. “Good idea.”

“I might ask Steve for tips, given he’s, well, you know. He’s dated before.”

Robin pauses. “Bad idea. Fucking wretched idea.” She shakes her head. “No. I love Steve. I really do. He’s my other half, but he is not who you want to go to for advice. Do we not remember the torrid ins and outs of King Steve and his Queen?” 

They share an awkward grimace. Robin starts to drum her fingers on the table again. She tugs her legs up beneath her to sit criss-cross applesauce in the booth, knee pressing uncomfortably into the underside of the counter. Her milkshake is going warm, down to its final puddle of chocolate. She slurps it up, scrubs a napkin across her face, and slumps back in her seat.

“Okay, let’s think.” 

Will is brave. Will is brave and open and honest in his desires and he wants to romance Mike because there’s a chance. There is a chance and he’s going to take it, for better or for worse. Robin shoves her pinky in her mouth and bites at the nail. She’s older than Will and the rest of the kids, but there’s a lot to learn from them, sometimes. Dustin’s loyalty, for example, or El’s unwavering belief that there’s good in everyone. Robin takes a deep breath in. From Will, she’s going to learn to be brave. 

“You want to romance a Wheeler? Let me show you the ropes.” 

Will squints. “You want to …” he trails off. Something clicks. His eyes blow wide, caramelised surprise. “Nancy?” he whispers, palms on the table as he nearly launches himself over it. “You and Nancy?”

Robin tries to look apathetic but her gut is churning so badly that she probably just ends up looking gassy. 

“Yeah,” she says, flatly. She reaches over the table to ruffle his hair. “I love you so much,” she croons, “that I wanna be your sister-in-law, Willy!” A beat, then, “Or however the family dynamics would work out.” 

Will’s cheeks are dark red. He’s embarrassed but also pleased. He looks flattered, even. He smacks Robin’s hand away and leans across the table, fiddling with his sleeve. He can't quite hide his beam.

“You’re so obsessed with me,” he sighs. “Wait ‘til Steve finds out you’re planning on marrying his ex.” 

“Hah,” Robin laughs, a touch strangled. “Yeah. Wait ‘til Steve finds out.” 

Steve can never find out. 

Steve finds out. 

“I’m not laughing at you,” he says, face hidden behind a VHS. His voice is suspiciously wobbly and his shoulders are shaking. 

“I don’t have to take this,” Robin huffs. 

She slumps against the shelving behind the counter and spreads her long legs out on the carpet. There’s a thread loose on her jeans. She plays with it and pretends Steve’s crying instead of busting ass over his fucking wreck of a best friend. Robin groans when Steve’s snickering starts to kick up a notch. She buries her face in her hands and presses her lips to one of her rings, black and warm. 

“Whenever you’re finished,” she says. “I would love to take this moment to remind you that you also fumbled your relationship with Nancy.”

“At least I had one,” Steve hums. He drops the VHS and continues counting their new stock. “So, let me get this straight: Will wants to seduce Mike and you chivalrously offered to show him the ropes by hitting on Nancy?” 

Robin squints. “Why aren’t you surprised that Nancy … you know …?” 

Steve gives her an odd look. “I dated her,” he says. “I always wondered if there was something deeper about Barbara.” His eyes dim and go distant. “I don’t think Nancy knew then, but … well.” Steve shrugs. “Sometimes when you realise something big about yourself, a lot of past things make sense.”

Robin blinks. “That’s surprisingly astute of you.” Steve Harrington: perfect hair, great smile, remarkable emotional intelligence. 

“Anyway,” Steve continues, “if you want clarification, why don’t you just ask her what her sexuality is?”

Robin recoils. “Steve, you wouldn’t get it.” She shakes her head and reaches out to pat his knee. He’s wearing mid-thigh shorts today, only slightly longer than his Scoops pants. “You’re not part of the fruit collective. It doesn’t work that way — isn’t so simple.” 

Steve clears his throat. When she looks at him, he’s hunched over the computer and his shoulders are so high that they threaten to swallow up his head. His neck is rapidly going pink, ears burning scarlet. He studiously ignores her beady-eyed gaze as he pretends that Ricky Cornelli’s video rental history is the most interesting thing in the world. 

“Steven.”

Steve sucks in a breath. His head bows. Robin’s got him, hook, line, and sinker. 

“Um,” he says, strangled. “See, the thing is … so, it’s actually kind of funny.” It doesn’t sound like Steve finds it funny. In fact, he sounds like he’s about to be hung at the gallows. “So … about the whole … realising something about yourself that changes your worldview …"

Robin jackknifes. “No.” 

Steve spins on her, eyes wide and confused. “Okay, wasn’t expecting you to be biphobic.” 

“No, fuck off,” Robin continues. “There’s no way we’re having this conversation. I am very happy for you and I’m excited and supportive.” She drags herself upright, accepting Steve’s offered hand. “Here’s the thing though, I know exactly who has caused this revelation, and I want no part in it.” 

Steve yanks her hair. “Shut up,” he hisses, glancing around the store. It’s empty, because it always fucking is, somehow. “As if you can talk! Tammy. Thompson.”

Robin leans in. “Eddie. Munson.” 

Steve looks like he’s about to strangle her. Robin spins away from him and digs her fingers into the bags beneath her eyes. She’d spent the entire night tossing and turning, overwhelmed with her own stupidity. Romancing Nancy Wheeler? Impossible. Robin can barely go three sentences with Nancy without shoving her foot in her mouth. Yes, Nancy makes her feel calmer than any other girl she’s spoken to, but Nancy’s a babe. She’s hot, she’s so very, very hot, and she’s attainable, now. Possibly. This makes for a whirlwind of emotions that catapult around Robin’s brain and wipe out every shred of common sense. 

“You’re not allowed to have a boyfriend before I have a girlfriend.” Robin peeks from between her fingers. “Do you hear me, Harrington?” 

Steve sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. “You’re mean to me,” he says. “It’s not like I stand a chance.” 

Robin’s face goes flatter than Steve’s deflated quiff. Steve blushes pink and struggles to hide a smug smile.

“Okay, fine,” he caves, “I know he’s gay. We’ve started flirting, so he has to know I’m some level of queer too. I’d normally go for it but, well, I don’t deserve him, you know?” 

Another thing about Steve: his awful lack of self-esteem. It’s bizarre given the cocksure attitude that had carried him through most of high school, but Robin guesses that monster hunting and losing everyone’s respect and becoming some nobody stuck in retail hellscape can blast anyone’s self-worth. It’s sad, because Steve’s the best person she’s ever met. Kind, loyal, loving — the kind of loving where he gives and gives and gives and never takes anything for himself. 

Robin hopes that he’ll take the chance on Eddie. She’s seen the way they look at each other. Truthfully, she and Steve have been hurtling towards this conversation for a long time, and it’ll definitely pick up again at the next slumber party, but for now, Steve’s eyes are getting a little too dim and his shoulders a little too tight. 

Robin bumps her hip against his. “Oh, cool. This is a self-esteem thing, not a blatantly obtuse thing,” she says, not unkindly.

Steve’s smile dips a little sour and his eyes go even darker, but he shrugs. “Yeah, but when isn’t it?” He shakes his head like he can dislodge the negativity trapped inside. “Not about me, in any case. Hey, if we’re a fruit basket — banana and bisexual start with B.”

“And lemon and lesbian start with L. What’s your point?” 

“What fruit starts with a G?” 

“Grape,” says Will Byers, who has developed an incredibly light-foot since the Upside Down.

He lingers in front of the counter, arms pillowed across it, and smiles at Robin. There are a few VHS tapes in his hands, but they're electic enough that Robin knows they're only for show. Will's grin widens when Steve honest to God shrieks, his hand over his chest like he’s clutching his mother's stolen pearls. 

“What the fuck?” 

Will waves innocently, eyes big and cow-like. “Hi, Steve.” 

Steve gets shifty-eyed. “Did you … how much did you hear?” 

Will doesn’t lie. “Most of it,” he admits. “Don’t you think it’s funny how there’s six of us? Makes me wonder if anyone else in our group is gay in some way.” He taps his fingers against the counter.

Robin shrugs. “We clump,” she says, and then, “Hey, watcha doing here, anyway?” 

Steve’s also intrigued. All of the kids come in and out of Family Video at their leisure, but Will and Eleven’s visits are scarce. Largely because they’d spent most of the year in Lenora, but also because the two of them don’t like to take up space. Eleven’s gotten better, bolder with Max by her side again. 

Will gestures down at the tapes scattered across the counter. They're returns, she realises. Dustin's returns. Her mouth quirks up into a grin, head already shaking as she scoops the tapes into the returns basket. Dustin's notoriously bad with anything borrowed, and Steve's endlessly wavering the costs to the point where he's at risk of losing it out of his pay. With Will back, the Party are a little more organised and Steve's wallet is about to be less emtpy.

"Dropping these off and maybe renting something fun out for myself," Will says.

Steve gives him an appraising eye. "Lie. You're here for something else. There's no way you're after Ferris Bueller." 

“I have no idea who that is,” Will says, giving Steve an odd look. "Why would I be after him?" 

Steve’s offended. “Listen here,” he says, and then he goes off on some tangent about cinema and character foils and all these fancy terms he’s definitely picked up from Eddie. It's only a little bit endearing.

Robin observes Will in the meantime. It’s rare any of the kids come to Family Video to rent anything, outside of Dustin. Typically, they’re there to annoy both her and Steve. Robin doesn’t mind it; it brings an energy back to her that the ancient, dust-riddled carpet and off-white walls slowly suck away at. It’s also an excellent reminder she’s not alone, and she’s pretty sure that goes doubly-so for Steve. He can whinge all he wants, but Robin catches the way he lights up whenever one of the brood enters. 

“Does this have something to do with yesterday’s conversation?” Robin cuts in.

Will tosses Steve a panicked side-eye. “Um,” he says, carefully.

Steve flaps his hand about. “Don’t stress, Baby Byers. I know all about Robin’s incredible, genius, perfect, absolutely-going-to-go-well plan to seduce Nance.” 

“Steve’s got another banana in the basket,” Robin offers. Will looks even more confused so Robin decides to explain The Eddie Situation later and powers on. “He's in the know and he has full faith in me. What’s up?” 

Will rocks back and forth on his heels. He glances around the store and back at Robin. He avoids Steve’s gaze and purses his lips as he thinks. Robin can see the cogs turning in his head and the indecision that crosses his face before he finally settles on shrugging.

“What’s the plan?” he ends up asking, as blunt as Robin’s come to know him. “Chalkboards full of pick-up lines and practising the arm around shoulder movement?” His words are direct but his tilted head and smile are genuine.

Steve spins away to hide his snicker. He starts slapping stickers onto the tapes and rummaging through their stationary drawer to give them a little space. He’s close enough to listen into the conversation, and he’s a nosy little shit, so Robin knows that’s by choice. She debates asking him to fuck off, knowing as well as he does that she’s an awful flirter and she’s about to embarrass herself, but he’ll only hound her to death later on, so. 

Truthfully, there is no plan. Turns out that spending a few hours spiralling and another couple drawing little R+N s on her notebooks does not make for a good scheme. Steve’s peeking over at her. Will’s waiting with wide eyes that are slowly dimming and that just won’t do. 

“Double date,” Robin  says, like a fucking idiot. “I was planning on calling Nancy after work to see if she and Mike want to hang this weekend on our milkshake date.” 

“A … a double date,” Will echoes.

“It’s a good plan. It means that you can watch in real time as I romance Nancy.” Robin’s hands are all restless movement as she speaks, pacing back and forth across the little strip of carpet. “The diner is a neutral environment, the waitress won’t bother us, and it’s a good way to gauge interest.” 

Will’s only known Robin a few short weeks, and so he has no frame of reference for any of Robin’s relationships, romantic or otherwise. He seems hesitant at first but by the time Robin’s wrapping up her mini pitch, she knows she has him convinced. For better or for worse, she thinks, hysterically.

“Eleven this Sunday,” Will says. “You, me, Nancy and Mike.” 

“Yep,” Robin grins, weakly. “Can’t wait.” 

Will doesn't pick up on her panic. He's already lost in his own head again, eyes distant as he daydreams about Mike. Robin leaves him to it and does her best to sort through the returns. Steve lingers by her shoulder, hip to the counter, with an expression on his face that screams exasperation. He doesn't say anything though, content to just watch her until Will snaps back into himself with the ring of the store bell. Immediately, Steve goes rigid.

"Oh no," he whispers, very quietly. His mouth barely moves. "God, why." 

Will turns to face the door as Eddie waltzes inside. He's wearing a black singlet with an obscenely low neck and jeans with so many holes in them they're almost denim fishnets. His hair is up in a ponytail which Robin knows is going to drive Steve wild and, sure enough, Steve wilts against her with a despairing groan. Will cuts a glance back at the two of them.

"I don't need to rent anything after all," he says, eyes catching Robin's. "My favourite sitcom is playing out in real time." 

Miraculously, Steve doesn't hear. This is probably because he's checking his hair in the reflection of their metal stapler. Eddie hasn't approached the counter yet, lingering over the discounted snack stand they have near the romcoms. Steve smoothes his vest and smacks at his cheeks and Robin watches with amusement as carefully constructed calmness washes over Steve's entire body. 

"Hiya, Stevie," Eddie greets, shoving his shades up into the tangled mess of curls atop his head. "Look at you with your knees out today!" 

"New episode," Will whispers. "Hey, you have any expired popcorn?"

Robin snickers. "Take notes, kid," she says, already settling in for the next ten minutes. "You're about to see what not to do with Mike."

Sunday comes too fast.

Steve drops her at the diner early, muffling a yawn into his arm. It doesn’t matter that it’s ten in the morning, Steve’s a man, and “men need to sleep in longer, trust me. You don’t get it, Rob, but we do.” It’s not true. Robin’s pretty sure Eddie’s never slept a day in his life, given how wired he is. Also, Steve’s full of shit; it’s why his eyes are so brown. Regardless, he’s doing her a favour, so she settles on pinching his cheek and ducking out the Beemer in a flurry of laughter.

That laughter dies the second the diner door swings shut behind her. It’s busier than usual, populated largely by the hungover teens of Hawkins. Robin recognises half the cheer team and a few of the Book Club kids piled alongside the counter. Robin can sympathise; she might have been in bed since nine, but she definitely feels nauseous. A double date with the Wheelers and Will. On the list of bad choices, this is right up there. In fact, it arguably tops. 

Robin slides into the corner booth half-hidden behind a fake pot plant and rummages in her tote for her notebook. This is something no one, not even Steve, can ever see. If she ever dies from more Upside Down drama, it won’t be without setting this book alight first. Robin hunkers down in her seat, sucks a pen cap into her mouth, and cracks open the diary. 

How to Bag A Wheeler:

• Be yourself 
• Flirt 
• Make them laugh!!! 
• They like feeling smart - they are!! - so make sure you hype them
• Be suave. Turn on the charm!!!

Objectively, it’s terrible. Subjectively, even worse. Robin slams her head against the table without much thought which ow, fuck, oh great — that’s definitely going to bruise. Perfect. There’s no way Nancy will resist Robin’s suave effortless charm now. Giant purple-red stamps of idiocy on foreheads are sexy, right? She drags her hands down her cheeks and dry-heaves a rough, agonised, theatrical sob into the cradle of her palms. 

“You’re so dead,” she whispers. “You’re going to crash and burn, Icarus.” 

There’s still forty minutes before anyone else rocks up — the Wheelers, probably, because Nancy loves being early. Surely Robin can salvage this? She looks down at the notepad and sucks her bottom lip into her mouth.

“Okay, let’s unpack this.” 

Feeling better having a plan regarding The Plan, Robin leans back in her chair with a decisive nod. She can be herself. She can’t actually turn that off. Nancy seems to enjoy her rambles, which is a good sign, and often asks a million and one questions that set Robin off on tangents. Today Robin will flip the dynamic. Nancy likes talking about her newspaper and her collection of little pony and horse figurines, and she’s a closeted Metallica fan because she doesn’t want to deal with Eddie’s enthusiasm should he ever find out. 

After Will and Eddie left Family Video, Steve, because he’s not a total ass, had emergency outlined Nancy’s interests in the carpark after their shift. 

“I wrote her love letters,” he’d admitted, ears burning. “She liked them and my cheesy pick-up lines too.” 

Robin’s not so sure about the latter, but hey, maybe Nancy has hidden dimensions? Metallica, and all. 

“She was pretty tactile. She likes having connections with people. Her and Jonathan’s matching scars were romantic to her.” 

“I am not cutting my palm for this girl. I don’t care how much my drool puddles my pillow when I’m dreaming of her.”

“Ew. I love you, but ew.” 

So there’s that, at least. Nancy likes connections. Robin contemplates the many ways they’re linked together with a rising hope. There’s the Upside Down, broadly. There’s faking college personas and running from professors across the uneven fields of Pennhurst and shared, giddy laughter when they finally hit the highway. There are hands clasped for comfort and arms holding each other in the hospital. There’s last-minute sleepovers with Nancy, supporting her through her breakup with Jonathan, and both of their nightmares. 

More recently, there's been weeks of studying for finals together, of running about town with Max and Erica and El, of joint graduation parties and standing a little too close to be casual beneath the blue-white lights of Steve’s backyard. Up until now, Robin had thought that all platonic. In retrospect, she and Nancy have a lot of connections. Maybe they can make more physical ones. Robin's cheeks burn.

Sometimes, she thinks maybe Nancy is her best friend. Steve’s her soulmate, of course, but Steve’s different. Steve’s the other half of her, like twins separated at birth — only Robin baked in the oven a year longer. Nancy is her best friend (but she’s also Steve’s best friend and Robin is both of their best friends, and really, at this point, so is Eddie) — sometimes, Robin thinks about who she was before that Summer at Scoops. She had friends but she didn’t have them. She didn’t have the people she now knows better than herself, that she now knows deep to their individual, complex, wonderful cores.

Nancy's her best friend. She understands her. So, here’s the other thing about Nancy that Robin knows and Steve had mentioned: she likes competency. She likes someone who isn’t a doormat, who knows what they want and is brave enough to go for it. Brave is not a word Robin would use to describe herself, despite everything, but Nancy makes her want to be. Brave. Courageous. Determined. Today she will be.

The seat across from her suddenly fills. Will. Early, twitchy and wide-eyed.

“I know you said things aren’t scary after beating up our collective childhood trauma demon, but I really think I might barf across the table, Robin.” 

Robin slams her notebook shut and sends it careening into her tote within seconds.

“Puke is not part of romance,” she says, flatly. “Throw up and Mini Wheeler is going to offer you a commiserating smile at most.” 

“I want you to know I would laugh if I could. Hey, what are the signs of a heart attack?”

“Jesus,” Robin snorts. “You’re all so fucking dramatic. Why don’t I know anyone level-headed?” 

“I don’t want to hear it from a band kid,” snaps Will, because he’s stressed and a little bit mean sometimes. Robin loves it. No wonder he likes Mike. 

“Blow me,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Listen, game plan. You’re going to be yourself but you’re going to drop little hints. Follow my lead, okay? We’re talking flirting and casual touches and playing it cool.”

The thing about confidence is that you don’t actually have to have any, so long as you’re convincing. This is a game Robin’s used to playing: through high school, through family dinners, through Russian bunkers. She leans back in her seat and smiles. It’s tight, pinched around her eyes, but her posture is lax and that’s what matters. Will sighs heavily and slumps into his chair.

“Yeah, okay. Works for me. Sucks it’s not winter; I could have offered him my jacket or something.”

“That’s an incredibly cheesy move,” Robin says. “Fuck, I wish it was winter too.”

Will’s smile is small and warm. He picks at the chipped varnish of the tabletop and pillows his chin on his palm. 

“Not long now,” he says, glancing up at the clock.

Robin cranes her neck over. Fifteen minutes, she thinks. They’ve got this.

They do not have this. 

Okay, maybe Will’s onto something when he says Robin’s just as dramatic as the rest of them, because things aren’t going terribly. Will and Mike took all of three seconds to settle into a comfortable medium, stooped over the table and whispering and laughing, eyes bright and smiles mischievous. Nancy had greeted Robin with a hug, because that’s what they do now. She sips at her caramel milkshake (with extra whip cream) and regards her brother and Will with a fond smile. 

“There’s nothing wrong with lime-banana,” Will’s claiming, his smile all wobbly as he bites at his bottom lip. He’s trying so hard not to laugh. 

“No,” Mike says, “but there’s something deeply wrong with you for enjoying it. God, Will. You used to be normal. You used to like chocolate. What happened?”

Will giggles. Robin’s heart just about caves in on itself. God, she loves that kid. She’s beginning to understand how Steve had gone from high school superstar to single parent of seven seemingly overnight. She watches Will and Mike for a little longer. Then, Nancy bumps their feet together under the table. She’s wearing her scuffed, white-grey sneakers and mid calf socks with a little heart sewn into the side. 

“They’re sweet,” Nancy mouths, eyes shiny. 

Robin blinks. She glances between Mike and Will and makes a little motion with her hand as if to say, You’re seeing the same thing right? 

“They’d be very happy,” Nancy says, which is all the confirmation Robin needs. 

She muffles her laugh against her palm, angling away from Will who’s seated beside her, so that only Nancy sees her mirth. Of course Nancy knows. Nancy probably knew first. Robin’s heart swells. She bumps her own shoe, combat boot and deep black, against Nancy’s. When their eyes meet, Robin tries to pretend like she’s not drowning in forest oak brown. 

“Robin?” 

Robin scrambles for something to say. She’s being upstaged by a fifteen year old. She drums her fingers on the table, chipped black polish, and lets her eyes linger on Nancy’s top. Forest green, floral, form-fitting and preppy. Sometimes it’s hard to reconcile the badass Nancy of the Upside Down with the soft, girly Nancy of the Rightside Up. Robin loves that Nancy’s just as capable of kicking ass in a skirt as she is pants, and that she refuses to sacrifice her femininity for anything. She’s contradictory and complex and Robin’s so in love with her it drives her crazy.

She loved my pickup lines, the little Steve on her shoulder says. Robin’s heard his lines; they’re a total flop. Still, flirting can’t hurt.

“I like your top, Nance. It’s real cute,” Robin settles on saying, fiddling with her straw. “Green is really pretty on you.” 

Nancy’s mouth pinches into that little bird-like point that only happens when she’s spitting ire or flattered beyond belief. Her eyes gleam and she smoothes her fingers over the collar.

“Oh, it’s new,” she says. “Thanks, Ro.” 

Robin’s pulse jackrabbits the way it always does when Nancy calls her that. She sucks at her strawberry milkshake to wet her sahara-dry mouth. Her blood is thick like syrup in her veins. 

“No worries, Nance,” she manages. “Someone’s gotta make sure you’re getting the compliments you deserve.” 

It takes a lot of strength not to try and drown in her shake. There’s a bathroom at the back of the diner with a window just big enough and low enough down the wall that Robin could make her escape. Above the panic, however, there’s a building sense of pride. Nancy goes pink and that feeling blooms. She made Nancy Wheeler blush.

“Oh,” says Nancy. Her mouth opens and closes, expression wavering. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and says, “You’re sweet, Robin. I like your outfit too. You’re wearing the choker!”

Robin presses her fingers against the necklace absently. Red and gold, thin and completely unlike anything Robin would have picked for herself. It’s perfect, made all the more better that it was a gift from Nancy. 

“Of course I am,” Robin laughs. “I don’t ever take it off. I mean, when I’m showering obviously, or sleeping so I don’t suffocate, but apart from that …” She shrugs and picks at her cuticles. “I really love it.” You. I really love you.

Nancy wriggles in her seat. “Good,” she says, eyes darting to her shake and back up again. “You look … it suits you.” She clears her throat and says, “Ah, so. How is Steve?” 

Robin snorts. “You really wanna talk about Steve?” 

Nancy winces. She looks embarrassed and isn’t that something new? Robin tilts her head, considering, and squints as Nancy plays with her bracelets and adjusts her hair clip and sucks at her bottom lip. These are all indicators of her nerves, Robin realises, but that can’t be right. There’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s just her and Nancy, and Will and Mike getting milkshakes together. Will and Mike who are clearly headed towards something. She and Nancy who … wait. 

“Were you planning on telling me you’re into ladies, Wheeler?” Robin murmurs, chin dropping to palm, something akin to hope starting to settle just below her skin. “Or was I meant to guess?” 

Nancy looks spooked. “What?” She flushes pink and her brows twist. “Sorry, you mean you didn’t know?” She looks genuinely shocked. “Robin,” she laughs, fiddling with one of her hoops, “I told Steve Frenchy was more my type than Danny. You know, when I came into Family Video and dropped off Grease?”

“I thought you were talking about your favourite characters,” says Robin, feeling like an idiot. “Holy fuck. You think Frenchy’s hot?” She leans forward to whisper-shout, eyes blowing wide.

“Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not. I just can’t believe you think Frenchy is hot. So do I!” 

Nancy sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and considers Robin like she’s weighing something up. Her gaze is heady and probing and Robin has a lot to hide but never from Nancy — she’s not even sure she could if she tried — and so she stares straight back, grey-blue to brown, and waits. Finally, Nancy glances away.

“I think Frenchy is sweet, but Rizzo — sure, she doesn’t have a very nice personality, but...” Nancy swallows. She glances at Robin from beneath her lashes. “She wears black and has a killer smokey eye. Turns out I prefer grunge to prep.” 

Robin’s throat bobs. She taps the bottom of her glass, nails clinking against the sides. Frenchy’s a prep, the kind of cutesy that’s exactly Robin’s type. She’s a sucker for soft makeup and pastels and big cow eyes and a goody two-shoes attitude. She’s an even bigger sucker for when the curtained facade flies apart. Rizzo’s more grunge, more punk — as punk as Grease can be, anyway — more masculine. She’s the kind of girl Robin used to look at with wide eyes and think, God, I want to be her. Rizzo is apparently Nancy’s type. 

Surely that’s not a coincidence? 

“Can’t say I relate,” Robin says, carefully. She drags in a deep breath to ground herself. “I like pretty girls. Preppy. Even better if they can handle a gun.” 

She smiles like hasn’t just signed her death warrant, pleasantly surprised at how easy the words had slipped from her. There’s no going back from this, she thinks. Nancy will undoubtedly pick up what Robin’s putting down. She’s too smart not to. Robin knows she’s caught, but what she doesn’t know is if Nancy will let her go. She hopes not. God, she really hopes Nancy wants to keep her. 

Nancy’s winded. Her sharp jaw clenches, eyes so big and round they threaten to pop from her head. “A gun,” she says. Her foot bumps Robin’s very carefully beneath the table. “I like girls who are brave. I like when they … when they’re there, looking out for me, no matter what. When they treat me like anybody else, not like I'm made of glass. When they’re not afraid to tell me when I’m being too prissy.” Nancy’s throat bobs.

Robin’s suddenly very aware this is happening in the booth of a fucking diner with both of their little brothers to the left. Both brothers who are, completely inconspicuously, staring at them. Discreet as they may be, Robin can feel their stares boring into the side of her head.

“Hey Nance, do you wanna maybe go for a drive?”

“We’re good,” Will immediately chimes in. “Mike wants to go to the arcade.” 

Mike opens his mouth and then jolts. “Ow,” he hisses, cutting a glare at Will. His arm moves like he’s rubbing his shin beneath the table. “Yeah,” he sighs. “Will’s right. Can’t wait to go play Pinball. Get outta here and stop cramping my style.”

Will rolls his eyes. “You’re so embarrassing,” he murmurs, face all gooey. 

Mike’s instantly distracted, fingers ghosting Will’s wrist. “Oh, and like you’re not?” he murmurs, equally soft. 

Robin needs to leave before she develops a cavity or before she lunges across the table to press her tongue into Nancy’s perfect, pouty mouth. She cannot anticipate that going well for several reasons. Surprisingly, because Nancy mightn’t want it is very low down the list. 

“Well,” Nancy starts. Her face is salmon pink but the lines of it are determined. When she looks up, Robin feels pinned beneath her stare, butterfly taxidermy on corkboard. “Let’s go for a drive, Ro.” 

Robin plays with the radio while Nancy drives them through Hawkins. The midday sun beats down on them, warm and comfortable, a herald of a hotter summer to come. Robin winds down the window and lets her arm hang, watching her rings glint beneath the light. It’s nice. She and Nancy in comfortable silence, the whistle of wind and croon of Duran Duran between them. 

Nancy hasn’t said anything yet about the blatant somewhat-confession in the diner, or about the way Robin’s pinky brushes hers when Nancy changes gears. Robin hasn’t said anything either, unsure how to broach the subject without simply confessing. Knowing Nancy likes girls makes this easier, Robin thinks. Because yes, Nancy might still reject her, or not be open to something more than a hook-up, but she’s not going to hate Robin. She’s not going to spit vitriol and scrawl slurs across bathroom stall walls or turn all of Robin’s friends against her. 

The safety net of knowing Nancy’s in her life regardless of how this ends — that’s enough for Robin. 

“We’re not going hiking, are we?” Robin asks ten minutes later, Nancy turning them off the main road past the woods. 

Nancy takes a sharp but careful left down a winding dirt track. “No,” she says, dodging a tree branch on the road. “I’m taking you someplace else.” 

Robin fiddles with the hem of her black balloon shorts. “Nice of you to bury me in the forest. You know, if you’re planning on killing me.”

“Ha ha.” Nancy rolls her eyes. “No, I’m …” 

She drums her fingers against the wheel, piano-long and just as nimble. Her nails are perfectly rounded and painted a soft shade of pink. She’s wearing little gold bracelets around her wrist, just as delicate and beautiful as the arm they rest upon. There’s a tiny bruise against her wrist that Robin wants to press her mouth to and deepen, twist into something born of pleasure. 

“You’re…?”

Nancy settles deeper into her seat and points her chin. “I’m taking you someplace Steve used to take me.” 

Robin isn’t the only one good at faking confidence. Nancy’s voice doesn’t waver, but her jaw is wound tight enough that Robin knows she’s nervous. Robin’s head feels full of cotton, drunk off the knowledge Nancy’s taking her to a spot Steve used to take her, to a makeout spot, to a place that she wants to share with Robin — to a place she wants to makeout with Robin in. Maybe. Probably. 

“Nice,” Robin says, because she’s incapable of sex appeal and convinced she’s dreaming. Trying to salvage the moment, because Nancy’s shoulders are still bound tight, she tacks on, “Hopefully you’re aware I don’t have half as much experience as him.” 

Nancy’s throat bobs. “I can teach you,” she says, and now her voice does catch. “I can teach you,” she says, firmer, and the car slows to a stop along gravel. 

They’re not that deep in the woods, but the area is thick with pine, so Robin knows they’ll have time to get themselves rearranged should anyone come. God, Robin really fucking hopes this is going to way she’s banking on it going. Dream or not, this is the best thing to happen to her all year. Fuck, all life. 

Nancy puts the car in park and turns the keys so quickly she threatens to snap them. She drops them into the drink holder and then pushes open her door. Robin clambers out, confused for all of three seconds, before Nancy flings open the back seat and slides in.

“Well?” 

Holy shit. Robin’s knees threaten to buckle. She’s wearing a long-sleeved top with her cleavage fully covered, but she feels more exposed than ever beneath Nancy’s penetrating and expectant stare. Robin swallows around a fat tongue and scrambles into the backseat, barely avoiding braining herself on the car door. Their knees bump together, Nancy’s skirt rumpled and half up her thigh. 

“Nancy,” Robin says. 

Nancy doesn’t move. She’s slumped against the door, head pressed to the window to give Robin some space. Her gaze is dark and heady but she holds herself tense. There’s no smile on her face, just sharp angles and contemplative eyes and the tiny beads of perspiration on her forehead. She’s jumpy. Nervous. That calms Robin. If Nancy Wheeler is brave enough to drag Robin into the backseat of her car at a known hook-up spot, then Robin can be brave enough to make the first move towards getting it. Towards getting Nancy. 

“This isn’t gonna just be a one-time thing, right?” Robin asks, very carefully dropping a hand to Nancy’s thigh. It’s just as warm and smooth as she’d daydreamed about. 

“No,” Nancy says, immediately. She can’t drag her eyes from Robin’s hand. Robin can empathise; she’s finding it hard too. “Not unless you want that?”

“The only thing I want right now is you,” Robin says, which holy fuck, Harrington Charm who? Watch out Stevie, Buckley’s giving you some competition. 

Nancy’s pupils blow wide, threatening to swallow the depths of her beautiful brown eyes. Her tongue, peach-pink and wet, drags across her bottom lip. Her next breath is shakier. Nancy drops a hand atop Robin’s, pressing it firmer into her thigh. Her flesh dimples beneath the touch, pliant and soft. Her other hand cups Robin’s jaw, thumb against chin, fingers to skin and pulse point. Robin’s pretty sure Nancy doesn’t need to feel her pulse to see how fast it is; it pounds through her veins so quickly she’s surprised to see her skin isn’t pulsating with it. 

“C’mere, Ro,” Nancy murmurs, voice husky. 

Robin does as she’s told. She leans in.

Nancy kisses like they have all the time in the world. Long, lingering drags of her lips that stay chaste for all of ten seconds. See, Robin makes a noise like a strangled cat. This must do something for Nancy, because when they draw back for breath, Nancy’s thumb indents Robin’s bottom lip. Nancy swipes her tongue over her own lips and tugs Robin closer. Her breath is a hot puff against Robin's mouth and chin.

Robin fumbles to grip at the headrest of the driver seat, holding herself up from collapsing atop Nancy. Her other hand slips higher up Nancy’s thigh, sinking beneath messy, white fabric. Robin’s on fire, blood like lava in her veins, hands leaving ash trails across Nancy’s skin as she presses up, up, up, firm to the junction of thigh and hip. 

Nancy sucks in a sharp breath. “Robin,” she rasps. Her lashes flutter. Her throat bobs. She moans, high and breathy. 

Robin knows Nancy is capable of near-everything, and she knows Nancy loves to defy expectations. She’s somehow still rocked to her core when Nancy’s thumb leaves her bottom lip and Nancy’s tongue swipes a hot strike over Robin’s mouth instead.

“Fuck,” Robin groans, scarlet-cheeked and spit-slicked. “Nance.” 

Nancy grins, sharp and bright. “You’re gorgeous,” she says, open with her desires, and then her arms snake around Robin’s neck and Robin’s tugged down, down, down, knee either side of Nancy, half-slipping off the seat. Their chests bump, elbows accidentally digging, and Robin almost puts a thigh into Nancy's stomach trying to hook Nancy's legs either side of her waist. 

Through it all, Nancy refuses to let go. She sucks on Robin’s mouth and tongue like gobstopper candy, fingers twisting in Robin’s hair and bruising the freckled skin of her nape and arms and ribs. Her hands never stop mapping the shape of Robin’s body, cataloguing the way she shudders when Nancy’s fingers dip beneath the waist of her pants to dig crescent-moon shapes into her ass. 

“We’re doing this again, right?” Robin asks, managing to drag in a breath. 

Nancy, dissatisfied with Robin’s mouth evading her reach, settles for sucking on Robin’s throat like a vampire. She’s got two fingers hooked in the neck of Robin’s shirt, stretching out the material. Robin doesn’t care. She can steal one of Nancy’s shirts as payback. 

“So often,” Nancy promises. Her eyes are very bright and her smile radiant. “As long as you want, Robin. Anyway you want.”

“What if I want to be yours?" Robin asks, ears burning, throat tight.

Nancy reaches out and swallows Robin’s heart, taking it from the gentle confines of Robin’s mouth, to rest deep in Nancy’s chest, safe against her own. 

“Then you are,” Nancy says. 

And she is.