Archive of Our Own

Robin was awake.

She shouldn’t be awake. But she was, courtesy of a certain dark wizard who happened to be infesting her dreams. Even the ones that started good always morphed into something horrific by the end, Vecna standing over the carnage (friends, teachers, relatives with their eyes crushed into bloody puddles of nothing) and laughing triumphantly. 

Foolish girl, he would cackle down at her, the speech changing only slightly for every new nightmare. Foolish girl and her foolish friends who truly believe I am gone. I will persist for years to come, watching from the place you call the Upside Down. Watching from inside your crowded, tormented minds. I am eternal, he would say, smiling that bloodstained, ripped-flesh smile. 

And then Robin would wake up, sweaty and clammy and wishing she had never agreed to help Steve Harrington translate a secret Russian communication last summer. 

She sat up from her spot near the end of Eddie’s too-small bed where he and Steve were currently cuddling , limbs tangled awkwardly like their bodies had somehow magnetized together in sleep. She couldn’t see much of Steve’s face from where it was buried in Eddie’s neck, but the steady line of his spine that moved up and down as he snored made her grateful that at least someone at this sleepover wasn’t suffering from Vecna-themed night terrors. 

Robin paused at the foot of the bed as she stretched, bones cracking and popping in a way that was slightly concerning for someone her age. Looking back at her snoring friends, she didn’t know whether to swoon or gag at how natural the two of them looked sleeping like this. In a different world, or perhaps just a different time, she could see Eddie and Steve making a pretty cute couple. Steve was a little squarish, a little preppy for what she imagined Eddie’s usual crowd of suitors looked like, but he surprised her everyday. Plus, befriending a geeky band kid like herself had rounded him out substantially; Robin admitted this with a strange sense of pride. Who knew she’d be the one to turn King Steve over to the dark side? 

Her heart rate jumped slightly as she noticed Eddie’s lips were moving in the dark, mumbling sleepy gibberish into the tepid air of his bedroom. He was saying something about… “ steep ”? 

Oh. He was talking about Steve in his sleep. 

Robin’s face crinkled into a queasy grimace. He was talking about Steve in his sleep . 

She turned towards the door, mentally walking herself through her post-nightmare routine in which she typically takes a lap, grabs some water, gets some fresh air if it's available, and then tries to go back to sleep. 

Hand on the knob, she paused before turning it and looked back at the blurry, conjoined figure of Eddie and Steve on the bed. An urgent voice in her head screamed out through the sleepy fog that had settled over her brain to tell her that something (someone) was missing. 

Nancy.

More than fully awake now, Robin retraced the entire night in her mind, remembering how much she had been psyching herself out about sharing a bed with Nancy Wheeler, remembering the pajama set she had changed into that looked like it would be impossibly soft underneath Robin’s fingertips. Yeah. She had definitely fallen asleep with everyone else. So where the hell was she?

About a million horrible scenarios rushed through her mind instantaneously. She was going to walk into Eddie’s living room and find Nancy on the floor, bones twisted and cracked, mouth agape in rigor mortis. She was going to wake up Steve and Eddie with her screams of horror, and feel her knees hit the ground wishing it was her instead of Nancy.

None of this was fair.

Why on Earth wasn’t Nancy in bed? What could she possibly be doing? She held an ear to the door, praying to any god that might be listening that she was just in the bathroom or puttering around in the kitchen, looking for a midnight snack. Sound travelled impressively in Eddie’s modestly sized trailer. If Nancy was out there, she’d know. 

Robin heard nothing but the silent sounds of nighttime. Cold prickles of panic danced up her arms as she began to pace, walking in a circle before taking a deep breath and making up her mind. 

Just open the door, Robin. Just… go on out there. Vecna’s dead. Dreams are just that– dreams. Not real. Not transferrable to this mortal plane in any capacity. Just go. Nancy’s fine , she told herself. Nancy is alive. 

With a commendable amount of willpower, Robin forced her legs to move from where they had affixed themselves to Eddie’s knotty, thin carpeting. She was doing it. She was walking out of the bedroom, and she was doing it right now. She turned the doorknob, flinging the door open as silently as her jerky limbs would allow. 

She turned the corner and walked right smack into Nancy Wheeler. 

Nancy gasped, “Robin!” whisper-shouting in surprise at the same time that Robin quietly exclaimed, “Nancy!” 

Relief crashed against Robin’s ribcage as she stared into Nancy’s huge, mousy eyes that seemed even brighter in the muted moonlight coming from Eddie’s bedroom. Dear God. Robin’s chest heaved as she caught her breath that she hadn’t realized had been sawing in and out of her lungs.  

The widened quality of Nancy’s eyes immediately shifted into something closer to a glare as her eyebrows drew themselves down. “You scared the shit out of me,” Nancy scolded, sounding just as breathless as Robin felt.

“Nance,” Robin breathed out in a winded exhale. She leaned back against the doorframe, a hand flying to her chest to steady her pounding heart. “Shit.”

Robin watched Nancy blink at her several times, seeming to take note of her heavy breaths, her usual frazzled demeanor that had cranked itself up to the nines. The scowl dropped off of her face. “Are– are you okay?” she asked, sounding devastatingly sincere.

Robin swallowed thickly, running a hand through her hair as her breathing started to even out. “I… yeah. Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” She shifted from foot to foot and stood up a little straighter, attempting to ground herself. Calm down. She’s fine. She’s right in front of you, breathing and talking. 

“Okay…” Nancy replied, syllables stretching in a manner that generally spoke to being completely unconvinced. “Are you sure? Want me to get you a glass of water or something?” 

Robin sighed, deflating slightly against the doorframe. Lying about her nightmares to her parents was one thing. Lying about them to someone who was frequently featured as a victim in the offending nightmares was another, much more impossible thing. Eventually, she said, “Water sounds great.” 

——

A couple moments later, Robin was leaning against the kitchen counter, her thirst decidedly quenched after downing a third glass of water. Nancy hadn’t questioned the robotic, practiced way she had gone to the cupboard of a house that wasn’t hers and pulled out a plastic cup emblazoned with a faded Daytona 500 logo like she’d done it hundreds of times. She hadn’t questioned much of anything, actually. Just quietly followed Robin to the kitchen and stood there, watching her warily for a moment before turning away to face Eddie’s living room. 

She stood silently on the barrier between the two rooms, socked feet bridging over the line where tile became carpet. Robin regarded her for a beat after she had placed the cup she had used in the sink as quietly as possible. It took her a second before she realized what exactly had caught Nancy in such a trance. 

It was impossible to miss, really. The massive, blackened eyesore on the ceiling of Eddie’s living room that his uncle had tried and failed to patch up with plaster. The tacky, white material had ended up just crumbling to the floor only a couple days after it was applied. Robin’s heart strained in her chest as she imagined poor old Wayne Munson climbing up a foldable ladder with a bucket of plaster between his arms, hopeful for something that would at least make the trauma of five months ago easier to pass off as water damage. 

He didn’t ask for this. None of them did. 

Chrissy Cunningham had gone from a blend-into-the-background varsity cheerleader to a cautionary tale on this very ceiling. From a normal, bubbly Hawkins local to a government conspiracy. 

Robin's stomach turned over. She was starting to understand why Nancy was so transfixed, standing here like this. She craned her neck slightly to look at her face, watching intently as the crease deepened between her brows, as the look in her eye skipped from contemplative to fearful in just a handful of fluttery blinks. 

She snapped out of her own stupor at the sound of Nancy shuddering. She rubbed her arms up and down and walked two brisk steps back into the kitchen. It was by no means cold in the Munson trailer, considering they were nearly halfway through August, some of the heat from this past summer lingering in the air. Robin’s hands itched with the urge to reach out and pull Nancy into a hug. 

“Are you hungry?” Nancy asked, already opening the fridge. “I’m hungry.”

Robin frowned thoughtfully. “I mean… sure.” She shrugged. “I was gonna head back to bed in a second, but I’m sure I’ll sleep better with something in my system. I don’t even remember if I ate anything today or n–“

“Brownies,” Nancy announced, cutting her off. “Perfect.” She pulled a container of brownies from one of the shelves and bumped the door shut with her hip. The tupperware was well-loved and scribbled on with bold, slanted handwriting: EDDIE’S MITTS ONLY!

Robin closed her mouth, feeling her cheeks heat up slightly. She had been well on her way into rambling territory. Brownies actually did sound perfect, though. So she leaned against the counter to watch as Nancy scampered between the cabinets, fetching two napkins and two plates to place the brownies on. 

A warm, dangerous feeling worked its way up from Robin’s toes to her sternum as she realized Nancy had gotten an extra plate for her without even asking. Just existing in Eddie’s homey trailer with her, floating through the hall in their pajamas– it was all a bit too domestic. Too comfortable. Too easy to get used to. 

Oblivious to Robin's internal struggle, Nancy wordlessly presented her with a brownie perched on a small plate. 

Robin smiled at her, as earnestly as she could manage. “Thanks,” she told her.

Nancy waved a hand in her direction and took a bite of her (Eddie’s) brownie. Robin idly hoped that their rummaging in his kitchen hadn’t woken him (or Steve) up. 

“So,” Nancy said through a mouthful of chocolate, while primly covering her lips. “Nightmare?” 

Robin shrugged, feeling herself smile a little. “Yeah. The usual stuff,” she said. And, after taking a bite of her own brownie: “You?” 

Nancy sighed. She began tapping her fingers on the counter as she spoke, suddenly looking years older than she actually was in the light that seeped through the window. “It’s the same every time. He gets Mike, Holly, my parents. And I have to watch, strapped to a chair with my mouth taped shut.” 

Robin's heart clenched painfully for the umpteenth time that night. “Jesus,” she said, because what else do you say to that?

“Yeah,” Nancy huffed. “Fresh air and food tends to help, though.” 

Robin nodded in silent agreement. She and Nancy hadn’t had many chances to hang out one-on-one post-Vecna. This was one of those rare occasions in which she, Robin, Eddie and Steve were all available on the same day, and they had all jumped at the chance for some kind of break. Life in Hawkins had been trucking along slowly but surely. Nancy was headed off to Emerson in just a couple weeks under that coveted journalism scholarship, and Robin was still drowning in dusty tapes and angry customers at Family Video. It was like they were stuck on separate hemispheres, the one thing connecting them being the Upside-Down-related trauma that loomed above their heads, infecting their dreams and their conversations. 

Something sour coated Robin's tongue as she once again thought unfair. She’d like to tell herself that she and Nancy would still be friends if not for the weird, supernatural trauma bond, but it had only been a little over a year ago when she had sat on the grimy bathroom floor with Steve and called the girl standing across from her a priss . 

It wasn’t a completely inaccurate judgment of Nancy. She was still the same short, sparrow-like girl from high school who wore pearl earrings and dusted her cheeks with pink powder. The only difference was now Robin knew what a sawed-off shotgun looked like clenched in those capable, manicured hands. 

She also knew, from lunch break gossip sessions with Steve and Eddie (whose presence at Family Video was becoming something of a permanent fixture as of late) that she and Jonathan had officially called it quits two or three months ago. Steve had delivered the news with a surprising amount of neutrality, Eddie latching on with quick little comments about how he never really saw them working out for longer than a few months. Robin kept her own comments to herself for once, afraid the pure elation she felt would show through in her voice if she said anything. 

There was no realistic universe in which Nancy Wheeler was any sort of queer, but Robin had never been the sort of person to go out of her way to disprove her own delusions. She allowed herself daydreams and fantasies of a world where Nancy might reciprocate the attraction she felt towards her. But she knew better than to voice these feelings out loud to a straight girl. She hadn’t done it with Tammy Thompson, and she wouldn’t dream of attempting such a thing with Nancy. 

And there was also Steve to consider. Steve who had never judged her for loving the way that she does, Steve who kept all of his hurt buried deep enough that they hardly talked about it as much as Robin would like. How would he feel knowing Robin had a quiet, hopeful interest in the one girl he’s ever truly loved? Robin subtly shook her head to dispel the thought, taking another bite of her brownie. 

Nancy chuckled across from her, the plate in front of her empty save for a few crumbs. “You alright there?”

Robin jerked her head up in a quick nod. “Yeah, fine. Just thinking.”

“About what?” 

Robin balked for a moment. Oops. “Uh… Steve and Eddie,” she lied. “It’s just weird how close they’ve gotten.” She had never been very good at girl talk, but she hoped this line of conversation would at least help distract her from how beautiful Nancy’s hair looked when it was soft with sleep, just barely grazing her shoulders, no hairspray or gel to weigh it down.

Nancy’s eyes seemed to light up by just a fraction, like she had been waiting for someone to bring this up. “God, tell me about it. They’re practically attached at the hip. Every time I talk to Steve these days, it's Eddie this, Eddie that. It’s ridiculous.” She smiled prettily to herself as she spoke, but Robin didn’t feel that cold, sinking feeling she might’ve felt if she thought Nancy still held any kind of reservation for Steve. She knew that all she felt towards him was a protective sort of kinship that Robin supposed you could only have with people you’ve loved before. “I’m just glad he has a friend who isn’t fourteen, to tell you the truth. Um– a male friend, that is,” she added hastily. 

Robin snorted, mirroring Nancy’s smile. “I get what you mean. I’m glad too, honestly. I just wish Steve would stop flirting with him on company time. It’s like, Jesus Christ, get a room,” she joked with a stiff sort of laugh. She realized she was testing Nancy in a way. Testing to see how she would respond to the tamest gay joke that had possibly ever been made. She still wasn’t out to anyone other than Steve, but she didn’t see the harm in gauging Nancy’s reaction to a harmless little comment. 

Whatever response Robin expected, it wasn’t anywhere in the realm of girlish giggling. But that’s what Nancy was doing. She covered her mouth with her hand and said, through stifled laughter: “They’re almost like an old, married couple, aren’t they?” 

Robin found herself unable to stop her own fit of immature giggles, basking in Nancy’s unashamed, open-mouthed laughter once she had removed her hand from her face to clutch at her sides. This looser, freer side of the girl she had once known as prissy and uptight was starting to show itself more and more frequently. It was starting to become one of Robin’s favorite things about Nancy. 

A sleepy voice that could barely be heard beneath the volume of the girls’ laughter sounded somewhere behind Robin’s head. “Real grand that you guys are having fun out here and everything, but, uh,” Eddie said, scratching his back underneath his faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt. “D’you mind keeping it down just a tad? I’m trying to catch some Zs in there.” 

Both girls started at Eddie’s sudden presence. Robin had whipped her head around to face him the second she had heard his voice. The smile hadn’t completely disappeared from Nancy’s face– in its place was a guilty, sort of repressed version of a smile. The kind of face you make when you get caught doing something you shouldn’t. Robin fought the urge to throw something at Eddie for barging in on their moment (if you could even call it that), but she then remembered this was, in fact, his kitchen. 

“Sorry, man,” Robin cleared her throat. “Just, uh– nightmares keeping us up. You get it.”

Eddie hummed in response, slinking over to the fridge and swinging it open. The fluorescent light did little to decrease the severity of the dark bags lining his under-eyes. “Yeah,” he laughed dryly. “I do.”

“Steve still asleep?” Nancy asked. 

Eddie gave another little laugh, this one full of incredulity, shutting the fridge and leaning against it. “Oh, yeah,” he scoffed, a fond smile stretching across his face. “He barely flinched when I crawled out here just now. I swear, the guy could sleep through an earthquake.” 

Robin opened her mouth to launch into a round of teasing in which she planned to question just how Eddie knew so much about Steve Harrington’s sleeping habits, when his gaze fell to the counter between the girls. The grin on his face quickly transitioned into something more attentive, more serious. “Uh, what the hell is that doing out?” he asked, tone suddenly grave as he pointed to the tupperware container that Nancy had gotten the brownies out of. His eyes were wide, the look on his face bordering on shock and not too far from fear.

Nancy blinked at him, probably just as thrown by his sudden change in demeanor as Robin was. Her cheeks were faintly crimson despite the fact she had excused herself to wash her makeup off in the bathroom a couple hours before they had all tucked in. “Oh, um. We got hungry. I, uh– I’m sorry, I should’ve asked before rifling through your fridge–” 

Robin piped up, “Yeah, man, I– I didn’t even finish mine. You can have the rest if you want.” 

“No, no, no, I don’t want any, it’s okay— well, it’s not okay , it's just—“ Eddie’s dark pupils flicked between Robin and Nancy. He reached up to tangle a hand in his wild hair. “Shit, I don’t know how to say this.” 

Nancy’s brow clouded. “Say what?” 

Eddie huffed out a humorless sound that might have been a laugh in any other situation. “Those brownies have— um, had— a very potent blend of cannabis oil mixed in the batter.” 

Robin swore her ears filled with static for the next half-second. “Cannabis oil?” she echoed numbly. Eddie hadn’t stuttered. His little side hustle wasn’t exactly a secret to the general public, especially not to Hawkins’ population of teenagers. Robin remembered one time in sophomore year, she had seen a scruffier, lankier Eddie Munson talking to some beefy football guy in the school parking lot. In the awkward handshake they shared, Robin thought she might’ve seen a tiny white baggie pass between their palms. And then, just a few weeks ago, she had seen a shorter, punky girl with hoop earrings and streaks of red in her hair chatting with Eddie near the back entrance of Family Video (an entrance that Keith didn’t love Eddie using by any means, but he never verbally objected to any drug deals that may or may not be taking place on company property). Robin had only caught a glimpse of the girl handing Eddie a crisp 20-dollar bill, and she had been too caught up in some argument with Steve to comment on it. But it had definitely happened. And Robin couldn’t really think of another reason why a girl like that would be giving Eddie cash. Or why he would have weed-infused brownies in his fridge. 

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “I baked them a couple days ago. I was planning on dealing them out sometime this week. You guys owe me 20 bucks each, by the way.” 

In an instant, she was back in that Russian torture chamber, and a scowling man in a labcoat was shoving a needle into her neck. “ It will help you talk.” That colorful night had been the first and only time Robin ever planned on interacting with any kind of drug. She had no interest in reliving the blurry, vomit-scented memories that bubbled to the surface of her mind, but she had a feeling that Russian truth serum and cannabis oil were at least in the same family tree. 

“I’m sorry, I’m—“ Nancy stammered from where she stood, shock-still next to Robin. Her eyes were huge, and she looked for all the world like a person who was trying very hard not to lose her cool. “I’m just having a little bit of trouble understanding. Those brownies had weed in them?” 

“Yeah,” he said again, the word drawn out and apologetic. “That’s why I wrote on the container. Hoping to ward people off who don’t want to get high.” 

“You– you couldn’t have written something like: ‘Caution: these brownies contain cannabis’ ?” Robin asked, incredulous. 

“Broadcasting my business like that when Hawkins PD is still breathing down my neck?” Eddie scoffed. “I’m not that stupid, Buckley.” Right. Eddie’s murder charges had been dropped after the vanquishing of that infamous dark wizard was said and done, and the stack of NDAs they’d all had to sign were given the stamp of approval, and that couple’s trailer that they’d stolen had been reimbursed, but the local police force was still keeping a very close eye on him. Robin guessed it would be pretty stupid of him to keep drugs in a labelled container that was easily reachable by any officers who might want to conduct a “random” search on his home. 

“Right. Yeah. Makes sense." 

“Wait, okay, so—“ he turned to fully face Robin. “You’ve at least smoked before, right? I mean, I was just dealing at one of those band parties last week, I know how crazy some of you guys can get.” 

Robin froze. No use lying to a drug dealer, she supposed. That didn’t make it any easier to get the words out. “Um, no, I, uh— no, I’ve never smoked, but I’ve done, uh— a slightly harder substance than weed. Once.”

Her friends' reactions to this information came in immediate unison. Nancy’s hissed-out, snappy, “ What? ” flew somewhere underneath Eddie’s genuinely surprised, “Really?” 

“I— I got laced,” she clarified, a half-lie that she would have no reason to make in the eyes of the two people standing in front of her. She didn’t know how much Steve had told Nancy about what had gone down at Starcourt in terms of the drugging and the kidnapping, but it was too late to back out now. And she wouldn’t necessarily leap at the chance to tell Eddie that harrowing story, either, even though he was sort of in on the whole thing now. She pressed on. “At a party, one time in junior year. It sucked. Really bad. I’m not sure what exactly it was but it, uh— I mean, it made me puke.” 

“Wow. That’s… extremely shitty.” Eddie’s eyebrows had disappeared under his unruly bangs. “Uh, okay, well— Wheeler? What about you, have you ever done anything, weed or otherwise?” 

“No,” Nancy told him, voice a little shaky. “No, never.” 

Eddie sucked in a slow breath through his teeth, dragging his eyes back to Robin. “Well, the good news is, you’ll probably be fine. You only had half of yours, and you’ve got that mysterious experience with a ‘hard’—“ he does little air quotes around the word, “—substance under your belt.” 

He then looked at Nancy, an apology already in his eyes. “ You , on the other hand—“ 

“I’m screwed, aren’t I?” Nancy asked like she already knew the answer, arms wrapping themselves around her shoulders. For the second time that night, Robin felt inclined to envelop the girl in a bear hug. She just looked like she might need one, now more than ever. 

“Not necessarily. It might be sorta rocky at first, but you’re lucky this is happening to you here and not at some crummy little house party down on Loch Nora.” He had a point there. “Just, uh— sit down on the couch and I’ll be right back.”

He shuffled quickly back towards the bedroom without another word, leaving Robin and Nancy to sit with the situation they had thrust themselves into. “I’m sorry,” Nancy said once Eddie was out of earshot. 

“For what?” Robin asked.

“This is my fault. I got the brownies out and—“

“There’s no way we could’ve known they were weed brownies, Nance. I ate mine because I was hungry, too, okay? Completely of my own volition,” she reassured her. 

Nancy exhaled slowly, eyes softening. “Alright.”

“Besides—” Robin said, scooting a fraction closer to Nancy so she could bump her playfully with her shoulder. “— this does have the potential to be sort of fun.” She didn’t actually believe this in the slightest. The only reason she had for using the word fun in the context of their current predicament was out of hope it might ease Nancy’s nerves. Robin felt certain that her lack of hands-on experience in the field of recreational drugs was not about to do her any favors. 

Nancy scoffed. “Fun?” 

“Sure,” Robin said easily, feigning nonchalance as she made her way over to Eddie’s plush-looking ottoman sofa. She hoped Nancy didn’t notice that her voice had climbed 3 octaves within the last few seconds. She followed behind Robin without comment. “I mean, Eddie said the brownies were potent , not lethal. And, I read once that it’s scientifically impossible to overdose on marijuana.” 

Nancy sat down on the couch, blinking into space. “Is it?” 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure. You’ve got nothing to worry about, Nance. I’m right here with you,” she told her, sitting down next to her so their thighs were just a few inches apart. “It’s gonna be fine.” Robin hoped that little speech was reassuring enough. She knew how much she would be freaking out if the accidental consumption of a pot brownie ended up being her very first time with drugs. 

Nancy let herself recline all the way back on the couch, her eyes flicking up to the ceiling for a moment before falling back to Robin. “Thanks, Robin,” she said, voice a little airy. “You didn’t have to say all that.”

Robin shrugged, a tiny smile growing on her face. “Just trying to make you feel better.” 

Nancy smiled warmly back at her, eyebrows pinching slightly upwards. Her eyes darted around for a moment and she looked like she was about to say something when— 

“Question–” Eddie started, waltzing back into the living room with an armful of blankets. “-- how long ago did you eat the brownies?” 

Robin leaned her upper body off of the couch to glance at the microwave clock. 1:57 AM. “Uh, like, fifteenish minutes ago, I think. Why?” 

Unceremoniously dumping the blankets on the girls laps and beginning to pace back and forth on the rug, Eddie moved his head in a quick, understanding nod. “Okay. Okay, uh, in another fifteenish minutes or so, expect to feel a little…” his footsteps stuttered for a moment as he made a confounding sort of more-or-less motion with his hand, “...weird.” 

Before the girls could question whatever the hell that meant, Eddie scrambled to continue. “I mean, they could take longer to hit. When I tested them, it took, like, forty-five minutes or something close to that. Just– okay.” He stopped pacing to face Nancy, who was gripping her knees in a white-knuckled vice and staring at Eddie like he was about to tell her the exact day she was going to die. “Nance, you’re in for a pretty standard body high. Maybe some mild hallucinations, maybe some loss of precise motor skills. I don’t recommend leaving this couch. Hence, the blankets.” 

“What exactly does standard mean in this context?” Nancy pressed. 

“Oh. You know, uh… your whole body might feel a little warmer, but not, like, feverish or anything, and your throat might get a little drier, but– I mean. It’s gonna feel weird, like I said. I don’t think I can accurately put it into words beyond that.” Guilt creased his brow as he explained. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Nancy responded blankly, mouth twitching in a brief half-smile. There was really nothing else to say. Just as there was no way the girls could have known the brownies contained cannabis, there was no way Eddie could have known his houseguests would rifle through the contents of his fridge. All there was left to do was wait it out. 

Robin cleared her throat to cut through the uncomfortable silence. “Um–”

“You’re gonna be completely and totally fine, Buckley,” Eddie interrupted her knowingly. “You’ll feel the same effects as Nancy here, just knocked down by a couple notches.” He pivoted over to an overflowing bookshelf with a boxy television positioned on top of it. “My uncle hoards tacky sci-fi movies, I could pop one in while you guys wait for this to wear off?”

Robin saw Nancy nod from the corner of her eye. “Yeah, that sounds good,” Robin agreed. 

————

Eddie had excused himself back to bed shortly after queuing up the textbook definition of a “tacky sci-fi movie” that Robin had surprisingly never seen before: Flash Gordon. “Come get me if things get too scary, okay?” He had said, throwing a wink in Robin’s direction. “With the– with the trip, not the movie.”

This was in her hands now, it seemed. She didn’t blame Eddie for heading back to bed. She would do the same if she didn’t feel so keyed-up; the obligation to watch over Nancy, the prospect of spending any amount of time inebriated in her presence, and the fast-approaching full effects of the brownie combining in a thrilling cocktail of anxiety. 

It was nearing the half-hour mark past the point that they had eaten the brownies, but Robin didn’t really feel any different. No warmer than usual, and as she drummed out the chords for her latest trumpet piece with her fingers, she noted no loss of precise motor skills. Except for–

Shit. That might’ve been it. 

A feeling like someone had just poured a steaming mug of hot chocolate into her ribcage bloomed across Robin’s chest. There was a sudden, mild buzzing in her fingertips that inclined her to rest her hands on her thighs. The feeling didn’t dissipate by any means, in fact it multiplied a few times over the moment her palms touched a solid surface. It wasn’t unpleasant, it was just sort of… there. This was just how things were now. And maybe that was okay.

Her limbs felt heavier, nothing like the floaty, spaced-out feeling that had enveloped her after being stuck with the truth serum last summer. She felt only slightly out of it, only slightly like she might stumble if she tried to stand up and walk in a straight line. 

She turned her head to look at Nancy’s reclined figure, noting the way she was holding her own elbows in a grip that was now loose and casual rather than guarded and stiff. Her eyes looked a little far-away as she watched the movie. Robin allowed herself a moment to admire the defined cut of her cheekbones, the upward slope of her nose, the tiny sliver of collarbone that peeked from her pinstriped, lavender pajamas. It was just plain cruel how beautiful she was. She looked like a fairy, like if Robin were to touch the bare skin of her wrist then her hand would come away glittery with pixie dust. 

Pulling herself out of her own daydream and actively fighting the urge to reach out and test if her pixie dust theory was true, Robin softly asked, “You feeling okay?” 

Nancy made a humming noise of acknowledgement and turned her head to lock eyes with Robin. Glassy, unfocused, hypnotizing blue eyes. “Yeah, good. Peachy,” she said with a smile. “A little fuzzy around the edges, I think. But… peachy. What about you?” She punctuated the question with a poke to Robin’s shoulder that rippled across her entire body, despite the layer of t-shirt between Nancy’s finger and Robin’s bare skin. 

“About the same, I think,” Robin said with an amused chuckle. “Didn’t I tell you this would be fun?”

Nancy rolled her eyes fondly. “You did. But, uh, I still wouldn’t use that word,” Nancy told her, crinkling her nose. God, she was adorable. “I think I’d call this interesting before I’d ever call it fun.”

“Interesting?” Robin prompted, the word containing a bit more syllables than usual when it left her mouth. 

Nancy nodded, the motion mussing her hair against the couch cushion. The light of the television shone on the pillar of her outstretched neck and Robin started to feel the full extent of the dryness in her mouth that Eddie had described. “I do feel warmer, but, I–” Nancy started, and then seemed to hold herself back from finishing the sentence. She chewed on her lip for a moment before continuing. Her gaze slid down to Robin’s lips, and Robin watched her eyes linger there for longer than she would consider normal before they travelled back to the television. “It’s just interesting,” she mumbled, like that explained everything. 

It did not. Robin swallowed thickly. “Got it. Nancy Wheeler is unusually profound when she’s high, I’ll be sure to take note of that.” 

She expected Nancy to laugh, but instead she just smiled at her warmly, almost affectionately, casting her eyes downward before looking up at Robin with an all-too-familiar sense of determination written on her face, which startled Robin for a half-second. It was such an arresting shift from the dazed softness her features had held just a moment ago. They held eye contact like that for a long, glorious moment before Nancy whispered, “You didn’t get laced at a party, did you?” 

Ignoring the way she had asked the question like someone might be listening (because, shit, if Hawkins Department of Energy was going to bug somewhere, it would probably be the Munson’s trailer), Robin asked evenly, “What are you talking about, Nance?”

“Last summer. Starcourt.” Nancy’s voice was anxious, almost urgent, like she was worried she might not have a chance to talk about this again. “Did they drug you? The Russians?” 

It was thoughtless of Robin to forget who she was talking to when she had told that lie. Nancy, the future investigative journalist. Nancy, whose quick wit and observational skills were the main reason they had gotten the information that they did out of Victor Creel. She sighed. “Yeah. They did. They, uh, wanted to know who we worked for. How we got down there. We kept saying– I mean, we weren’t giving them the answers they wanted. So they stuck us with this, uh– truth serum thing. I honestly have no idea what was in it, but– it– I don’t know. It was awful.” 

“Us,” Nancy echoed. “You and Steve, you mean?” 

“Yeah,” Robin confirmed, scratching a nervous hand at the nape of her neck. 

Nancy sucked in a shaky breath. So Steve hadn’t told her anything , then. “I’m so sorry you got roped into all of this, Robin,” she said in another guilty-sounding whisper. 

Choosing to blame her boldness on the weed, Robin reached across the inches of space that separated her from Nancy to join their hands together. “It’s not your fault, Nance. I practically leapt at the chance for any kind of distraction. Working at Scoops was honestly that torturous, I would’ve taken anything. That includes decoding a secret Russian communication.” Nancy’s palm felt like something precious pressed up against hers, and the way she had squeezed her hand the second it had made contact with her own made Robin’s head spin just a little bit. 

Nancy worried at her lip for a moment before a quiet laugh bubbled out of her. “I always thought you looked so cute in that silly little sailors uniform.” 

Robin felt her eyes go wide before she burst out laughing. A swath of heat unfolded on her neck as the word cute seeped through her skin and rested hot in her stomach. “That thing was the opposite of cute . It was repugnant. I swear, if I ever find the– the Scoops Ahoy corporate executive that signed off on forcing their employees to wear those things, I’ll– I’ll…” she trailed off, her muddled brain failing to come up with a decently threatening ultimatum. “I don’t know what I’ll do, but it’ll be violent.” 

“Oh, I’m sure,” Nancy giggled, twining their fingers more firmly together. Robin didn’t plan on letting go any time soon. 

They lapsed into a comfortable, easy silence, turning their attention to the pure ridiculousness that was Flash Gordon . Sam Jones was in a ridiculous deep-cut bodysuit and talking to a burly dude who was dressed like some kind of viking. Robin wasn’t really following the movie. She was more focused on how Nancy’s shoulder felt pressed up against hers, how if she moved her thigh by even a centimeter it would be touching Nancy’s. 

A slow blur of movement out of the corner of Robin’s eye. Nancy was moving the hand that was still clasped in Robin’s, detaching their fingers so she could hold Robin’s wrist between dainty fingers. Robin’s borderless, fuzzy cesspool of a brain lurched back to life at the feeling of Nancy’s pink-polished finger tracing back and forth across the inside of her wrist. 

What the hell was she doing? 

She waited for her to stop doing it, whatever it was, to cease their points of contact altogether and fold her pretty hands back in her own lap, but she didn’t. Her thumb joined her index finger, slowly caressing over the back of Robin’s hand. Robin snuck a look at Nancy’s face, watched as pure wonder swirled inside her pupils as if Robin’s hand was some kind of priceless gem. 

“Whatcha doin’ there, Nance?” Robin croaked out. 

Nancy lifted her gaze to meet Robin’s eyes. “Do you want me to stop?” 

And Robin’s heart all but stumbled to a stop as she realized the answer to that question would always be no. Especially not now, when something deep within her hummed for physicality. She needed someone to touch her. No, she thought. Not just anyone. She needed to feel the electricity of Nancy’s fingers on her wrist multiplied fifty times over. 

Robin shook her head silently, swallowing through the desert on her tongue that was no longer solely because of the weed. 

She watched Nancy’s shoulders rise by the tiniest fraction as she took a deep inhale of understanding, watched her blink slowly like she was trying to commit this moment to memory. 

Societal sleepover norms really should’ve been the furthest thing from Robin's mind in that moment, but she couldn’t help but doubt that this was anywhere in the realm of normalcy for a typical girls night . She didn’t really have a strong point of reference for things like that, what with her lack of real life experiences with girls her age. But these were purposeful, agonizing touches that made Robin feel like she was about to jump out of her skin. Long, wanting looks that made Robin want to slap herself across the face to remind herself she was supposed to be trip-sitting Nancy, not melting under the pressure of a few light brushes across her wrist.

The rest of Nancy’s fingers followed suit to completely cover Robin’s hand with her own. She traced each freckle, each blemish, no matter how faint. The focus behind each tiny movement of her fingertips was stifling, all-consuming. It wasn’t often that Robin was at the center of someone's universe like this. 

“Your hands are really soft,” Nancy murmured, sounding almost reverent. 

Robin nodded dumbly, unable to get her mouth to do what she wanted it to. The weed was the only explanation for this. It had to be. Nancy would never touch Robin like this if not for the overwhelming upheaval of each and every one of her inhibitions. People did stupid shit when they were intoxicated— this wasn’t a novel idea. 

The novel part of it was how every single one of Robin’s cells screamed for more of Nancy’s touch. She had never been someone who enjoyed the skirting, barely-there touches that most people seemed to go weak in the knees for. In fact, someone touching her like this would usually make her squirm away and start laughing nervously, rubbing at her own skin to try to get the unwanted ticklish feeling of skin-on-skin to go back to where it came from. 

“So are yours,” Robin observed without really having to think about it, the already shoddy filter between her brain and her mouth swinging itself wide open. 

“Thanks,” Nancy chuckled, smiling at Robin. A small but genuine thing. She was now carefully tracing the lines on Robin’s upturned palm. 

A thought had been gnawing at Robin for months now. A thought that she hadn’t had a chance to verbalize in the whirlwind of the entire summer that had passed since she’d learned that Nancy and Jonathan had officially ended things. She then understood Nancy’s sense of urgency from before. Neither of them knew when they would have a chance to talk like this again, just the two of them. No stuffy wall of emotional constipation between them, no reluctance to just talk like the normal, untraumatized people that they would never be. This was it. Which ended up being the deciding factor in Robin’s decision to ask: “Why did you and Jonathan break up?” 

Nancy blinked up at her, a muted sort of shock plain on her face. The finger she was now dragging across Robin’s thumb joint slowed to a halt, but she didn’t pull her hand away, not just yet. 

She shook her head, dropping her eyes away from Robin’s face and back to their joined hands. “A lot of reasons,” she began. Her voice had taken on an overly steady, almost practiced quality. “He wanted to stay in California, with his family. And— and Emerson is my dream, you know? But it’s not his dream. I didn’t want to be the person that separated him from everything important.” 

“You’re important, too, Nance,” Robin blurted. 

Nancy’s eyebrows did a funny thing, then, twitching together slightly like she couldn’t quite figure out whether or not Robin was being serious. Robin thought, for a confusing half-second, that she might’ve seen a dusting of pink appear on Nancy’s cheeks, not totally dissimilar to the way she had reddened when Eddie had caught them with the brownies earlier.

It was probably just a trick of the light. 

Nancy’s flawless lips opened and closed and opened again. “What’s more important than family?” 

Before Robin could attempt to brainstorm some sort of coherent answer for a question like that, Nancy sighed heavily. “I— I knew I was going to break up with him when I realized—“ she seemed to stop herself, fingers tensing over Robin’s for a short moment. When she spoke again, it was a careful whisper. “When I realized I wouldn’t do the same for him. And— and that's what you’re supposed to do for the people you love, isn’t it? You’re supposed to feel like…” Nancy trailed off, eyes dancing over Robin’s features. 

“Like you’d do anything for them?” Robin prompted gently. 

“Yes,” she agreed, more of a breath than a word. 

Their faces were barely inches apart, so close that Robin could see the faded smattering of freckles that ran across Nancy’s high, sharp cheekbones. Robin wanted nothing more than to reach up and run her palm across the side of her face just as Nancy was still doing to her hand. It would only be fair, wouldn’t it? 

But the loud, reigning sliver of sobriety that still existed within Robin’s resolve stopped her from acting on that particular impulse. It stung, knowing that pure mindless intoxication was the only motivation behind Nancy’s emotional vulnerability, her sweet but relatively innocent touches that had successfully fried Robin’s neurons to mush. And she would never forgive herself if she tried anything with Nancy when she was in this state. When they were both in this state. 

So, Robin made another decision.

She let out an open-mouthed exhale. Braced for impact. Tried not to notice the way Nancy’s eyes were trained on her lips (again). 

“Nance?” she started, willing her heart to stop racing. 

“Mhm?” came Nancy’s subdued reply. She was still staring at Robin’s mouth. 

“You— You remember in sophomore year? When, uh—“ she fumbled for a second, wondering if there was ever going to be an easy way to say this. Her voice shook as she continued. “You remember those rumors that went around about me?”

And the glimmer of recognition in Nancy’s pupils (that had finally, blissfully, torn themselves away from the lower half of Robin’s face) told her that yes, absolutely, she remembered. How could she not? How could anyone forget Carol Perkins, in all her fiery-haired glory, doubled over laughing in front of Robin’s locker, which had been creatively emblazoned with the word DYKE . The oozing, black ink dripped off of each letter, falling in these mocking little rivulets down the locker’s grey surface. Tommy H. had been guffawing over her shoulder, pocketing the marker from Carol’s hand like it was some big secret. 

Robin remembered turning the corner, seeing them catch sight of her and scurry away, still giggling, like two toddlers who had been caught sneaking seconds out of the cookie jar. She remembered her vision swimming with tears that she wouldn’t dare let fall. Crying was an admission of guilt, an admission of what everyone except Robin seemed to know was true. Only a dyke would cry over someone writing dyke on her locker. 

It was nauseating to think back on it now. She had come back after hours under the guise of a make-up band rehearsal to scrub furiously at the word with a fistful of damp paper towels, finally letting the tears come as she worked away. She had done the best she could, but the foggy shadow of it lingered on the locker’s door until school let out for fall break. To someone like Steve, who routinely traipsed through the hallways of Hawkins High wearing sunglasses for some inane reason, he probably wouldn’t have given the faded graffiti a passing thought. To someone like Nancy, whose locker had been in the same hallway as Robin’s– only about seven or eight feet away, to be exact— it was a whole lot more pathetically obvious. 

Sophomore year had been a confusing time, to put it plainly. Nancy had always looked exceedingly guilty whenever her eyes wandered to Robin and her beat-up Doc Martens, her hair that she had just recently cut to her ears, closely cropped at the back of her neck like a boy’s. (After the locker incident, Robin let it grow out unimpeded. It was silly of her, she told herself. To think she could get away with a haircut like that in a place like Hawkins.) Robin knew now that Nancy only hung around the likes of Carol and Tommy H. because it was easy. Because they were there , in such suffocating proximity to Steve. And even then, she had a faint sense of gratitude towards Nancy for never going out of her way to join in on their crusades in which they terrorized Hawkins’ population of freaks. 

Now, Nancy was nodding carefully, waiting for Robin to say what she wanted to say. What she needed to say, because Steve Harrington being the only person she was out to was proving to be just a little tiresome. She loved him to death, but this was eating away at her, threatening to launch itself out of her mouth every time she opened it to speak. 

“Those rumors were true,” Robin forced out in a single breath, blinking hot tears out of her eyes. She hadn’t cried then, and she wouldn’t cry now. Not in front of Nancy. “I’m— I’m not— I don’t like guys like that, Nance. Not in the way that I should.” 

A sick sort of guilt churned in Robin’s gut realizing those words were easier to say knowing the person she was currently pouring her heart out to would likely not remember any of this in the morning. This was another test, she told herself. A dry run of the real thing, some obscure date in the near future in which she would actually sit everybody down in a sober, serious environment and tell them who she was. A lesbian. 

Nancy had the decency to look surprised, just on the edge of confused for a short moment before asking, “Who— who do you like, then?” 

You. “Girls,” Robin managed with a watery laugh. Goddamn, she was stoned out of her mind. 

“Oh,” Nancy said, and Robin watched the gears turn in her mind. Watched her do a mental replay of every single one of the interactions the two of them had ever shared. Robin bit her tongue as she waited for the “ But you don’t like me , or anything, do you? ” or even the “ You know that’s a sin, right? ” She wouldn’t put it past Nancy, the girl whose parents had put Reagan ‘84 signs in the front yard for the last election and attended church every Sunday. 

(Which was a slightly unfair judgement for Robin to pass, since the only reason she knew the Wheelers attended church was because her parents did, too.)

No such comments ensued. Nancy gripped Robin’s hand tighter, but the expression on her face was eerily casual, calm. She wrapped her other hand over Robin’s, then drew back for a horrifying second— only to wrap Robin in the warmest hug she’d ever experienced. 

A sound that was halfway to a laugh but was more of a quick, choked-out sob forced its way from Robin’s throat on impact. Nancy said nothing, just squeezed Robin like she was afraid she might dissolve right through her arms. Which sounded pretty tempting to Robin at the moment. She bit her lip against the sting in her eyes, remembering that when someone hugged you you were typically supposed to hug them back instead of just sniffling into space like a buffoon. So she did. She wrapped her arms around Nancy’s narrow frame and squeezed her, unthinkingly brushing her nose against her neck. She could smell the light, beachy perfume that she always wore. The fuzzy planes of Nancy’s back briefly tensed up against Robin’s hands as she pulled her in impossibly closer, needing this to last forever. 

Nancy melted into her, rubbing up and down Robin’s back with one hand while the other gripped tightly over her shoulder. The continuous motion sent warm, sparkling shivers up Robin’s spine. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Robin,” Nancy whispered into her hair, and the shivers doubled a thousandfold. “You know that, right?” 

Robin froze for a second, because did she know that? Did she really? There was something wrong with her, wasn’t there? Why else would she be like this? Why else would she be like this in a world where no one understood, where no one within reach felt the way that she did? This was Hawkins, Indiana. Steve thought she had been exaggerating when she had said she’d become the town pariah if she were to ask out the wrong girl, but the truth that was hidden in that hypothetical kept her up at night. 

She had been silent for too long, it seemed, because Nancy withdrew from the hug to hold Robin firmly by the shoulders and look her directly in the eye. Drowsy and clouded though they might’ve been, she still held a lot of power in those goddamn eyes. “I need a yes , Buckley,” she demanded, but there was no real authority in her tone. Her brow was pinched in a way that betrayed just how far out of her depth she probably was. Was Robin the first person who’d ever come out to her? Probably. And she’d done it while she was stoned , for Christ’s sake, she had no conceivable way to properly process this, what the fuck had she been thinking– 

Nancy shook her gently. “Robin. There’s nothing wrong with you, okay? I need you to understand that.” Her voice was surprisingly stable, and Robin really hoped Nancy didn’t expect an answer from her any time within the next few years, because when she reached up to brush her thumb across the side of Robin’s tearstained cheek, she was pretty sure she instantly forgot how to form sentences.  

By the grace of God, her head bobbled in a shaky nod. “Okay,” she got out, the word a broken exhalation. She covered her hand with Nancy’s, keeping it on her cheek for just a moment longer. 

A fleeting smile flickered on Nancy’s face. She seemed to be satisfied with Robin’s answer. “Okay,” she agreed quietly. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Nancy removed her hand from Robin’s face then, which Robin felt inclined to protest against, but she instead watched as Nancy fell back onto the couch, easily burrowing her soft head onto Robin’s shoulder. 

Robin felt her own head fall onto the crown of Nancy’s, and she glowed from within at how well they fit together like this. The matching shorts Nancy wore with her button-up sleep shirt and the basketball shorts Robin had thrown on allowed for more pleasantly warm points of contact, along with the hand that snaked downward to intertwine with Robin’s open palm. She would freak out about this in the morning, she promised herself. For now, she let the hazy blanket of the weed envelop her, let the glorious pressure of Nancy’s body next to her own lull her into calmness. 

The tears from earlier drying quickly, she pressed her cheek into the part in Nancy’s hair. Her shampoo smelled a little like coconut, mixed with something else earthy and sweet that Robin couldn’t quite place. She shut her eyes, allowing sleep to find her again— and then she felt Nancy’s voice vibrate against her face. “What kind of girls do you like?” she asked, with zero preamble and an uncharacteristic shyness to her tone. 

Robin hummed, choosing not to investigate too far into why Nancy Wheeler might be asking her that question, the lucid part of her conscience that was getting dimmer by the second screaming in protest. She knew she had a type, but it was past her bedtime and her head still felt slightly cottony, what with the brownie and the recent confession of her deepest, darkest secret. She was still thinking about it when she noticed something on the tiny tv-screen that was still playing Flash Gordon. Melody Anderson was pointing a clunky, oversized blaster gun at what looked to be a clone of herself. She was strong-jawed and attractive, even through the grainy veil of the television screen. Her steely eyes and her wispy, dark hair sort of reminded Robin of Nancy, armed and marching through the Creel house with a singular, daunting mission.

“Badass, gun-wielding brunettes,” Robin mused. “Totally my type.”

Nancy might have responded to that, she might have said nothing. Robin wouldn’t know. After answering Nancy’s question, she promptly fell into a blissfully dreamless sleep, the weight of Nancy still wedged on her shoulder. 

—————

Robin woke up to the smell of eggs and a warm weight on her arm. 

“Morning,” she heard Steve say from the kitchen. As she blinked the world back into focus, she took stock of the way he was doing something (probably scrambling eggs, it was an easy crowd pleaser) at the stove with a sort of bleary, mildly confused look in his eye, and oh yeah, Nancy was the weight on her arm and the hand that was still clutched loosely in hers.

And she was still asleep. Robin watched the unmoving line of her eyelashes and realized this had the potential to be either a very good or a very bad thing. The longer she’s asleep, the longer last night goes undiscussed. The longer she’s asleep, the longer Robin had to try and figure out what the hell she was going to say to her about the hugging, and the face touching, and the hand holding, and the sleeping pressed up next to each other while holding hands. 

And, of course, the admittance of who she was. 

That sick guilty feeling returned as she remembered she might not have to say anything about last night. It did hit Nancy a fair bit harder. She might have no memory, or a miraculously high-definition recollection of everything, or something in between, something like a small handful of moments that they had shared, a handful that hopefully omitted the crying . God. Robin wasn’t sure which option she preferred. 

Robin didn’t say anything in response to Steve, not anything in any human language, that is, just a garbled noise in the back of her throat as she stretched out her warm, well-rested limbs as mindfully as possible. She blamed the warm on Nancy with no small amount of stomach-turning dramatics, and the well-rested on the weed. She could see the appeal of it. She could, regardless of the fact that a few years ago she might’ve asked some childish question like why , why would anyone destroy themselves with pills or grass, just for a few moments of quiet? After watching a twenty-foot-tall entity containing the melted bodies of the people of Hawkins stomp after a car that she had been sitting in the trunk of – she found that she understood the urge for quiet that much more innately. 

“Mornin’, Steve,” Eddie rumbled in an undertone that Robin had never heard him use before as he shuffled into the kitchen with a truly impressive bedhead. She watched the gooseflesh on Steve’s neck turn bright red and she suddenly needed to talk to him in private more than she’d ever needed anything. 

So, moving as slowly and carefully as she possibly could, she unwound Nancy’s fingers from her own and slid a hand onto her shoulder so she was gently cradling her heavy, sleeping head. She reached around with her free hand to grab a pillow, positioning it on top of a bunched-up blanket so she still had something to lean on. It worked well enough. She didn’t seem to stir beyond a small furrow to her brow that smoothed out once she had adjusted. 

Robin exhaled in relief, inched off of the couch and watched Nancy’s calm, unconscious face for a perverse half-moment that she wished she felt more guilty about. She stood on her own two feet for the first time in what felt like decades and bolted for the kitchen. 

Eddie snorted upon her arrival, grinning at her in an almost brotherly way. “Sleep well?” 

“Just fine, thank you,” Robin got out. She would talk with him later. “Steve, can I have a word?” 

“You can have as many as you want as soon as these eggs are done,” Steve shot back without looking away from the stovetop, zero venom in his tone, just the sort of laziness that came with early mornings, like he really couldn’t be bothered to think about anything but eggs right now. Robin wanted to take the pan he was using and whack him over the head with it.

“Everything worked out okay, right? After I left?” Eddie asked, suddenly a fraction more serious than he had been a moment ago. 

“Um, yeah,” Robin shrugged, more of a twitch of her shoulders than anything. “I didn’t get nearly as much of it as Nance did, like you said. But, uh, she was fine, I think. We were both fine. Flash Gordon was… tolerable,” she said. And, as an afterthought: “Melody Anderson is pretty hot.” 

Steve stopped scrambling for a second to look at her with wide, demanding eyes. Eyes that screamed what the hell happened last night? Robin looked away from him and instead looked at Eddie, doubting that she had anything to worry about with him, what with that goddamn undertone she had heard him use with Steve just now, but still searching his expression for any kind of disgust or confusion. 

All she got from him was another little shrug in return to hers. “Sure,” he said, swinging towards the cabinet to take out some plates. “She’s not really my type, but yeah, sure.”

Robin longed to ask so what is your type, then, Eddie? But she knew she would just get a cocky, theatrical non-answer in return. Just like the answer she might give if she was asked that question in a space like this. A space she was currently inhabiting with one person who knew, and another who didn’t know but maybe understood , just in a different way. 

She really needed to talk to Steve. 

Steve seemed to share the same sentiment, the sort of crazed and now alarmingly awake look on his face not decreasing in the slightest as he stiffly announced, “Eggs are ready.” 

“Sweet,” Eddie grinned, clapping his hands together and then wincing at the noise, no doubt remembering the sleeping girl curled up about ten feet away. “Should I wake up Wheeler?” 

“If you must,” Robin said, torn between making a joke of it or forcing her tone into neutrality, so it came out a little strained and a lot wary. It made Eddie look at her strangely. 

But Robin didn’t have time to unpack that look, because Steve was grabbing her by the elbow and all but dragging her into Eddie’s bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind them before asking in a whisper that wasn’t really a whisper, “Okay, what the hell is going on? Why were you and Nance on the couch together? What happened last night? Why are you–” 

“I told her, Steve,” Robin said, actually whispering. She balled her hands into fists and tried not to cry again. 

Steves face instantly broke into the same quiet sort of shock that softened his features on the floor of that bathroom in Starcourt, and Robin knew he understood. What else could she be talking about? She thought he was about to say Oh, again, like he had that night, but instead he said, with a cautious twinge to his voice, “And?”

“And she hugged me. And she told me there was nothing wrong with me–” And Robin really couldn’t believe how clear her memory of last night was. It was so clear, she felt almost like a seagull hurtling towards a glass window when she remembered a choice little tidbit she had shared with Nancy right before falling asleep. God dammit all to hell. 

Her mortification must have shown on her face, because the naturally buoyant curve that usually occupied Steve’s brow took on a downward slope. “Then what?” he pressed, hands coming up to rest at his hips, a movement that struck Robin as almost businesslike. 

“Then she asked me what kind of girls I like.” Robin braced herself, watching Steve’s face crease even further, this time out of confusion, because they both knew that didn’t exactly sound like something Nancy would say, at least not something she would say out loud or while in her right mind. “We were both sort of high.” 

“ High? ” Steve sputtered, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. 

Robin shushed him with a frantic wave of her hands and rushed forward: “It— it’s kind of a story. Last night, I had a nightmare and it woke me up— standard Vecna shit, you know the deal— and— and I went into the kitchen to get some water, and Nance was there and she was like, ‘Hey, are you hungry? Cause I sure am,’ and she found these brownies in— in Eddie’s fridge, and we ate them— well, I only ate half of mine, which is why I was a little— slightly more lucid than her, I think—“ 

“Robin,” Steve urged, voice firm, eyes patient as he waited for her to arrive at the point.

“I’m getting there, I promise,” she replied hastily. “Eddie came out of his room a little bit after we’d eaten them, and— and he’s all serious and shit, like, ‘ Why the hell are those out?’ or whatever, and then he tells us there was weed in the brownies we just ate.” Robin’s voice involuntarily took on a shrill sort of scandalized quality at that last part. 

“Shit,” Steve’s brows fell back to a normal latitude as he started to get it. “How– how does that work exactly? D’you put the nugs in like uh– like a lemon squeezer and then boil them down or something? Or just sprinkle some ground-up shit in the batter?” 

Robin deadpanned him, pursing her lips in what she hoped was a sufficiently unimpressed look.

“Right. Sorry. Continue.” 

“So, he turns on Flash Gordon for us to watch while we wait for it to wear off, because there was really nothing else to do except wait at that point, and– Nancy gets really touchy when she’s high, Steve.”

Steve got a wary look in his eye, then. “Touchy?” 

Robin nodded solemnly, the wondrous shine in Nancy’s glassy pupils as she caressed Robin’s hand still fresh in her mind. “Yeah. She wouldn’t let go of my hand, for like, the entire night. And then– just now, I guess that’s how we fell asleep, too.” 

Robin was aware of how her voice sounded, equal parts unsteady and queasy. She couldn’t help the rush of vertigo that swooped behind her eyes once the words had left her mouth. Steve had been perfectly okay and gentlemanly about her sexuality as a concept, as a thing that she just talked about instead of actually acting on, because they lived in Hawkins , not Indianapolis or Vermont or Manhattan. (How different would it be, really, in those places?) There was no telling how he would react to this thing with Nancy, this thing Robin had for his ex-girlfriend that was starting to feel like an avalanche threatening to spill over a mountain. A catastrophe waiting to happen, held at bay by the spindly twig that was Robin’s inhibition. 

Digging her nails into her palms, keeping her eyes on the thinly grouted tiles beneath her feet, Robin spoke into the quiet that had settled over the bathroom. “It was so stupid of me. I– she asked me that thing about what kind of girls I like, and I was blanking, so– Flash Gordon , right? There’s this scene at the end where Melody Anderson has like, a big space-blaster thing and her hair’s all done up, and– she just– reminded me of Nance. So that’s what I said. That’s my type, I said. Badass brunettes who know how to shoot.” 

Steve was eerily quiet. He was studying Robin, she knew, the way her shoulders had hunched over and her fingers had begun fidgeting with the hem of the DEVO t-shirt that she had worn to bed. She wondered what was going on in that head of his. Wondered what he was going to say now that he knew she– 

“So, Nancy,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but his tone lacked the sharpness that Robin had been expecting. He was almost whispering. “Your type is Nancy.” 

Robin nodded again, unable to stop the way her brows pinched together or the way her hands reached up to wrap tightly around her own shoulders. Held back a joke that echoed in her head now that she was repeating all of this to a captive audience: how many gun-slinging brunettes do we know besides Nancy? 

“You like her?” Steve asked carefully. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking on the last syllable, and Jesus Christ she can’t cry every time she talks about this, that’s just not productive. She wiped at her eyes uselessly, pushing at her closed eyelids like she could will the tears away before they even had the chance to come. That’s productive. 

“Don’t cry, Rob, hey–” 

“No, this is so incredibly fucked, Steve, please don’t pretend it isn’t. I’m violating, like, fifty different amendments of the bro code, and I–”

“ Bro code – what the hell are you talking about?” Steve huffed, and was he laughing ? At a time like this, he was laughing? 

“I’m talking about the fact that I have the hots for your ex-girlfriend and you’d be perfectly entitled to never speak to me again for something like this,” she said empathetically, hurriedly. She sniffled, fingertips pressing into her own shoulders. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye.

“Robin,” Steve began, and she risked a glance at his face. He was smiling at her, a warm, affectionate smirk. “It’s okay. I’ve been over Nancy for– for a long time, all right? And if I had to pick who’d get her next–” his bright eyes dimmed for a second, and he held up a clarifying hand. “Not that I think I reserve that right in any way, of course, but, uh–” he shook his head at himself, the movement barely perceptible aside from the slight wag of his bangs as he did it. “I’d pick my best friend.” 

Robin felt her bottom lip tremble despite the tremendous relief that coursed through her. He wasn’t mad. Why did it come so easily for him? Did he have to be so goddamn charitable all the time? “That’s– that’s really nice, and everything, Steve, but there are other, larger factors at play here.”

Steve snorted. “Oh, yeah? Like what?” 

“Like the immovable fact that Nancy is as straight as they come."

Steve shrugged like he hadn’t even thought about it. “She might not be.” 

All at once, Robin felt herself become thoroughly exhausted by the sheer magnitude of Steve’s optimism. “Right, okay, sure,” she rolled her eyes. Her brain wanted her to slide past him, to open the door and walk back into the comfort of Eddie’s tiny kitchen and leave behind whatever theories Steve might have about Nancy’s sexuality. Her body, however, kept her still where she stood. She needed to hear this. Needed any kind of third party perspective, even if it turned out to be completely baseless. 

“I’m serious,” Steve insisted. “People cha— well, not change, I guess, just— realize. People can realize things about themselves at any time. If all it took was a pot brownie for Nance to realize she plays for your team, then–” he made a cute little gesture with his fist, subtly pumping it in the air and then letting it fall back down to his hip. “--more power to her.” 

“Even if I believed there was the tiniest possibility that Nancy is queer, I sincerely hope that a pot brownie wasn’t all it took for her to discover it.” 

Steve gave another short laugh. “Yeah, well. I do think she’s a little more headstrong than that.” 

Robin narrowed her eyes at him. Using words like headstrong . Saying things like people can realize things about themselves at any time , like he’s some big expert on self-actualization. Blushing up to his ears just from the sound of Eddie Munson’s morning voice. Rolling with the massive societal blow that was your best friend coming onto your ex, like it was just a regularly acceptable thing. Something was up with him, and it was right under her nose, wasn’t it?

“What’s going on with you?”

“Me?” Steve pointed a loose finger at himself. “I’m fine, I’m not the one who–”

“No, shut up. Something’s changed.” 

Steve laughed again, but this time it sounded forced, nervous. “ Nothing’s changed, I don’t know what you’re–” 

“Realize anything about yourself lately, little Stevie?” 

She watched his Adam’s apple bob in a swallow and she had her answer. Every cell in Robin’s body sang with triumph. He reached up to wind his fingers through the hair at his nape that was starting to get unreasonably long, like that would save him. “No, I don’t think so,” he muttered.

Robin raised her eyebrows, biting her lip over a coy smile. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” he shrugged again. 

“So you won’t care if I go outside right now and ask Eddie what the two of you get up to when you have those one-on-one sleepovers that I’ve never been invited to?” Robin asked, already reaching for the doorknob. 

Steve scoffed, a small tch noise paired with a casual wave of his hand. “Be my guest.”

Robin’s grin was so wide her cheeks were starting to hurt. She clicked the lock open and turned the doorknob, the words ‘ Hey, Eddie! ’ on the tip of her tongue. And then Steve was surging forward to stop her, hand circling her wrist in an iron grip in one blurry movement. 

“Okay, fine , Jesus Christ,” he relented, voice low, eyes darting around like Eddie himself was about to pop out from behind the shower curtain. He let go of her wrist and looked her in the eye. “There’s been… there’ve been some developments lately.” 

“I fucking knew it,” Robin hissed giddily. “You are not slick at all , seriously, I have the most advanced gaydar in this entire town.” 

“Just– just cool it , okay?” Steve told her, gesturing a little frantically with both hands, although she could see the beginnings of a smile quirking the corners of his mouth. “We haven’t put a label on anything– I haven't put a label on– on whatever I am yet, but as far as I know right now–” 

“You’ve got it bad ,” she said, bewildered. “For Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson.” 

Steve’s brow crinkled again over the grin that was now fully present on his face. “Don’t call him that,” he said, so fucking softly, and Robin felt her heart melt into a useless puddle. “I do, though, don’t I?” The flush on his cheeks reappeared in startling brightness, and Robin couldn’t not hug him. 

After throwing her arms around Steve’s neck and squealing into his shoulder about how she was going to murder him for not telling her sooner, Robin and Steve emerged from the bathroom with matching dopey grins and glowing cheeks. Anyone would assume–

“You two kiss and make up?” Eddie teased from where he leaned smugly against the counter, plate of eggs already devoured with nary a crumb left behind. Robin had already adjusted as well as anyone could to the fact that Steve was freakishly good in the kitchen. 

“Sure did,” Steve replied, walking past Eddie (towards the remaining eggs that were probably cold by now) and laying a firm but fleeting hand on his shoulder as he went. Robin imagined a morning just like this one, exactly the same, just without the watchful gaze of herself and Nancy, in which Steve might’ve planted a kiss on Eddie’s cheek rather than a friendly hand on his shoulder. Robin chirped back a quick, “Yup,” before noticing that Nancy was stirring into wakefulness from her position on the couch. 

Robin felt the flight-or-flight instinct brewing in her gut like an old friend. She threw a nervous glance in Steve’s direction, who promptly threw back an encouraging wink. Eddie, oblivious, crooned, “Morning, Wheeler!” through the gap between cabinet and counter. 

“Morning,” Nancy mumbled, rubbing at her eyes with the back of one hand and haphazardly smoothing out her hair with the other. 

Robin couldn’t really move as she watched Nancy unfold herself from the position she had fallen asleep in, fold up the blanket that she had been using with careful hands and then look to the kitchen with a question in her eyes until her gaze landed on Robin, and the question seemed to answer itself. 

“Hey,” Nancy greeted Robin, voice a little raspy from sleep. She looked nervous, which felt wrong. She has no reason to be. Robin was the one who’s rightfully nervous, about three seconds away from running out of the trailer screaming, because she’s not sure she can do this. “Could we maybe, um–”

“Talk? Somewhere private?” Robin supplied. 

“Yeah,” Nancy agreed, nerves melting into a pleased smile. So they were doing this.

“Lead the way,” Robin said with a little flourish of her hand. 

Nancy led Robin into the bathroom, and Robin held back a bewildered laugh. She supposed there wasn’t an embarrassment of private places to talk in the Munson trailer. The absurdity of this whole thing eased Robin’s own jangled nerves, but only by a small fraction. The ease with which Steve had accepted her attraction towards Nancy, the even easier dynamic that flowed between him and Eddie, (Robin thought back to the little half-formed idea she had had last night about their untapped romantic potential and gave herself a mental pat on the back), the mind-boggling possibility that Nancy could be queer, a concept that Robin was still wrapping her head around despite Steve’s insistence. Robin felt a little light-headed as she watched Nancy lock the door behind her once they were both in the bathroom, the same way that Steve had just a few minutes prior– except Robin was certain she felt her heart skip a few beats at the subtle click that the lock gave. 

Nancy let her hand fall slowly from the doorknob. They stared at each other in silence for a short, heavy moment, like neither one of them wanted to be the first to speak. Robin was okay with that. She wondered where they would start, if they would start at all–

Nancy cleared her throat. “So, did you–” she paused, closed her eyes for a second, smiling briefly. More directly, but in a voice that still sounded slightly timid, she asked: “How much of last night do you remember?”

Robin made a vaguely amused sound that came in a short exhale. “I think I should be the one asking you that question,” she said, cursing the faint tremor in her words. 

Robin watched Nancy chew at her bottom lip, watched her narrow her eyes, and she was, for the quickest blink of a second, reminded of the clipped, annoyed interactions the two of them had shared at the library all those months ago. That annoyance existed somewhere so far outside Nancy’s current scale of emotion that Robin shoved the memory aside, focusing all of her powers of perception on the way Nancy’s expression was now shifting into a warm, barely-there smile. 

“I remember touching you,” Nancy said softly, something about the memory of the touches in question causing her brows to twitch together and her smile to dim. “More– more than I should’ve. I’m sorry about that.”

“No, no, it was–” Robin started, and then stopped. As neutrally as she could manage, she said: “I didn’t mind it.”

Nancy’s smile brightened again, and Robin watched her cheeks turn a faint shade of pink. “Neither did I,” she admitted quietly. 

“Wh– um, what else do you remember?” Robin pressed forward. 

“I remember what you told me,” Nancy said solemnly. And, shit, this was it. This was the defining moment for the rest of their friendship, if Robin was still going to be able to call it that when this conversation was finished. In the cold, sober light of day, Robin dreaded whatever she was going to say next. 

“Which part? I said a lot of things, and– and some of them were, like–” Robin scoffed at herself, shoulders moving in a shrug that she wasn’t totally in control of. “-- so stupid, I had no idea what I was saying, honestly–” 

“About those rumors in high school,” Nancy clarified, and her tone was so perfectly similar to the careful, empathetic way that Steve had spoken to her earlier that Robin’s mouth slammed itself shut. “I meant what I said last night, Robin. There’s nothing wrong with you, no matter what anyone says, and– and I–” 

So she remembered everything, then. Everything important, at least. Robin isn’t sure where she got the idea that getting blackout drunk was in any way synonymous to tripping off a pot brownie. 

Nancy continued, sounding shaky all of the sudden. “I just wanted to thank you for telling me. For trusting me. I know that couldn’t have been easy.”

“Nance,” Robin said in a sigh. “Trusting you is one of the easiest things I’ve ever done. You’re– you’re an incredible person, and you care so much, I just– I mean, I would say there’s no one I’d trust more with that information, but I technically told Steve, like, forever ago–” she noted the way Nancy’s brows lifted subtly at that, “--but, I just… I’m glad I told you. I’ve wanted to for a while now, it’s just— it’s tough, you know?” 

“You told Steve?” Nancy repeated, sharpening. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “How did he take it?” She sounded startlingly protective. 

Robin huffed out an awkward laugh. “Well, he had just professed his love for me right before I spilled the beans, so he was pretty crestfallen, but I think he got over it fairly quickly.” Nancy’s jaw went slack, which only made Robin laugh louder. “Nance, seriously, I wouldn’t be as close with him as I am if he wasn’t cool about it.”

Nancy dropped her arms back down to her sides and pursed her lips in a repressed sort of smile. She had looked ready to storm out of the bathroom and smack Steve upside the head for a moment there. “Right.”

Another stretch of silence fell over the bathroom. This time, Robin took the initiative to break it. “So, uh, first time with weed.”

Nancy’s eyebrows twitched upward again, and her smile took on a humorous little quirk. “Yeah. Eddie was right, it– it felt… weird. I doubt that I’ll make it a habit, but I guess it was sort of calming.”

“I believe the word you used last night was interesting ,” Robin corrected. 

“Well, that too.” Nancy mumbled, cheeks flashing red. “I’ve heard people say it turns your brain off, but– I swear, it had the opposite effect on me. I couldn’t stop thinking. It was bizarre.”

“Really?” Robin leaned her hip against the counter, intrigued. “What were you thinking about?”

For some indefinite reason, this question made Nancy look at Robin with wide, guilty eyes. She looked caught , flustered beyond belief. It was a rare sight for someone as put-together as she was, and Robin found herself taking a mental snapshot of her flushed cheeks, the fidgety way she had begun to wring her hands out. Robin was about to ask if she was alright when Nancy breathed out, “You.”

Robin blinked. She couldn’t have heard that right. She was hallucinating, some afterglow of the brownie still lingering in her system. Or Nancy was playing some kind of prank on her. A very cruel, very unfunny prank.

“What?” Robin asked, elegantly. 

“You, Robin.” Nancy’s voice wavered horribly, like she was making an effort to force the words out. “You’re all I’ve thought about for– since– since the Creel house. Since the Upside Down. Since you called me your friend.” Her voice dropped low and tortured at the word friend. She shook her head, looking to the ground for a moment before locking Robin in a stare that was almost accusatory. “I know what friendship feels like, and this–” she softened, shoulders relaxing, eyebrows pinching together. She was quiet for another moment before whispering, “This is more than that. I really like you.”

Robin couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak, she was surprised her lungs hadn’t atrophied from lack of use because she wasn’t breathing either. She stopped breathing the moment Nancy had said ‘You, Robin.’ She wouldn’t dare. She wouldn’t dream of doing anything that would interrupt whatever this moment was turning into. If Nancy was saying what Robin refused to believe she was saying– 

“I really like you, Robin,” Nancy said again, still whispering, and Robin still wasn’t buying it. “--and I don’t want you to think I’m telling you this just– just because of what you told me, or– or because I’m desperate, or something–” 

“Nance,” Robin got out, her voice inexplicably hoarse. She made an effort to keep her voice soft when she asked– “Exactly what are you telling me here? You–”

“I want to be with you,” she said, conviction in every syllable. She took a step closer to Robin, just a singular step. “I– we’re adults now, aren’t we?” Robin wasn’t sure who she was asking. “We’re adults and– and I know what I want.”

Me, Robin thought numbly. Nancy Wheeler wants me . “But– you–” 

Nancy waited, watching Robin silently. Nervously.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Robin had a feeling she already knew the answer.

Nancy sighed, but squared her shoulders and said, “Jonathan. What I told you last night wasn’t bullshit, not entirely, I just– omitted a few things.” She wrapped her arms around herself and continued. “I would lay awake at night, and try and picture myself spending the rest of my life with him. A wife to a husband. A mother, working alongside a father. All that suburban crap that he used to hate. And whenever I tried to visualize it, it was just…” she shook her head. “...blank. Like, static. I couldn’t picture it. At first, I thought I was broken or something. I tried to do the same with Steve–” this was said in a whisper, with a glance in Robin’s direction. “-- and the same thing happened. I couldn’t do it. I still can’t. I mulled it over for weeks, why I was thinking that way– and then I found the common variable. I couldn’t picture myself being genuinely happy with a guy . I still can’t. And– and then what you told me, last night, it just– it all makes sense now.” 

Does it? Robin wanted to ask . Because I don’t think any of it does . Earlier that evening, she had been laughing at the mere possibility of Nancy liking girls. Turns out her universe is pretty goddamn unrealistic. Fantastical, even, if something like this is possible. 

“Well, this–” Robin ran a hand through her hair, feeling it stick up between her fingers but it would look weird if she tried to smooth it out– “I really like you, too. Obviously, I mean–” 

Nancy looked dumbstruck for a short, undetectable second before her face lit up in a shy grin. “You do?” 

Robin wanted to laugh. “Yes. God, yes, are you kidding me? Yes. And you’re not broken. Seriously– you’re fucking amazing, Nance.” 

Nancy stepped even closer to Robin and began picking at her nails again before asking, “Would you want to go on a date sometime?” 

Robin could’ve shot through the roof. She could’ve fainted, or started singing. “Yeah,” she said, unable to dilute the smile that was threatening to break her face open or the excitement in that singular word. “Sure. Yes. Anytime.” This is where Steve would probably say something like no, see, you’ve gotta cast out your line and wait, don’t make yourself too available, try not to seem to eager, but she shoved that out of her head before it could dampen the unbridled glee that she could feel racing through her veins. 

Nancy’s smile remained and she exhaled what sounded like a sigh of relief. “Okay, good. Awesome. How’s Saturday?” 

“Saturday’s perfect,” Robin told her. “You– you have my number, right?”

“Yeah,” Nancy said, and it felt like that was that. That reality-bending, law-defying conversation was over now, seemingly, and Robin had a date with Nancy Wheeler on Saturday. But something was keeping Nancy from leaving the bathroom, that same something having the same effect on Robin. Neither of them moved for a moment.

She took a half-step closer, so their feet were only about 5 inches apart on the tile. The distance between their faces was even less, and Nancy was very, very still as she watched Robin with wide, focused eyes. 

“Should we–”

“Is it okay if I–”

They’d spoken at the same time, and Robin covered her face with a clammy hand as Nancy laughed. Her face was scorching hot, along with the back of her neck and her ears. “Sorry,” she mumbled, letting her hand drop to her side. “I was just–”

“Can I kiss you?” 

Robin felt distinctly like the floor she stood on was falling away beneath her. By the grace of some higher power, she stayed upright despite her jellified knee joints. Fucking shit . Nancy beat her to the punch. Of course she did.

Robin just nodded. That’s all she was capable of doing at the moment, aside from reaching her hand up to rest it in the space between Nancy’s neck and shoulder. Her thumb moved back and forth across the side of Nancy’s throat, a movement that wasn’t entirely voluntary. Nancy blinked up at her, lips parting, and Robin watched her stare at her mouth. She looked like she was standing on the edge of a cliff. All taut and bracing and still as a stone. Robin couldn’t stand it anymore. 

Their lips were about a centimeter apart when Nancy leaned upward and kissed her. Warm and solid and firm and full of the exact kind of heat that Robin felt every time she’d looked at Nancy for the past five months. 

Kissing Nancy did actually feel like free falling off of a great, towering cliff. She could understand Nancy’s nerves, but she delighted in the way she could feel the tension was leaving her body with every second that their lips stayed pressed together like this. Nancy was shy with it at first, out of practice maybe, but that was hardly having an effect on her ability to make Robin dizzy with the burning need for more . 

Robin felt her hand move to grip Nancy’s waist, needing an anchor for all of this, some prideful streak coming to life within her at Nancy’s humming inhale. Her other hand stayed near her neck, thumb still tracing the skin there. In what could be called retaliation, Nancy reached up to tangle her hands in Robin’s hair, opening her mouth and holy fucking Christ how was she so good at this. Nancy Wheeler. Fuck . 

Nancy tilted her head, deepened the kiss, gently dragged her nails across Robin’s scalp, tucking her hair behind her ear, the movement so tender and sweet in such blinding contrast to the heated way their lips were connecting and reconnecting, which felt like molten lava in a shotglass, and Robin never wanted to leave this bathroom. Steve and Eddie would be just fine by themselves. Nothing else mattered. Nancy’s morning breath was a little more noticeable when she was breathing it directly into Robin’s mouth, but Robin didn’t care in the slightest. She couldn’t believe it took her this long to do this. 

Nancy was the first to draw back, which was clearly done out of necessity for oxygen and not repulsion or regret, if the elation in her expression was anything to go by. Robin swallowed, tried not to let it get to her head, panting in unison with Nancy. They didn’t separate fully, just breathed in the other's air for a moment. Nancy kept her hands blissfully still in Robin’s hair, Robin moved hers to coast up and down Nancy’s wiry bicep. 

“You okay?” Robin softly asked when Nancy was quiet for too long. 

Nancy’s eyes seemed to blank out for a second, dancing all over Robin’s face as a grin crept onto her face. “Yeah, fine, amazing, I just–” bizarrely, she giggled. “I think I’m still a little high.” 

Robin snorted a laugh, beside herself with everything that had just happened. Giddy with the possibilities before her. “Me, too,” she said around a snicker. Nancy dropped her head forward to rest it against Robin’s shoulder, laughter coming in warm puffs against Robin’s neck. 

They did eventually leave the bathroom. After a couple more kisses, including one at the door as Nancy unlocked it, which almost felt like a goodbye even though they headed into the kitchen with their knuckles brushing as they walked. It was maybe a goodbye to the tiny little oasis they had created in there. (Robin sort of wanted to kick herself over the fact that Eddie Munson’s bathroom was now forever the place where she and Nancy had their first kiss.)

Steve seemed to know exactly what went down in there, and he looked a little too pleased about it as Robin caught his eye over Eddie’s shoulder as he was bitching at him about the eggs are cold, Harrington, and you’re insane if you think I’m putting them in my microwave, that’s gonna make such an unbelievable mess and I’m gonna have to clean it up– 

“You guys good?” Steve asked, only looking at Robin. Eddie immediately whirled around. 

Robin nodded, biting her lip in a grin, and Nancy was the one who replied. “Yeah. We’re great.”

“Thank God,” this was Eddie, breathless and on the edge of annoyed as he pleaded his case. “ Please tell him that there is no saving these eggs. He insisted that we wait for the two of you to come back before throwing them out, which I admire– chivalrous as always, you son of a bitch– but–”

“Let’s go out and get something. I’ll pay,” Nancy cut him off. 

This stopped Eddie in his tracks. Steve looked a little thrown by the suggestion, but he righted himself and asked, “Where would we even go?” 

Which is how Eddie ended up driving them to the diner next to Family Video after Robin and Nancy had changed out of their pajamas and ultimately gave the eggs to the neighbor’s dog, who Nancy had scratched lovingly as he demolished the plate. At the diner, they discussed delightfully ordinary topics, like whether or not Lucas and Max have gotten back together yet, the song that Eddie was working on right before The Upside Down and hadn’t gotten around to finishing, but maybe he should, he’s a very talented lyricist, Robin urged him on, laughing when Eddie’s cheeks pinked. 

Nancy let Robin have the rest of her fries when they’d all finished eating, and Robin held her hand under the table. She’ll scream about that with Steve later, and she’ll go on a date with Nancy goddamn Wheeler this Saturday.