Chapter Text
It should be raining.
Funerals aren't supposed to have happy weather with the sun shining brightly over the graveyard, yellow light turning the grass greener and reflecting off the priest’s ring.
Her mother had made Robin wear a black dress and now the hem itches at her calves, and Robin can’t concentrate on what’s being said. Tommy’s mom is crying in the front row and Tommy’s father is icily standing by her side, and beside Robin, Steve has been staring at the ground ever since they got here.
So much for closure.
It should be raining and Robin resents the sky for being a cloudless blue, and Tommy H’s funeral is only one in dozens. Hawkins is shrouded in grief and Robin is supposed to be one of the lucky ones that didn’t lose anyone in the Russian experiments.
That’s what they’re calling it– the Russian experiments. Some freaky explosion that killed half the city.
If only.
The girl, El, is here, too, clutching Chief Hopper’s hand and crying silently. Apparently, she had some weird connection with Tommy, especially right at the end.
And Robin feels kind of like a fraud for being here. She didn’t know Tommy H. She knew of him and she used to think he was an idiot and a dick. Then she saw him die holding off an interdimensional monster, and now she’s at his funeral.
But once upon a time, Tommy H grew up with Steve. Once upon a time, they had been best friends and now Tommy is dead and Steve is looking only half-alive. He knew Carol too , she remembers, this isn't his first funeral this week .
So Robin is here and when everyone files out, when it’s only Robin and Steve and Billy and El and Nancy and Jonathan and Chief Hopper, when it’s only those who knew what really killed Tommy H, Robin squeezes Steve’s hand once, whispers, “we’ll wait for you by the car, take your time,” before looping her arm with Billy’s and following the Chief and Jonathan out.
It should be raining but the sun is scorching all these freshly dug graves and Hawkins has never seen a summer like this. It has never seen so many funerals like this.
“You think he’s gonna be okay?” Robin asks as she leans on the Camaro, Billy lighting up a cigarette beside her. Far ahead, Steve is still by Tommy’s grave, Nancy and El with him.
“Yeah, Harrington's tough,” Billy says, dropping ashes on the grass and scuffing it with his boot. Not far enough, the Chief is talking in low tones with Jonathan. “Just give him some time, he’ll be fine.”
His tone is flippant but Robin recognizes the worried crinkle in his brow, the twitching of his fingers, the cigarette to calm his nerves. Robin knows better, but she appreciates the gesture.
She also sees the way he’s been holding himself more gingerly, never leaning on his left side, and the angry bruising on his arm, on his cheekbone, on his chest– none of them courtesy of the Russians, Robin would know.
“What about you,” she nudges his shoulder lightly, glancing at his face, “are you gonna be okay?”
Billy takes a deep hit, blows the smoke up to the blue Midwest sky, and genuinely smiles at her for the first time in two weeks. “I’ll be great,” he roots around his jacket’s pocket and digs out a shiny silvery key to dangle at her face. “Just paid the first three months for a two-bedroom downtown yesterday.”
“What?” Robin gapes, elation bubbling guiltily in her chest, and she can't help squealing delightedly at the news. Billy has shitty timing for these things but goddamn it, he’s right, this is huge news– Robin throws her arms around him and Billy grunts in surprise, but still spins her once, laughing, before settling her back down. “I’m so proud of you– how, I mean, you were broke–”
She knows what it looks like to people outside, knows the Chief and Jonathan are probably having ideas, and this is still a funeral, but Robin can’t bring himself to care, not when Billy is shrugging, brazen and proud, daring the whole world to take him on, “turns out, the feds were real generous with their hush money once they saw what really was down there.”
Oh, Robin knows. Her own bank account has never seen so much money at once. Community college, here she comes.
“This really is great, Billy,” she beams, unbearably relieved for him, like that tiny part inside her that used to be constantly worrying about him in that house is finally loose. It’s okay to breathe.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll have to wait until next week to move in, though, so I’m staying at a motel outside town until then,” he grumbles like he’s embarrassed and Robin struggles to school her face back into some semblance of blankness as they see Steve and the girls heading back. “You riding with him?”
Robin hums. “He shouldn’t be alone right now. You’re meeting with us at the diner later?”
“Can’t,” he shakes his head, reluctantly pushing off his car, “I’m picking up Max from the Wheelers’.”
Steve parts with a hug from Nancy and a solemn nod from El, diverging from their path to approach Robin and Billy. His face is less ashen, less empty, less less , so Robin figures she has to thank Nancy Wheeler and El for whatever they said to him up there. “Hey. Can I bum one?”
“Sure,” Billy offers him his pack and leans in to light it for him, swallowing thickly as he does it, claps his shoulder. He looks like he’s about to say something, but thinks better of it, squeezing Steve’s shoulder instead before walking away.
It should be raining, but the sun is hot on their backs as Robin pulls Steve to her side, wraps an arm around his shoulder, and slowly steers him to the Beemer.
*
The strangest thing in the aftermath is how little things change. Maybe it’s a question of resilience, maybe it’s just how small towns are, but Robin finds it off-putting how easily the people go on with their lives– yes, the mall exploded, yes there was a military base underneath it, but the grocery store is still lacking in the cereal department and the old movie theater is showing Back to the Future.
Nothing but hushed whispers every now and then to betray the earthquake of changes that wrecked their reality just three weeks ago.
The more things change, the more they stay the same, Robin figures– exhibit A: here she is, yet again, braving the streets at night looking for her shithead black cat.
“Lizzie,” she calls, whistling. You’d think a half-blind cat would prefer to stay indoors, safely tucked in her very expensive bed that cost two months of allowance, but no, of course not. And like, that would be fine, cats like to wander, no biggie, except Lizzie doesn't see well in the dark and more often than not, she gets lost. Thus, Robin’s nightly walks. “Lizzie?”
The damn furball is gonna be the death of her, like, literally. Robin is gonna get eaten by a demowhatever and they’ll write her death off as some stupid animal attack and–
“Hey, Lizzie girl,” a voice calls from somewhere at her right and Robin whirls around, ready to go off on whoever it is, but– finds nothing. Just a lovely house with some lovely violet bushes and some– she snorts, some lovely dug up holes around it. That’s gonna be a bitch to fix later, poor bastards. “Up here, smart pants.”
Robin follows the voice, looking up, up, and oh. There’s an open window in the second floor with a flower pot with a wilted flower on it, which is a special feat, truly, considering it’s a succulent, those things are nearly unkillable, like, they could probably outlive humans in a nuclear apocalypse, and oh, right, leaning on the window sill, there’s a girl, petting Lizzie. A vaguely familiar girl Robin half-remembers from school and she’s petting Lizzie while the furball lounges on the window sill, and she’s smirking amusedly at Robin like she’s been watching her scream her head off around the street for some time now.
“Excuse me,” Robin stomps through the already ruined garden to stand outside her window, arms crossed, “that’s my cat.”
The girl snickers. “Lizzie, is it? After the Austen character?”
And because Robin is still annoyed, irritated, with the entire situation and also has never been particularly good at acting like a normal human being around pretty girls, she says, “or maybe it’s after the Borden character.”
“Ooh, spooky,” the girl waggles her eyebrows, makes a mocking scared face, letting the cat slip out of her grip and jump down to Robin’s arms. Lizzie purrs contentedly, wagging her tail twice. “You should know, then, that she’s been murdering my mother’s violets all evening.”
Oh, shit. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” Robin breathes, momentarily panicked, and glances down at the mangled bushes and the terribly revolved dirt, and wonders if she’ll have to run to escape spending her Saturday gardening. “She, uh, she’s kind of like a dog sometimes, she does that, yeah. Sorry?”
The girl shrugs and her hair flutters with the motion, catching the moonlight. It’s a full moon tonight and it had felt terribly ominous when Robin left in a hurry, no coat on, but now– now it just looks beautiful. “Don’t worry about it, I dropped an ottoman on them this morning, so she’d freaked out anyway. I should thank you, actually. Now I have an excuse for her ruined bushes.”
Well then. An ottoman, really? “Oh, okay,” Robin grins, “you’re welcome, then.”
It’s getting late and Robin should probably get going, Lizzie is getting antsy in her arms and she’ll start scratching soon, and it’s pretty dark, and Robin really needs to go home, so. “I’ll just– thanks for, uh, looking after her.”
She shrugs and disappears inside before Robin can return the goodbye, leaving her standing there, in this stranger’s house, with a cat in her arms.
“Well then,” she says to the empty space.
Mew? answers Lizzie.
The moon is shining silver in the sky and if it had seemed like a bad omen before, a watchful eye glowering down at her, now… it just glows.
*
“So, what do you think?”
Billy’s question shakes her from her thoughts and Robin blinks, taking in the empty room. It’s small, enough to fit only a bed and a closet, maybe a desk, too, but it’s not bad. Even the stupid pineapple patterned curtain is kinda funny in that tacky way.
The whole apartment is like that. Small, a kitchen and a living room, one bathroom and one other room with matching curtains, but not bad. It comes with a shitty TV and like, three plates, one glass, and absolutely no cutlery.
“I love it,” she tells him honestly, grinning, “especially the curtains.”
“Fuck off,” he rolls his eyes, arms crossed over his chest, but she can tell he’s fighting off a smile, “they’re ugly as shit, but I’m not waking up at ass o’clock in the morning ‘cause the sun’s in my face.”
“No, I mean it!” She laughs, glancing at them again, the yellow pineapples clashing horribly with the pink background, “they’re funky!”
“You’re funky,” Billy scowls, half at Robin, half at the curtains, then his face shifts into something less harsh, less brass-knuckled. “Real talk, you really like it?”
Robin considers it, grins. “Yeah, I dig it.”
If she didn’t know Billy, she’d say he looks almost relieved. “And you and Harrington are looking for new jobs?”
“We’re being kinda lazy about it, but yeah, we’ll probably have something by the end of the summer,” she shrugs, tugging at the curtains to take in the view. This bedroom looks right into the street below, not exactly a nice scenery but– comfortingly normal. A constant reminder that the world is still spinning and life goes on.
Even after monsters and evil Russians. Even after a season of funerals that seemed to last all summer.
In any case, Billy’s voice startles her once again back to the present. “Good,” he nods, eyes fixed somewhere between the tiny pineapples, “‘cause half the rent is yours if you want to move in.”
It knocks the air out of her lungs. Suddenly, tomorrow and tomorrow and the rest of the year seems less scary, less dreary. Suddenly, there’s a door and Robin isn’t scared to open it. There’s a future and it’s only mildly anxiety-inducing. “Really? I– you mean it?” She bites her lip, imagines a mattress, a desk, fairy lights hanging and a wall full of shitty polaroids. She imagines movie nights and not feeling caged in by the ceiling during dinner. Freedom– giddy and exciting and exhilarating. “I could move in?”
“Of course, why the fuck do you think I rented a two-bedroom?” He shrugs, still talking to the pineapples, and Robin is happy. After Starcourt, she can believe she gets to be happy.
“Billy Hargrove,” she says as he walks up to her side to stare out the window, knocks shoulders with him, “you are a good friend.”
There’s still the entirety of senior year before she can move in without being definitely disowned and it’s gearing up to a hard long winter, but this place stays as a lighthouse now in her mind, always on, signaling a future brighter than she’d ever thought.
*
“Fancy seeing you here again,” the girl says, grinning, and Lizzie purrs, tail waving in the wind. The succulent is gone from the window, replaced by a wilted sunflower.
“Did she commit any other felonies this time?” Robin smiles back, watching her pet the cat. It’s been, what? Three days, yeah, and she’s beginning to fear it will not be the last time she’ll track Lizzie here. “I see the violets are making a valiant recovery, by the way.”
The girl laughs. “Yeah, my mom’s pretty much a pro by now,” she buries her fingers in the fur, combing through the soft hair. “But nah, this one’s been a good girl this time. Jumped through my window to steal my popcorn.”
“Oh, you’re done now,” Robin shakes her head, looks away from the girl to the cherry tree in front of it. There are still cherries on the top where they probably couldn’t reach; it must have been pretty in the spring. Whatever. “She’ll never leave now that you fed her.”
To her surprise, the girl shrugs, careless, and her long hair looks soft, dark curls over her shoulder, and Robin should probably ask her name, right? That’s– it’s normal to do that, considering Lizzie is looking like she’ll be stopping by again. “I’ve got that feeling, yeah. So, will you tell me now– Austen book or serial killer?”
For a second, Robin is lost and it must show on her face, because the girl laughs, head tilting back, and it startles Lizzie into jumping down next to Robin. “The name,” she says, still smiling, “you never told me if you named your cat after Pride and Prejudice or the murderer.”
Oh. Robin flusters. “Right, yeah. I– I adopted her last year, just after I had finished the book, so. Jane Austen it is.” Please, don’t think I’m a psycho, I just say stupid shit when I’m nervous, she had meant.
“That makes more sense, yeah,” she nods solemnly before cracking, and Robin thinks this might be a good time to ask her name and maybe introduce herself; the air smells like cherry and she tastes it at the back of her throat when she takes in a deep breath–
But before she can say anything at all, a voice inside calls and the girl looks behind her shoulder, brows creasing briefly, and she turns to Robin with her hands already reaching to close down the window. “I have to go– but hey, Ms. Bennett there is always welcome to come back!”
And with that, she slips the window panel closed, curtains fluttering as if the whole room had exhaled and this is the second time Robin has failed to get her name.
At her feet, Lizzie mews chirpily and starts back home.
*
“Steve?” She knocks on the pristine wooden door again, listening to the sound echoing in the empty house. They all know the Harringtons aren’t exactly the homebody type, but Robin had honestly thought they would’ve at least come back from wherever the fuck in Europe they are for the funerals. And yet– “Harrington, you promised to go job hunting yesterday with me but you bailed on me, you asshole!”
There’s no answer from inside, but she hears a door slamming closed. It’s been two weeks since, well, they buried half the town, a month since Starcourt, and it’s kind of hit and miss with Steve. Some days he’s fine and they go to the diner to get breakfast food at four in the afternoon, and some days it’s like this. No answer. Just radio silence and Robin worrying.
She worries because she has nightmares that wake her up crying in the middle of the night, and sometimes she has to stop herself from calling everyone, making sure they’re all alive. Sometimes, if she’s not paying attention, she slips right back to that underground facility and it takes forever to claw back to reality. And she knows Billy drives by sometimes, hears the Camaro rolling down the street like he needs the reassurance too, and sometimes she climbs out the window and they drive to the quarry in silence, just the quiet certainty that the world isn’t ending.
And if the two of them are fucked up, Robin can only imagine what Steve’s like. She thinks he calls Billy sometimes, he said something vague about it but didn’t go into details, and that’s good, but he’s gotta leave this place more, Jesus. It’s like a goddamn tomb with all this silence.
“Come on, Steve,” she calls, leaning back to glance up at his window; the curtains are drawn tight and she can’t get a look inside. “Just let me the fuck in, we’re worried about you.”
Still nothing.
“I’m not leaving until you say something, dingus. I’m stubborn and you owe me at the very least a milkshake for standing me up.”
Finally, there’s some rustling upstairs and the window is thrown open, Steve leaning out to frown blankly at her. “Raincheck?”
“No can do,” Robin shakes her head. If she lets him get away with this now, she has a feeling he won’t show up again this summer. She can’t let him set a precedent. “Get your ass down here, we’re going to that diner.”
Steve looks frankly terrible, his bruises haven’t faded completely yet and there are bags under his eyes that stand out even more against his pale skin. She purses her lips and decides it was a good thing coming out here today. Debating for another second, Steve sighs, defeated and tired. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? Gimme a minute to change.”
Like she said, there are bad days and there are good days, and there are days like this– not good, not bad, just there.
*
It’s another three days until Robin has to go looking for Lizzie again and this time she doesn’t even bother checking somewhere else. She goes straight to the house on Maple Street with a cherry tree in the garden and pretends she hasn’t been hoping for this.
And this time, she is getting her name.
Except–
This time, the girl isn’t at her window with Lizzie. She’s sitting on the curb, the cat on her lap, and headphones loud enough that Robin can faintly hear Cindy Lauper’s Time After Time as she nudges her sneaker with her own. She looks up, startled, and stands up, allowing Robin to see her properly for the first time. Her eyeliner is a little smudged at the edges and her hair looks even longer now that it falls freely, red scrunchie on her wrist, and she must be a lifeguard too if the Hawkins Public Pool t-shirt she’s wearing is anything to go by.
“Oh, hey,” she grins, but it’s not– there’s something different about it. Less bright, less happy. “Looking for this?”
She holds Lizzie up and the cat meows indignantly like, how dare peasants like them treat her like that? Robin accepts the reluctant package and sort of smirks, sort of grins. “So, out of your ivory tower today?”
Something flashes in her eyes and she grimaces briefly, looking back to the house. There’s a lonely light on in the living room and she shrugs. “Something like that. Dad’s being a dick, figured I wait for you out here.”
Relatable. Robin nods sagely. Then, because there’s only so much standing on the sidewalk two people can do without becoming suspicious, she clears her throat. “Do you want– I mean, there’s a diner less than a block from my place…”
The girl’s grin brightens and Robin swells with pride. “That an invitation?”
“Gotta pay you back for feeding this, missy,” she smiles, heart beating just a tiny bit faster. Robin isn’t good at making friends and she’s even worse at making girl friends, so. She’s nervous, that’s all.
“In that case,” the girl dusts cat hair from her shorts and waves at the street, “lead the way.”
Robin takes a whole second to unglue herself from the spot and she still doesn’t know this girl’s name but they’re going to a diner to maybe get some fries and milkshakes at seven PM. You know, stuff friends do, Robin supposes. She should keep that in mind.
“So,” the girl says, falling into step with Robin, “I guess we’re doing all this upside-down–”
It’s like just hearing those words is enough to send a shiver down her spine.
“ – but I suppose introductions are in order. Name’s Heather,” she finally, finally, gives her name and Robin holds it carefully on her chest. Heather. “Holloway. And yeah, my dad owns the newspaper.”
Well shit. Robin whistles. “That’s fancy. I’m–”
“No, no, wait!” The girl– Heather– interrupts her, laughing, “let me guess first! I’ve been wondering– okay, I think,” she draws it out, waggling her eyebrows just to add to the theatrics, “you look like a Helen,” she decides.
It’s Robin’s turn to laugh. “Nope. Not even close.”
“Okay. Jane?”
“That’s also a miss.”
“Anna?”
“Oooh, it’s starting to get embarrassing, I’m feeling sorry for you.”
“Okay, okay, just, the last one, I promise! This is my last guess, really,” she laughs and Robin snickers, dangerously close to a giggle, to be honest, “okay, here goes nothing– Daisy?”
“Really? Daisy?” Robin cackles this time, a full-bellied laugh with her head thrown back, “you think I look like a Daisy?”
When she next glances at her, Heather is smiling. “To be honest, Helen was my first guess.”
“Okay, I’ll allow it,” she says, oh-so-magnanimously, cracking another grin, “but if I can finally introduce myself?”
Heather nods. “Go on, I gracefully accept my defeat.”
“Ready? I’m Robin,” she announces, louder than necessary in the emptying street, like it’s the most important thing she’ll ever say aloud. Then, she juts out her chin, as if daring her to say anything. “So, do I live up to your guesses?”
“Robin,” Heather sounds like she’s trying it out and Robin wonders if she spent as much time wondering as she did, and grins, “like the bird. It more than does. It’s better, I like it,” she decides and Robin hadn’t known this was something she had been hoping for.
There’s something familiar about Heather, more than the whole hey, I’ve seen you around the school thing, something that tugs at Robin, nags and nags and nudges her to keep babbling shit until they reach her house to drop Lizzie off. Maybe it’s just that Robin really wants to be friends with her. School is starting soon and neither Billy nor Steve is gonna be there; it would be nice to have a friend that isn’t from the band. Like, sure, Nancy and Jonathan will be there, but– they’re not friends. They’ve been through all that shitshow together, but that doesn’t make them suddenly close. Well, they are close in that we almost died together once way and she can kind of get why Steve still hangs out with them even after everything, but it’s more of a fellow war veteran situation.
So, yeah. It’d be nice to have a friend next semester, that’s all.
The diner is thankfully indeed very close to her place and Robin doesn’t have to embarrass herself any further, pushing the door open to be greeted by the cool air and the fresh smell of bacon. They take a corner booth, tucked away in the back, and Robin orders the largest portion of fries they have with a milkshake while Heather gets a Coke because apparently, Heather doesn’t know how to have fun at a diner.
And for the first time since Starcourt, Robin feels normal. Just a teenager, hanging out at a diner with a friend, not afraid of staring into the shadows.
*
“I just don’t understand,” Steve says, setting the box down on the floor to wipe off the sweat rolling down his forehead. Gross. “How come you’re just sitting there while we do all the heavy work?”
Robin sips her Capri Sun, legs crossed on the new old threadbare couch she and Billy had found in a garages sale two days ago. “I brought some shit up here too,” she gestures the box in the kitchen table messily labeled KITCHEN SHIT. “Also, careful with that, I think it’s his records.”
“Shit,” he picks it back up to store it in Billy’s new room, still mostly empty except for the single lonely mattress on the floor and the tacky curtains the previous tenant left. “And you know what, all you brought was like, two duffel bags.”
“I’m here for emotional support,” she shouts, shrugging smugly when Steve walks back in rolling his eyes and Billy kicks the front door closed.
“This is the last one,” he informs them, dropping it by the coffee table and throws himself on the couch, jostling Robin probably on purpose because he’s an asshole. “The fuck’re you talking about?”
Now, it’s not that– it’s not that Robin wants to make a big deal out of this whole thing or anything, but like, Steve’s here and smiling at them and this feels like it’s gonna be another good day in a row, and she kinda wants to know if Billy knows Heather. If a tiny, tiny part of her is sort of bubbling to tell them about her, well. They are her best friends, they’ll meet her anyway at some point if they do become friends.
Robin really wishes they will become friends.
So, this is what she means to say: I think I made a friend. What she says is: “I met a girl.”
Billy raises his eyebrow, grins proudly. “Yeah? Shit, you got game now?”
“Oh, my God, who’s she? Do we know her?” Steve sits on her other side on the couch and now Robin is sandwiched between two grinning idiots who think she suddenly got a girlfriend in the middle of the chaos that was the last month. It’s kind of heartwarming that they think she indeed can flirt with a girl without embarrassing herself like Steve, though. “And most importantly, does she sound like a muppet too? Is that your type?”
“Okay, first of all, fuck off,” she socks him on the shoulder, and he laughs, leaning back to dodge her, but Billy pokes the back of her head, looking pointedly in a well? Details, please? “Fine, Jeez. It’s not like that, though. I think we’re friends.”
“You don’t know?” Steve makes a face.
“I mean, we did hang out in the diner last night,” Robin trails off, thinking of sharing fries with Heather while she talks about all the weird shit she saw in the pool, her eyes glittering in the artificial lights, none of the shadows from before. She had tied her hair up in a ponytail, curls falling over her shoulder, and Robin had wanted to run her hands through them, see if they were as soft, as velvety as they looked. “That was nice,” she shrugs, “and she looks after my cat when Lizzie barges in her room.”
“Oh fuck, she’s cool with your demon cat?” Billy asks with almost awed eyes, then, meeting Steve’s eyes over Robin’s head, he explains to him, “shitbird’s got this one-eyed black cat–”
“Lizzie’s got both eyes! She’s just half-blind!”
“ – and she hates like, everyone that isn’t Robin, and maybe her mom, she scratched the hell out of my arm last time, the little shit.”
“No way,” Steve breathes, wide-eyed, “she’s gotta marry this girl!”
“Okay, can we just stop the crazy train for a sec here? Please?” She swivels around between the two, feels her face burn and knows she’s probably blushing like crazy. “We’re just friends. And that’s a big maybe already, so– lay off, alright?”
They both nod. It does not look like they’re gonna lay off.
“Fine, yeah, sure, whatever,” Steve waves it off, “are you going to tell us her name?”
Robin sighs, slouching on the cushions. Stray strands of hair fall on her eyes and she debates silently for a second if she should cut it again or simply let it grow because it’s better than listen to their stupid ideas. “Heather Holloway,” she confesses, something tying itself into knots as the name rolls of her tongue and flutters in the air like butterflies. “Her dad owns the paper.”
Billy makes a noise. “No fuckin’ way,” he laughs, “you met Heather?”
It suddenly clicks on her mind why her name sounded so familiar. Maybe she would’ve realized sooner if she hadn't been so nervous, but she remembers now; a conversation that feels so long ago, before, just Billy and Robin talking over lunch in the food court of the mall. Jesus, it does feel like a lifetime ago too. It’s like her life has been divided cleanly in a before and after, Starcourt Mall right there in the middle, everything from before becoming more and more grainy, greying with age, pushed farther and farther from her mind.
“Shit, that’s the girl you wanted me to meet?” She gasps, firmly ignoring whatever else is going on in her ribcage. “So, she’s gay? You’re sure?”
Now, he turns sheepish, hesitant, almost apologetic, or well, the Billy Hargrove version of apologetic. “‘S not like I could ask her if she’s queer,” he hedges, rubbing the back of his neck, “but yeah. That’s her. She’s the only fuckin’ person I can stand in that place.”
Robin thinks of Heather’s quick replies and sharp tongue, how her eyes gleamed with wicked glee as she teased her. Yeah, that tracks.
“But you think she might be?” Steve presses, hopeful for her, “I mean, if you were gonna introduced them...”
“I had a feelin’,” Billy says and it’s the most diplomatic Robin’s ever heard him. She’s gonna go ahead and assume he’s got no real proof. “I’ve seen her lookin’ sometimes, at the girls and shit. Dunno, man. Just got a feelin’.”
At that, Steve snorts and teases him about being psychic like El or something and Robin knows the conversation is derailing hopelessly now, but– Steve is smiling here, on Billy’s beat-up couch, and the tightness is easing around his eyes into laughter lines. It’s like rewinding time. Robin doesn’t have the heart to interrupt, she watches them bicker instead and wonders if there’s still something salvageable in this summer after all.
*
Pinpricks of rocks hit her window like tiny falling stars knocking for her attention, and Robin is fully prepared to yell at either Billy or Steve or even maybe one of the other shithead kids for throwing gravel at the glass, only to stop short at the sight in her driveway.
“Thought I’d save you the walk,” Heather grins, standing there, under her window, a perfect mirror from the other nights, and Robin can’t help smiling back as Lizzie jumps from her arms to dash inside the house. Tonight, Heather is here and Robin is buzzing with a sort of nervous excitement like a rule is being broken. Something shifts, glints in a new light, and– “hey, did you hear about the new ice cream place?”
“On Main Street?” She asks, leaning out until she feels the drop in her stomach that she tells herself is all from fear of falling. “Yeah,” a pause. It’s a mystery how Heather can stand there so confidently, backlit with the orange sunset, ablaze. She’s a whole forest fire all by herself, lit up in Robin’s front yard and demanding all her attention. Not that Robin hesitates to oblige. Where else would she look? “Why? You feel like getting a sundae?”
Heather grins brighter. “Maybe. You feel like braving this ocean of flavors with me?”
Motherf– Robin groans. “I thought you didn’t know about that,” she deflates, waning a bit and slumping in defeat. If Steve were here, she would tell him to start a YOU SUCK tally for her. Not that this situation is similar to his in any way. This is– completely different. Totally.
“A mutual friend disclosed this information,” Heather says haughtily as if admitting to negotiating with the FBI or something, “top secret, he tells me.”
Seriously, Robin is gonna kill Billy. She’s gonna murder him and it’s gonna be real drawn out and real painful.
Not that it stops her from groaning again and heaving a sigh. “Hargrove’s a dead man,” she informs her flatly before shaking her head, “I’ll be down in a sec, hold on.”
Robin slips on her jacket and rushes downstairs, a quick I’m going out with a friend thrown over her shoulder, Heather’s laughter echoing in her mind all the while. It sounds like wind chimes rattling in the fall, a promise of different days waiting around the corner.
*
“What do you think of this one?” Robin asks, sliding the newspaper towards Steve. He has a red marker on his fingers and it’s staining everything, but he still pauses on his own hunt to look it over. “Seems like they might have two openings.”
“I mean,” he scratches his head, considering it, “it could be worse, I guess?”
“We’ll never find a job if you keep being so picky,” she rolls her eyes, leaning back on her chair. They have been at this for almost two weeks now, school is starting soon and Robin really needs a job, but progress has been slow. Finding a place willing to hire two people has definitely made it harder, not that any of them would change anything. They’re a package deal now.
She glances at the clock. “Whatever, we gotta go now anyway, Billy’s shift is over and Heather likes to watch the trailers.”
“Whipped,” Steve fake-coughs and if Robin hasn’t been still afraid he’d go back to the zombie-like way he’d been after the funerals, she’d smack him over the head. “But sure, I’m dying to finally meet your girlfriend.”
“Shut up,” she says mildly, too used to his teasing by now, and totally does not check her hair in the mirror.
*
It shouldn't matter so much how well Heather gets along with Steve. Robin still aches, not that it matters.
*
Senior year is a strange affair.
The hallways are crowded like always and everyone is chatting like always, and Robin doesn't know how to act like nothing happened. Like her world didn't shift irrevocably during the summer. And to make it worse, there’s no Steve and there’s no Billy, and Robin feels lonelier than ever. Her classmates, even Tammy, seem too different, clueless as they are, like a wall has been built between them and Robin.
It’s very lonely to keep a secret.
But–
“Hey, looking sharp today,” Heather says, bounding up to her side and leaning against Robin’s locker. Her hair is up in a ponytail today and she’s smiling brightly. Robin’s mood lifts already. “Ready for our last year?”
“Hi,” she blows a breath, hoping to steady herself and not blurt out how little this all means when compared to the fucking alternate reality that lives underneath the city or something, “sort of? I just want it to end.”
Heather makes a face, pushing herself off just in time for the bell to ring. “What class you’ve got?”
“APBio,” Robin squints at her schedule, “then APUSH.”
“Ouch,” she winces dramatically, falling into step with her, and most kids make way for them because Heather, unlike Robin, is not a loser, “how about third period? I’ve got gym.”
Now, that’s one good news. Maybe. Actually, she’s not too sure, this might be a disaster. “Same,” she smiles without noticing; it’s just the effect Heather has on people, “looks like we’ve got a class together.”
Heather grins. It blinds everything in a five-mile radius. “Looks like it.”
Sure, senior year is gonna be strange as fuck, but maybe, just maybe, that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.
*
“Are you ready to admit you’re in love?” Billy asks her in the middle of Steve’s kitchen, fluorescent light bathing everything off-white. If she leans over the counter, Robin can see Heather sitting on the living room floor.
“No,” Robin says, gathering the popcorn like her hands aren’t shaking. She glances up, “are you?”
A pause. Steve is laughing in the living room.
“Maybe.”
*
When Nancy Wheeler drops into the seat in front of her in the cafeteria, Robin most definitely doesn’t startle. Not even when Jonathan Byers follows her a second later.
“Hi,” Nancy says with a smile, and Robin can kinda see why Steve had been so wrapped around her finger, “we wanted to talk with you– sorry, I don’t think we’ve met? Gosh, it feels I’m saying this a lot lately.”
The last question is directed to Heather, who had just settled down beside Robin, her apple shining a spotless red on her tray, and she grins back at Nancy with the confidence of someone who’s been a lifeguard all summer. “Hey, I’m Heather, I’m Robin’s friend.”
“Nancy,” and there’s something so relieving to hear Heather refer to her as friends, even if they’ve been having lunch together everyday since school started, even if they still go get ice cream every time Lizzie barges in her room. “And this is Jonathan, it’s very nice to meet you.”
Heather makes a non-committal noise, choosing to smile brilliantly at Robin. She takes a bite out of her apple, studying Nancy and Jonathan as she chews. “So. You were saying?”
“Right, right,” Nancy shakes her head, Jonathan fidgeting uncomfortably at her side, “okay. We,” she says, smiling shyly at her puppy of a boyfriend, “were thinking of re-opening the school’s newspaper!”
“Uh,” Robin says, blinking at her excited face. Nancy’s grinning like she’s just told them they’re winning some big-ass prize and not trying to resuscitate something that’s been dead for longer than Robin’s been alive, probably. “That’s– good luck?”
Nancy falters, valiantly recovers. “Thank you. Anyway, I was thinking– Jonathan can take the pictures, of course, and I could write most of it, sure, but– we need more reporters.”
“And an editor,” adds Jonathan.
“You want us to write for the school paper?” Heather raises her eyebrows, “I mean, no offense, you wanna play Nancy Drew, go for it, but I think I’ll have to say no.”
Now, the princess bristles. “I’m not playing Nancy Drew,” she snaps and even Jonathan grows some balls to glare. Heather keeps eating her apple, unfazed. “I just think it’s about time we gave a voice to the students. Did you know they cut the art department’s budget in half last year? And they’re trying to starve the theater club of money just because it’s not essential.”
Okay, no, with all the shit that went down in the last couple years, Robin has to be impressed– where the fuck did she find the time to investigate all this?
“Shit, you really wanna do this,” Robin nudges Heather’s foot with her sneaker under the table, a subtle be nice, and they trade a look that she can’t quite interpret, “that’s cool, dude. But why are you asking us? Don’t you have like, journalist buddies or something?”
“No,” Nancy says bluntly. She shrugs, hair bobbing with the motion, still in those awkward post-perm stages, and completely unashamed to admit it. “And besides. I’d like to consider you a… friend.”
“Yeah,” Jonathan scratches the back of his neck, not unlike Steve when he’s nervous, “after, hm, this summer. I think we’re friends.”
Are they, though? Do near-death experiences make up a solid foundation for a friendship? Robin feels weirdly close to them, that’s true. They all share the same secret, after all.
“Okay,” Heather draws out the word, making a face, “because this isn’t weird at all.”
To be fair, Nancy has the self-awareness to look sheepish. “Sorry. But anyway, now you guys know and the offer is there,” her fingers work primly over an old newspaper, or maybe their trial run with the printing machine, and she almost looks nervous, “if you guys change your mind–”
Robin thinks of her long afternoons doing fuck-all either at the quarry with Billy or at Steve’s house with Steve. She thinks of how boredom only makes her memories of that night sharper, brings nightmares to the surface. And, at last, she thinks of how much Ms.Carter had to fight tooth and nail to keep the band’s budget last year.
“I’m in,” she decides, watching Nancy grin, kind of relieved at the news. Huh, maybe they are pressed for workers.
Heather heaves a long-suffering sigh, tossing her apple core to the nearest trash can. “Fine, I guess I’m in too.”
Nancy’s eyebrows climb impressively high and she trades a look with Jonathan. “Oh, that’s great! I have to stop by the library now, but we’ll keep you posted about what the administration says!”
They leave hurriedly in the direction opposite the library and Robin forcefully doesn’t worry about demogorgons and Upside Down shit.
“I can’t believe I just signed up for one of your nerdy clubs,” Heather rests her face in her fist, giving Robin a strange smile. She doesn’t look too upset over it. “You owe me at least a milkshake for it, Buckley.”
There are absolutely no butterflies fluttering up a storm in Robin’s stomach as she regards the possibility of going out for ice cream with Heather again, no runaway cat to excuse it. There’s something undeniably hungry about the excitement she feels, familiar and new all at once. “I suppose I do, Holloway,” she smiles, “George’s after my band practice?”
“I’ll wait for you at the library,” Heather agrees, and Robin tries not to think about her willingness to wait out the hour and a half that it takes practice to be over.
Much like with anything else she tries to repress, she fails.
*
“Okay, so,” Robin says, passing the joint back, “I heard you’re spending an awful lot of time with Steve lately.”
Billy huffs, groans like Robin’s getting on his case about something stupid when they’ve both know shit’s been weird between those two for a while now. It’s almost Halloween, for fuck’s sake, and they’re still joined at the hip or something. “We’re friends,” he shrugs, all nonchalant, and Robin snorts, “I’m serious. We both have jack-shit to do so we hang out.”
“Dude,” she laughs, feeling the grass on her skin and the open sky above her. During the day, there’s something peaceful about the quarry, especially without the kid squad running around and making a big ruckus. “That’s like– okay, I know Steve and I know you, and I’m a big homo, so I have some authority to say it– there’s nothing straight about that.”
“Shut the fuck up, shitbird,” he snaps and Robin’s fairly sure he’s blushing, and throws a bunch of torn-up grass at her face, “that’s– it’s not like that. Steve’s not– Steve’s not, okay?”
Robin thinks of the past months and how Steve’s been slowly getting better. How he helped Billy move out into his own apartment. How whenever Robin’s hanging out with him, he inevitably brings up Billy. She thinks of that time in the bathroom where he had cut himself off. Steve’s never been very good at hiding his heart.
“Dunno, man,” she says, watching the clouds, “I think you’d be surprised. Sometimes you gotta take that leap of faith, you know?”
A car drives by, tires loud over the grovel, far enough away that it sounds like something happening outside a dream. Billy sighs, blows smoke. “That’s not a leap of faith, that’s getting yourself killed.”
“Come on,” Robin pokes his shoulder, “you don’t believe that, you can’t think Steve would do that. He’s fine with me, he’s been freaking trying to get me to admit I like Heather for fucking forever.”
“That’s different,” he grumbles, but it sounds less bleak, less depressed. Almost hopeful. “By the way, when are you asking her out?”
“Big words coming from the guy that’s refusing to ask his crush out.”
“So you admit you’re a fucking goner for her?” Billy turns to look at her, shit-eating grin on his face like an annoying goddamn maniac.
And in any other time, Robin would deny fiercely, shake her head until she’s blue in the face, but– it’s Billy and the weed is kicking in, making her mellow, softer, gentler. Honest. “Yeah,” she says, smiling, “I’m a fucking goner for her.”
She thinks of Heather’s smile, the way she leaned against her side when laughing in the cafeteria last week, and yeah. There’s no denying it. Robin’s a fucking goner.
*
“Hm. Billy?”
“Yeah?” The answer comes from the kitchen and Robin feels inclined to scurry away to the safety of not being in the living room. Because, you see, in the middle of the living room, sitting awkwardly on Billy’s beat-up couch and watching morning cartoons with a bored face that perks up considerably when she catches sight of Robin is a teenage girl. More specifically, not just any teenage girl– the one with powers from Starcourt Mall. El or Jane, she’s still not completely sure.
“Why is there a teenager in your living room?” Robin asks, still frozen in the doorway. El’s lips twitch in a smile. Still, she feels the need to add, “no offense.”
“Oh, right,” and it’s not Bily who exits the kitchen, but Steve, with a dishcloth thrown over his shoulder and popcorn kernels in his hair. Yeah, you know what, Robin’s not really keen on checking the kitchen anymore. “Billy’s renting some movies. And El’s here ‘cause Mrs.Byers is taking Hopper to check on his burns and they put me on babysitting duty.”
“Jim needs to be more careful,” El says from the couch, face serious, “he doesn’t like to follow instructions.”
While Robin doesn’t particularly like to think of that night or the state the Sheriff had been in, she supposes he must be getting better now if his daughter is here. He did look less bandaged up at the funerals. “Okay,” she nods, taking in everything, “hey, I guess.”
“Hi,” El waves cheerfully.
Steve turns to Robin and shrugs like that’s just a normal day in his life and hey, maybe it is. There have certainly been crazier things in their lives. “And uh, how’s the Sheriff?”
“Better,” she smiles and looks just like any other teenager, nothing that screams can throw a car with my mind, and Robin relaxes enough to step inside, kicking her shoes by the door. “Joyce says he would be all fine by now if he weren’t so stubborn, though.”
“That’s fair,” Robin chuckles, sitting down in the carpet to dump the books she found in her attic while Steve scurries back to the kitchen; they’re all kinda dusty and yellowed, but the pages are all there. They look kinda gross but they’re still whole, they’re still good. Anyway, she had been meaning to ask if Billy wants any of them before she donates what’s left to the library or something. “Hey,” she says instead, picking up a well-worn book that had been plucked from her own shelf, “you ever heard of Jane Austen?”
El tilts her head, accepting the book with careful hands, “no, I haven’t read many books,” the kid has her eyes on the cover, tracing the letters with her fingers. There’s a reverence to the way she does it, like she’s holding something precious, a treasure, and it cements in Robin’s mind what she’s gonna do next.
“This one is my favorite,” Robin comments, smiling at the memories of reading it time and time again until all hours of the night, “I think you’d like it. Do you want it?”
“Really?” El breathes, biting her lips. Her eyes are wide and doe-like and Robin nods. When she had decided to clean out her some of her stuff to make it easier when she moves out, she had been nervous to part with this book. Pride and Prejudice will always have a special place in her heart, all things considered, and the thought of giving it away to some random stranger, someone who might not take as good care of it as Robin did– it was kinda harrowing. But she can see El will be kind to it. And hey, maybe it will help her like it helped Robin. “Thank you!”
Bony little arms wrap around Robin’s neck for a quick seconds before the kid lets her go in favor of flipping through the pages, seemingly already engrossed with the book without even beginning to read. The language might be a little complicated for her if the stuff Steve told Robin is true, but if the Sheriff is as whipped as he seems every time Robin sees him around town with El toting behind him, she can picture him, all gruff and awkward, reading it out loud for her.
It’s the kind of thing Robin would very much like to have visual proof of.
Thankfully, before El loses interest in her gift, there’s a commotion in the hallway outside and soon enough the door is swinging open, Billy marching in with a pizza box in hand and Max slipping past. “Jesus Christ, Maxine,” he snaps, “chill the fuck out, I told she’s here.”
“El!” Max screeches, throwing herself on the couch beside El, “oh my god, I have so much to tell you!”
El grins wider than Robin’s seen her do it in like, ever, and shifts in the cushions to face Max. “About Lucas?”
“Well, him too, I guess,” Max shrugs, rolling her eyes, “but you won’t believe–”
Their conversation trails off into the usual freshman drama and Robin shakes her head, biting back a snicker, deciding checking on the pizza might be a better alternative. She pokes her head in the kitchen, ready to demand a slice before the grasshoppers in the living room devour the whole thing, but the scene inside gives her pause.
Against the sink, Steve and Billy are talking in low tones and Billy says something that makes Steve laugh, head thrown back, and splash some water at him in retaliation. Billy scowls for all of a second before cackling loudly.
It’s the happiest she’s seen Steve since Starcourt. They don’t talk about Tommy or even Carol, but Robin’s seen how their deaths haunted Steve all summer long, listened to him scream himself awake from nightmares and pretended he hadn’t screamed their names too. But it’s fall now.
Summer’s over.
And Steve is laughing in the kitchen of Billy’s apartment and Robin thinks this might be the happiest she’s seen Billy, too.
Pizza can wait. Robin’s not even that hungry, anyway.
*
Honestly, this was bound to happen at some point, Robin’s almost surprised it took Heather this long to find out, really.
She had been bound to find Robin is apparently friends with a bunch of annoying-ass freshmen.
It happens on a Sunday before they were all meant to go to the movies. Billy’s apartment is, as always, their meet-up place because they’re all lazy fucks who’d much rather have one of the boys drive them to Main Street.
Today, though, Billy had been talking with the mechanic at Jackson St. and run late enough that it was easier if he just picked Robin up before going to his place. That had been a mistake.
Because, see, once they’re close enough to his apartment, they can hear Dustin’s loud voice, brimming with indignation. “Well, shit,” Billy glares at the closed door, “I’m gonna kill Harrington if he let that kid in.”
Steve had, indeed, let that kid in.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS, STEVE,” Dustin is screeching, hands on his hips while Steve is slumped on the couch, head on his hands, with Heather beside him, looking confused and– holy shit, thank god– almost amused. “SINCE WHEN DO YOU HAVE FRIENDS THAT AREN’T US?”
“Who the fuck let the gremlin in?” Billy demands, closing the door behind him, “get the hell out, Henderson.”
“FUCK OFF, HARGROVE,” Dustin yells back, whirling on Billy now, “HOW COME YOU HAVE FRIENDS? WHAT GIVES, HM? WHAT GIVES?”
“ Jesus Christ.”
“WE ARE FRIENDS, STEVEN, WE WERE SUPPOSED TO TELL EACH OTHER EVERYTHING!” He points an accusing finger at Steve and Heather chokes on a laughter, hands flying to her mouth. “AND GUESS WHAT? FRIENDS DON’T LIE!”
“OH MY GOD, DUSTIN, I DIDN’T LIE–”
The argument continues and Robin slips to Heather’s side, cringing at the crazy people screaming at each other in front of them. “Sorry about them,” she says awkwardly, gesturing the scene unfolding, “sometimes they can be uh… a lot.”
But instead of walking out the door or being scared away, Heather laughs, eyes shining with humor. “They’re something else alright,” she snorts, leaning closer to Robin, “but come on, where else would we find this level of drama? Seriously, this is better than any of my mom’s soap operas.”
This feels strangely defining, Robin thinks. Like one of those break or make moments, as if her reaction to Dustin screaming his head off in Billy’s living room would be what determines if Heather would fit or not in their group. And Robin has long since given up on pretending she doesn’t want her to be a part of this, to be there, at her side, always. She’s not sure what she would do if Heather didn’t like her friends.
So maybe, she’s almost thankful that Dustin is an insane person. If Heather likes him, she’ll be fine with the rest of the kids.
“Five bucks says Steve bribes him with ice cream,” Heather says, smiling mischievously in that way that makes Robin’s heart skip so many beats.
“Screw it,” Robin snickers, sitting on the arm of the couch and exhaling shakily when Heather immediately leans against her, “ten says Billy kicks them both out.”
Heather grins. “Deal,” and Robin can’t even tell if she wants to win or not.
*
Halloween comes and goes with no one really in the spirit of celebrating. They think about going to one of the parties but Robin can't say she is a party-person, especially when looking at the shadows in Hawkins seems to make them stare right back at you.
“So,” says Heather from where she's lying on Robin’s bed, legs dangling at the side, “you should tell Steve to make a move soon because Billy's never gonna do it and I'm getting kinda sick of their pining.”
It knocks the air out of Robin's lungs. She had been working on her resume, making shit up to convince Keith to give her and Steve the job, and while she's always aware of Heather, the constant reminder in the back of her mind that she is there, in Robin's room, on Robin's bed– she hadn't been expecting that.
Maybe it's the casual way Heather mentions it as if it’s normal, as if discussing the news, one of her gossip magazines, and Robin can’t fucking breathe right now. Her heart is beating out of rhythm and she drops her pen abruptly. “Excuse me?” She whirls around in her chair, hopes her eyes are not as wide as she thinks they might be, “I don’t– I mean, they’re not– hold on, where did you–”
“Relax,” Heather snorts, head lolling to look at Robin, “I know about him, too. I mean, they never told me or anything, but these boys aren’t exactly subtle. ”
Robin forces a laugh, retying her hair just to have something to do with her hands. “Oh, okay,” she exhales, “I guess so. I– hold on, and you’re okay with that?”
“Yeah, I mean, it would be– nevermind,” Heather shakes her head, glances back up to the ceiling, sighs, “I’m cool with them, is what I mean.”
“Cool,” Robin echoes, “cool. I’m, uh, I’m– I’m cool with them too. Just so you know.”
“Okay,” Heather’s eyes skirted to hers for a second before averting away again. She clears her throat, “anyway, when do you think they’ll get their shit together?”
“Honestly?” Robin pretends she’s back in control of herself and not still panicking, “dunno. They’re both stubborn assholes, so who knows.”
Heather grins. It looks a bit wrong, though, different from what Robin is used, less bright. She chalks it up to annoyance. “Wanna bet?”
“You have a gambling problem,” Robin laughs, and the room deflates all at once.
*
They're at Steve's place and Steve is wrestling with the grill, and Robin is watching Heather poke fun at his inability to light up a fire, and the sun is hitting her just right, making her skin glow, eyes bright and laughter loud. Something golden fills Robin in a way it never did with Tammy Thompson.
She thinks it’s because she knows Heather– if she thought she had been loving Tammy from afar, it's got nothing on loving Heather from this close.
“Careful,” Billy snickers, sidling up to her with a beer on his hand and a stupid smirk on his stupid face, “your pining is showing.”
“Fuck you,” she replies idly. There’s something about today that’s making it hard to be pissed. Maybe it’s because it’s warm out without it being summer, so they can enjoy it outside without feeling that lingering guilt over surviving something half the town didn’t even know they had to be on the lookout for, and– “when are you growing some balls?”
Billy doesn’t answer immediately and Robin follows his gaze, sees Steve throwing a burger on fire in the pool while Heather nearly falls down along cackling and has to sit down in one of the reclining chairs.
Yes, these are the dorks they're in love with.
“Do you really fucking mean that?” Billy asks and Robin startles with how nervous he sounds. If there's something about today that is different, then there's something different about Billy too. Like he might believe her this time when she says, “yeah, I really fucking do.”
“For the record,” he says, and throws his arms around her shoulder, “I really fucking mean it too.”
It rushes blood to her face, Robin can feel it, but today feels like a different kind of summer, gentler, softer, right in the middle of the fall, and if the sun is shining here, in dreary Hawkins, off season, then maybe– maybe April showers really do bring May flowers. Or, you know, November ones at least.
Surprisingly, this doesn't bother her. Normally, she’d be freaking the fuck out, spiraling over every little interaction, but today, today she just shakes her head and sets off to enjoy her day.
They make burgers and get buzzed and at some point, someone drops a whole chair in the pool that no one really feels like retrieving. Until, of course, Heather turns to her with a wicked grin that makes Robin weak at the knees and pushes her into the water.
Robin, of course, does not go down alone. She latches into Heather’s arms and brings her underwater with her, splashing everything in their vicinity. “You jerk,” Robin laughs, coughing up water as they come up for air, “I could’ve drowned!”
“Nah,” Heather says, closer than Robin had expected, smiles, “I was a lifeguard, remember? I’d save you.”
Strangely, Robin loses her breath all over again, helpless to the way they’re gravitating towards each other. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she echoes and it hits Robin suddenly how alone they are in Steve’s backyard. He and Billy have disappeared inside and there’s only the woods behind them, the sun setting and washing everything in orange light. Heather is looking at her and Robin is going to burn up in the water, “I was– Billy thinks I should be honest,” Heather murmurs, reaches to brush some of Robin’s hair from her face, and her voice is wrecked, hesitant, nothing at all like her usual confidence, and Robin wants– she wants, “I’m– shit, can I show you instead?”
Hope is a thing with feathers and right now it’s fluttering against Robin’s ribs like a bird in a cage, and Robin simply nods because if she opens her mouth she’s going to say too much, too soon, but Heather is smiling tentatively and leaning closer, hands shaking as they settle on Robin’s hips and Robin holds on to Heather’s shirt for dear life, and then– then, they’re kissing.
Heather tastes like bubblegum and the cheap beer they had been drinking and cherries, and you know what, if this is the closest thing to Heaven Robin’s ever going to be, then she’s more than fine with it. They kiss in Steve’s pool and Robin is so in love, it feels like she’s going to overflow. It feels like it’s in her bloodstream, in her bones, down to the marrow. There’s Robin and there’s Heather, and now that she knows how it feels to be close enough to count her freckles, Robin thinks she’d die if she gave that up.
“Hey,” Robin says against her lips and Heather smiles.
The clock starts for the rest of their lives.
*
They stay in the pool for the longest of time, or maybe just like, another half an hour, but for Robin, it’s eternity in a coffee spoon, but eventually, they have to leave.
It’s uncomfortable to let go of Heather’s hand when they cross the threshold of the house and it kind of makes her stomach churn, but their hands brush together as they walk and Heather offers her a private, happy, little smile, and– Robin can deal with that, yeah.
In any case, she has to rush back inside because she forgot her backpack on the couch, and Robin nearly topples over on the carpet when she hears the hushed conversation drifting from the kitchen.
“Well, fuck, you know I love you, you gotta know,” comes Billy’s voice, “Steve, this is the one fucking thing I’m sure.”
“You–” Steve’s reply is cut short by a strangled sound, like he’s choking, like he’s overwhelmed, “shit, Billy, I didn’t think you’d– I swear to god, if you’re just fucking with me-”
There’s a pause. Robin holds her breath. Then, “I love you too, of course I love you too.”
That’s it, she shouldn’t be hearing this, Robin needs to leave before one of them spots her and they both flip the fuck out. She grabs her bag and hurries back to Heather’s car as quietly as she can, silently deciding to withhold this information. This is the sort of thing they have the right to decide when to tell, it’s their narrative.
“All good?” Heather asks, reapplying her cherry lipstick in the rearview mirror, and Robin can’t help smiling. This is the prettiest girl she knows and she wants to be with Robin.
“Yup,” she says, relaxing into her seat, “all good.”
Heather pulls out of the driveway and into the road before speaking again, sheepish and uncharacteristically shy, “hey, remember that night when I was guessing your name?”
“Oh, yeah, that was pretty embarrassing for you.”
“Totally, but like. I think you should know,” she clears her throat, glancing fleetingly at her, “my first guess was Helen because I– because I thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world.”
The words are at the tip of her tongue and Robin almost says it, then, but holds them back, rolling them over her tongue. A lot happened today, a miracle, a dream, all the too-good-to-be-trues she had locked in her heart, and now Heather is here, with her, and for the first time since Starcourt, the future looks bright.
When she thinks there’ll be time, she believes it.
Their fingers are joined on the gear stick and they’re in love; Robin isn’t afraid to see what tomorrow is gonna bring.