She honestly thought she was past this. Ogling at straight girls, kissing girls who would never want anything more from her than soft touches in passing.
Robin Buckley is an experience, never a commitment.
So when her eyes start following the frills of yet another skirt, she knows she’s fucked. First Tammy, who didn’t even know she existed. Then Vicky, who would kiss her soft and make promises she couldn’t keep. Then Nancy. Who never stepped over that line, who never insinuated that she would leave Byers save for one instant after graduation.
She’d grabbed Robin’s hand after they’d thrown their caps into the sky. Rubbed the soft pad of her thumb over her knuckles. Got this earnest look in her eyes, that girl next door sparkle that Robin was starting to fall in love with — and then she said it.
“I can’t.”
And then she was dropping her hand to wander off and get her picture taken by her awkward boyfriend who had caught an overnight flight just for the occasion.
Simple. Quick. Enough to tear Robin up for a matter of weeks thereafter, only able to come out of her prolonged stupor when Steve started inviting her out again.
He told her that was just how small town dating was. She told him he didn’t understand — couldn’t understand, because he wasn’t queer. Gave him the whole speech about how easy it is for him and his lizard brain to get dates with whoever he wants, and he gave her the customary eye roll.
A handful of parties later, Robin feels like she’s made some progress on getting over… well, everything.
Then, she feels like she’s taken ten steps back when she finds herself staring at Hargrove from across the room. It’s not so much Billy that has her eye, with his primped curls and tight jeans, but more so who he has dangling off of his arm like an accessory at all times.
And that’s when she finds a new feeling to replace her sadness, to fill that pocket of loneliness in her chest.
Hatred.
“I don’t get how you can hang around that guy,” she huffs. Blows a bubble and pops it, smacking her gum right in Steve’s ear as she leans over the counter beside him. “Didn’t he try to kill you on several occasions?”
Steve huffs. Stares at the clock above the door, counting down the seconds until it’s closing time. She can’t decide if he’s amused or annoyed.
“If there was any bad blood between us, do you really think we’d be going to the same parties?”
She holds her tongue for a moment. Long enough to pinpoint the soft smile on his face, to register the gentle lilt in his tone. So she leans completely into his side and crowds him further against the register, which earns a snort.
“Guess not.”
“Why the sudden loathing? I thought you were all about looking under the surface and whatever,” he teases.
He plucks at her bracelets absently just to hear them click together, and Robin feels her brows draw down heavily.
“Something about him just… I dunno, rubs me the wrong way.”
“Afraid he’s lobbying for the position of my best friend or something?”
“No.”
“Pissed that he graduated top of your class?”
“I couldn’t care less.”
Steve eyes her in complete silence for a moment. Gentle brown eyes darting all over her face as if the answer lies in her expression.
He apparently finds it there, because his eyebrows quirk upward and he grins.
“You’re mad that he has better game than you.”
Robin scoffs.
“I am not.”
“Yes you are, you’re pissed. Oh my god.”
She leans away enough to smack his arm, which only makes him snicker at her. He turns to face her with this particular expression, arms opening around her shoulders and squeezing — and then her sneakers are leaving the floor.
“No, no! Put me down, you behemoth!”
He swings her back and forth like a stuffed animal, only setting her back down when she actually starts to resist.
“Admit that you’re jealous and I’ll let go,” he says.
“Never.”
His grip only tightens and she exhales a strained sound, lolling her head back. If Keith were to see them right now, chest to chest like this, he would write them up for PDA.
“C’mon, the sooner you confess, the sooner you can—“
“I’m not jealous of him, okay?” Robin snaps. Maybe it comes out more harshly than she meant, because Steve’s arms go lax around her. She pinches her eyes shut and takes in a large breath. “I’m pissed at myself for crushing on another straight girl — who’s clearly only into the jock types, anyway. Story of my fucking life.”
She doesn’t look. Doesn’t open her eyes, afraid that the tears will spill if she does.
Her breath hitches when she’s pulled into Steve’s chest again. This time, his hold is gentle. All encompassing. He tilts his head against hers and she finally breathes and it’s shaky, but she finds it in herself to wrap her arms around his torso in return.
“Who is it?” he coos.
She swallows thickly. Sets her chin on his shoulder and presses her lips together.
“It’s stupid.”
“It’s not.” A large hand rubs soothing circles over her back. “I’ve had worse luck with relationships than anyone, you know I have no room to judge.”
And as true as that may be, it’s still hard to say aloud. Almost like subconsciously, she fears that saying the name out loud will jinx her luck. That she’ll have another Nancy on her hands if she does.
“Heather,” she whispers.
Steve goes still for a beat.
“Holloway?”
“Mhm. Stupid, right?”
Steve stays quiet. She sighs after a moment and leans away to wipe her eyes with the heels of her palms. One of his hands stays on her shoulder. Squeezes reassuringly.
“Honestly,” he begins. Robin braces herself for the worst. “I think she’s a little… abrasive. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go for it.”
“I like how you’re implying that I’m going to ask her out.” When he just stares at her, her jaw drops. “Wait, you’re serious?”
“Yeah, man, why not? You never know.”
She huffs a laugh at that.
“Because what if she’s the wrong person, Steve? Her dad is the editor of the Hawkins Post — my whole life could be ruined.”
At this point she can’t recall how many times she’s had this conversation with him. How many times she’s seen that look of exasperation, like he doesn’t understand why she would be so nervous about such a thing.
And how could he? Picture perfect king of Hawkins Steve Harrington himself couldn’t know how she feels.
He still has the audacity to roll his eyes at her.
“If you change your mind, I’m always down to wingman you,” he says, then glances at his watch. “We better go or we’re gonna be late.”
Robin sighs, long and dramatic, and Steve smiles as he pats her shoulder.
“Can I change at yours?” she asks. “I don’t wanna deal with my mom right now.”
“Thought that was the plan anyway.”
He fishes his keys out of his pocket, jangling them in front of her face like a toddler. She crosses her eyes and earns a laugh.
As silly as it is, she’s a bit hopeful on the way to this party. Steve is a lot of things, but never a liar. And it turns out he has pretty good judgment when it comes to people — he can say what he wants about Tommy and Carol, but at the end of the day, he still shows up when Tommy’s crying about his latest breakup. Still drives Carol to her favorite thrift shops when she’s trying to distract herself from getting back together with Tommy.
Still, it’s hard to look at Hargrove and see anything but the snarky asshole before her. And he’s not even doing anything, really.
Just standing there with a beer in one hand and his other down the back pocket of Heather’s jeans. Jeans, for Christ’s sake. Last time Robin checked, this girl only wore her finest Sunday morning clothes everywhere.
She finds herself staring over the rim of her solo cup from across the room, only tearing her eyes away when Steve nudges her with his elbow.
He pulled on this stupid flashy windbreaker before they left the house, and as awful as it is to look at, it suits him. Makes his smile look bubbly when he flashes his teeth at her. She knows that face. Oh no. Oh no.
“If i come back out here and you’re still being a wallflower, there’s gonna be hell to pay,” he lilts.
Just barely audible over the music.
Then he’s wandering off. Weaving between people, holding his drink above their heads so it doesn’t spill. Robin’s anxiety spikes and she’s not sure if she’s more worried about Steve or herself.
When Hargrove spots him, he smiles. Is easily lured away, leaving Heather to her own devices, probably with the promise of more beer or different girls. And things are a lot less intimidating, but simultaneously worse because of Billy’s absence.
Heather’s spirit doesn’t flounder. She just starts dancing in the nearest crowd when the music changes to something more upbeat, thrumming through the air and making picture frames rattle on the walls. She moves her hips. Jumps up and down and giggles when girls in passing join her.
It’s hard for Robin to tear herself away from the wall, but she does. Sets her cup on a side table as she crosses the room and— just throws herself into the mix.
There’s lots of giggling. Lots of hand-holding with random strangers, but when Heather notices her, she reaches out. Snags Robin’s hands and intertwines their fingers, pulling her so close that she can see the fading remnants of eyeliner on her lids. This song is way more girly than anything Robin would listen to by choice, but she can’t help but grin and squeeze Heather’s hands back while they dance.
It’s freeing. Makes her feel like she’s actually making up for lost time, makes her feel like one of the girls. But then the song ends. And Heather stops.
Her chest is rising and falling, stray brown curls clinging to her skin, and one of her hands slips away from Robin’s. Reaches up with a manicured finger and readjusts a messy strand of Robin’s hair for her, so close that the only air they can breathe in is from each other.
“You want a drink?” Heather asks. Too soft.
She squeezes Robin’s hand where they’re still linked and suddenly Robin’s face is burning red.
Oh.
“Yeah,” she says, throat suddenly dry.
Robin wonders if Steve really did know what he was talking about. He was at least half right, considering Heather doesn’t seem abrasive at all. Talk about bubbly and lighthearted. Downright approachable, even.
Then, before Robin can squeeze even another quarter of a thought in, she’s being hauled through the crowd with a gentle grip. They weave between partygoers quickly, only stopping when Heather bumps into someone.
The guy is huge. Has the Tiger’s letterman jacket on his shoulders and a scowl on his face when he turns to look down at her, and Heather— Heather fixes one right back and smacks his drink out of his hand. Red liquid pools on the shag carpet, but Heather keeps walking, side-eyeing him as they pass.
There it is, Robin thinks nervously.
When they make it to the kitchen, Heather lets go so she can ladle them some punch. Bouncing softly to the music as she does.
“You came here with Harrington, right?” she asks.
“Yeah. He’s kind of my ride everywhere.”
“Nothing going on there, then?”
Heather winks at her, like it’s some inside joke. Like she knows something that no one else does. Robin swallows thickly and tries to keep her hand from shaking when she gets handed a new solo cup.
“No.”
Maybe she says it too softly, because Heather just quirks a brow at her.
“Wanna go somewhere more private to talk?” A polished fingernail traces up and down Robin’s bicep and she practically shakes free of her bones. “Go find us a room, and I’ll meet you there. I gotta powder my nose.”
All Robin can do is nod. She watches Heather down the entirety of her drink and set the empty cup on the counter, stepping around her swiftly and disappearing somewhere.
Holy shit. This is happening.
Robin has to force herself to move again. She walks up and down various halls, opening doors and checking for any stragglers. The first five rooms are occupied, and while she initially thought that the sixth might be vacant, she finds herself to be wrong when she shuts the door and flicks the light switch on.
That stupid windbreaker is on the floor… next to a leather jacket.
There’s a startled gasp and some shuffling from the bed, and Robin’s jaw is immediately on the floor when she finally looks up.
Steve, once tensed up, now relaxes. Sweeps a hand through his already messy hair and leans back against the headboard. Billy doesn’t seem to share his feelings, shoulders still bunched and eyes wide where sits near the middle of the mattress, poised to run if he has to.
“Rob, what the fuck?” Steve sighs. “You’re supposed to be out there getting a number scratched on your hand or something.”
Robin presses her back flat against the door.
“What the fuck me? What the fuck you,” she huffs. Billy looks like he’s about ready to bolt until Steve sets a comforting hand on his shoulder. “How long has this been going on?”
Steve whistles. Looks off somewhere and uses his free hand to count on his fingers.
He takes long enough for Robin to sigh and shake her head, mumbling, “Jesus, never mind. Forget I even asked.”
“I wanted to tell you,” he says. Gestures vaguely with his hand. “Just didn’t want you to… I dunno. Get mad, I guess.”
“Why would I get mad?”
Steve glances at Billy, who’s still awkwardly sitting there, but looks a little more at ease now. That makes Robin sputter out a laugh.
“C’mon, Harrington,” she says. “You know I have no room to judge.”
The air feels lighter, less tense, when Steve smiles. It’s contagious, Robin’s lips quirk up, and she has to fight the urge to stride across the room and pull him into a hug.
She would, but he’s only half-clothed at the moment.
It doesn’t matter anyway, because there’s a knock at the door, and Robin jumps away from it just in time for it to open. Heather slides in and shuts it behind her.
“Oh my god,” she breathes. And Robin tenses again, fearing the absolute worst. “Is that a hickey, Bills? You dirty slut.”
“If anyone asks, I’m telling ‘em I got it from you,” he snarks back.
Heather giggles. Grabs Robin’s hand and twists the doorknob.
“C’mon, let’s go find our own room. Preferably one without an infestation.”
Billy flips her off, but he’s smiling. Shifting closer to Steve on the bed. He’s smiling too, and Robin can’t help but spread a grin of her own as she’s guided out of the room.
Feeling like for once, things will be different.
That they’ll be okay.