Chapter Text
In a complete daze, Robin looks at her best friend, her eyes wide and full of disbelief. “Steve,” she says, shock evident in her voice, “what the fuck just happened?”
Steve grabs her shoulders and shakes her as he speaks in an attempt to emphasize his words. “Robin,” he proclaims, “Nance just asked you out!”
“No, she didn’t,” Robin scoffs, shoving him off her shoulders.
“What happened to your ears being little geniuses, dingus?” Her best friend proclaims in astonishment. “Robin, she literally said ‘it’s a date.’”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t mean a ‘date’ date,” she argues.
Her mind is made up. There’s no way Nancy Wheeler – Nancy freaking Wheeler, queen of Hawkins High, straight A student, every parent’s goddamn wet dream – likes her. She’s just Robin Buckley, band geek and weirdest girl in Hawkins, Indiana. “She probably just meant like ‘it’s a date!’ not ‘it’s a date.’ You know, in a casual way, like how girls talk to each other. I don’t have a lot of girl friends, but I assume that’s what happens. Girl space friends, that is. I mean, I don’t have a girlfriend either, but you already know that."
Shaking his head, Steve huffs. “Rob, as someone who has known Nancy for many years…”
“If you start being gross, I’m leaving,” she cuts him off.
“You can’t leave, you still have two hours left in your shift.”
“Eh, semantics.”
“Anyway,” he says, somewhat exasperatedly, “as I was saying. As someone who has known Nancy for many years, I’ve never heard her say something she didn’t mean. She’s a journalist! Words are her thing!”
“Steve, we don’t even know if she,” Robin pauses and looks around the store. It’s completely empty and, lowering her voice to a whisper, she says, “likes boobies. In fact, all the evidence points to a no on that front.”
A shrug. “Should’ve given her Fast Times then.”
She slaps him on the shoulder. “Steve!”
He walks away from her and out from behind the counter, cackling as he makes his way to the backroom. When he’s no longer within earshot, a loud groan makes its way from her throat. Her head bangs against the counter in despair. Of course, it’s exactly at that moment when the bell above the door rings out. A mother and her two children enter the store, looking at her with a mix of confusion and disdain.
With a newly formed headache and a grimace on her face, Robin grunts, “Welcome to Family Video where we can meet all your movie needs. Feel free to look around.”
And the rest of her shift proceeds in a similar manner. Steve, being the annoying, loveable asshole that he is, stayed in the backroom for an hour, leaving Robin to man the store by herself. Sure, she only has to help three other customers during that time, but still. It’s the principle of the matter. At least he came back for the last half of her shift, making the time pass more quickly.
The second the clock hits 6:00pm, Robin is on her feet and ready to go. She trades her blazer, now stuffed on the shelf under the counter, for her black jean jacket. Slinging her backpack over her shoulder, she practically runs out of the store. Her bike is resting against the side of the building. The red frame glows in the light of the setting sun – orange rust slowly creeping around the metal, thumb of the silver bike bell on her handle tarnished with use.
She kicks up the stand keeping her bike balanced and slings her leg over the bike, one foot on the ground, the other resting on the pedal. Just as she is about the start pedalling – to her own house or Nancy’s, she is still unsure - Steve steps out of the store, his arms crossed over his chest, and yells, “Where do you think you’re going?” before walking towards her.
“Whadda ya mean, dingus?” she retorts. “My shift ended and, as of five minutes ago, I stopped getting paid for the day. And since Keith is never going to pay me overtime, I’m going home.”
“No, you’re not,” he says, stopping beside her and dangling his car keys in front of her face. “You’re going to the Wheeler’s place.”
He nods towards his car, the only vehicle in the parking lot. The burgundy paint job is starkly visible against the fading grey of the gravel decorating the parking lot in front of the store. “Get in the car. I’m driving.”
Unimpressed, Robin ignores what he says, firmly standing her ground. “You still have an hour left in your shift.”
“Family emergency,” he says, all too convincingly. “Now get in the car, Buckley.” Heading towards his car, he doesn’t bother turning around as he shouts, “And bike in the back! You know the drill.”
Aware that this is a losing battle, Robin exasperatedly shakes her head as she walks her bike to the trunk of Steve’s BMW. She gracefully shoves the bicycle into the small space, having done it so many times prior, before jogging up to the front and sliding into the passenger seat. There’s a small pout on her lips as Steve starts his car and the vehicle jumps to life. The steady hum of the ignition provides light background noise as the two make their way to Nancy’s house.
Robin rests her arm on the small window ledge next to her. Her face presses up against the glass as she watches the town pass by in a blur. She can feel Steve staring at her from time to time, itching to start a conversation – most likely to ask her why she was going to skip out on the supposed “date” Nancy asked her on.
However, the silence continues and for that, Robin is thankful – the small mercies. She really didn’t want to answer any of his questions. Mainly because she’s not sure how she would answer them.
What is she supposed to tell him? That she thinks Nancy is the most beautiful girl in all of Hawkins? That she smells like lavender soap, coffee, and just a hint of residual gun powder and Robin finds it absolutely intoxicating? That she wants to take Nancy’s ink-stained hand in hers, intertwine their fingers, and never let go? That she has the biggest crush on his ex-girlfriend, who just recently got out of a long-term relationship, and if she spends any more time with her, she’s probably going to do something stupid like confess her feelings and kiss Nancy Wheeler with a stomach full of regret only to get rejected?
No, Robin thinks – discontent, but resigned to her fate – It’s better to say nothing at all and let Steve think what he wants.
She spends longer than expected mulling over her crush and, before she realizes, the blurry world in her window starts coming into focus. The car comes to a stop in front of the Wheeler house. It’s big – at least two times the size of Robin’s house, maybe larger. The shrubbery decorating the houses’ brick walls are bright green and thriving. Robin can’t help but think of the overgrown weeds littering her front yard that she hasn’t found the time to pull up yet.
Gulping nervously, she steps out of Steve’s car and stands there, staring at the house as she scuffs her converse on the gravel road. Her palms become slick with sweat. Hastily, she rubs them on the faded denim of her jeans in an attempt to wipe it off.
Steve hasn’t left yet. She knows that he won’t shift his car out of park until he watches her walk inside the house with his own two eyes. Still, she turns around to stare at him, terror written all over her face. Her best friend, previously steeled with resolve of making her go to movie night, softens with concern. He leans over the centre console and tells her, “Robin, listen to me, you’ve got this.”
“I so totally don’t got this,” she says, gesturing wildly and desperate for him to understand her panic. “In fact, this is in a completely different realm of what I’ve got.”
In an attempt to placate his best friend, Steve reassures her, “Look Rob, if you really can’t handle it, call me and I’ll come pick you up, okay? But at least give Nance a shot.”
Sighing, Robin acquiesces to at least try and enjoy the night. As she walks up to the front door, she anxiously twists the clunky rings adorning her fingers. Her fidgeting pauses when she reaches the doorway. Clenching her hands into fists by her side, she raises one and knocks on the door three times in quick succession.
The door opens and, instead of being greeted by Nancy, or even Mike, she is met with the cautiously polite face of Karen Wheeler. She freezes. Meeting the parents wasn’t part of the plan. Her mouth tries to form words – even a simple “Hello” – but she’s paralyzed.
She’s only ever seen the woman in Family Video once or twice, hand in hand with her youngest daughter whose name Robin was never given. Honestly, the mother mainly blended in with the rest of middle-aged women in Hawkins. Her head of permed blonde hair merely one of many. If you asked her, Robin wouldn’t be able to pick Mrs. Wheeler out of a line up. However, now, as the woman stands in front of her, Robin can easily see a unique tiredness clouding the woman’s eyes – one that is not simply due to taking care of her children or dealing with the aftermath of an “earthquake” whose magnitude measured off the Richter scale. Rather, it looks like a bone deep exhaustion; one that comes from waking up every day and continuing to live a life you regret.
Robin tilts her head. She’s seen the look in Nance’s eyes before. The same kind of tired, but for a different reason. Not that Robin’s been made privy to why the emotions in the other girl’s eyes constantly linger, but she can hazard a guess that it has something to do with carrying the fate of six children and a town on her shoulders for three years.
Deep in thought, she doesn’t catch Mrs. Wheeler’s expectant gaze resting on her. The silence carries on past the verge of awkwardness before the older woman breaks the stillness in the air with an uncertain, but polite, “Hi, I’m sorry, but can I help you?”
Being spoken to directly forces Robin out of her analysis and sends her mind reeling back to the situation at hand. The stress of starting the conversation is behind her, allowing her to find the words she needs: “Y-yeah, I’m Robin, um, Nancy’s friend. She invited me over to watch a movie?”
Thankfully, Mrs. Wheeler just says “Oh!” and smiles at her with both warmth and confusion, before opening the door wider and inviting her into the house.
Once Robin crosses the threshold, she immediately feels out of place; her second-hand clothes and tattered sneakers an obvious contrast to the pristine upper-middle class household she finds herself in. She spots a picture of a younger Nancy resting on an end table in the foyer – the girl maybe seven or eight years old. The girl’s sharp jawline is rounded out with baby fat. Her face is being controlled by a wide grin, mouth half open in laughter as her little gingham dress flutters mid-twirl. Robin can feel her heart melting in her chest – she’s never seen Nancy that carefree.
While she’s taking note of the framed family pictures on the walls and the vases on the living room shelves that probably cost more than a month’s worth of her mom’s salary, she hears Mrs. Wheeler shout up the stairs, “Nancy, your friend is here!”
After calling for her daughter, the older woman turns to her with a kind look in her eyes. “It’s nice to meet one of Nancy’s friends. She hasn’t had any over in a while.”
“Mom!” Nancy yells as she runs down the stairs with grace, a dusting of pink covering her cheeks and travelling up to the tips of her ears. The embarrassment written all over her face a clear indication that she heard everything her mother just said.
Robin, in an attempt to rid Nancy of her embarrassment, simply states, “It’s okay. I haven’t been invited to a friend’s house in years. Not counting Steve, of course.” Nancy’s gaze sweeps over her with a harrowing mix of pity and gratitude. In return, Robin shoots her a faint lopsided grin. Their eyes hold each other’s focus for, perhaps, a beat too long.
The moment of serenity bursts when Mrs. Wheeler starts to speak. Nancy hastily grabs Robin’s wrist and suddenly every word from the elder Wheeler’s mouth is deafened. The conversation around the girl becomes garbled – almost as though it were occurring underwater. Her sole focus is the warm grasp she felt encompassing her wrist.
The palm around her wrist is soft for the most part, with four noticeable callouses gracing the top – one where each finger begins. Looking down, Robin saw the pads of the small brunette’s fingers squeezing her skin. The nail beds of the other girl’s hand are tainted blue with pen ink, but the nails themselves are painted in the colour of a warm summer sky. Each nail is painted perfectly, not a chip to be seen, unlike Robin’s own nails that she coloured in with black permanent marker a few days ago when she was bored at work. She wonders what it would be like if Nancy’s hand slips a little further into her own open palm that is desperately waiting for a lifeline to grasp.
Somewhere nearby, there’s a faint sound of Nancy saying, “We’re going upstairs now, Mom,” and Robin feels a tug on her wrist. Before she even realizes, Nancy is practically pulling her up the stairs at an unexpectedly fast speed. Focused on not tripping over her own two feet, Robin forces herself to keep up with the girl in front of her. In turn, when they reach the top of the stairs, she finds herself out of breath.
Huffing, Robin pants, “Not that I’m not excited to see you Nancy, but any reason we had to sprint up those stairs?” She’s leaning on heavily on her knees, gulping in air.
“Sorry,” Nancy shrugs, sounding not at all apologetic. And she offered nothing else – leaving Robin’s question unanswered, though she had a sneaking suspicion that it had to do with avoiding any more embarrassing comments from Mrs. Wheeler.
The two girls make their way to the first door on the left – Nancy’s room. They enter the room and Robin realizes that, while nothing has changed, the room seems a lot more different when you’re not being faced with the end of the world.
She opens her mouth to make a comment on the Tom Cruise poster because "it’s old," my ass, Wheeler, she thinks, inwardly smirking. When she turns to the shorter girl, the teasing barb on the tip of her tongue, her eyes flicker downward and catch sight of their fingers intertwined. To Robin’s complete surprise, at some point during their marathon up the staircase, Nancy’s hand slides from around her wrist down to her longing hand.
Staring at the hands in shock, the girl unintentionally squeezes the hand within her grasp. Nancy’s gaze shoots down, gawking at the sight Robin was made aware of only moments prior. The blush on her checks returns with a vengeance and she drops Robin’s hand as though she’s been burned. Heart sinking in her chest, the blonde looks at her now empty hand with sadness, unwilling to tear her gaze away.
Nancy clears her throat loudly. “So,” she starts, her voice slightly higher than usual. “Sorry that we have to watch the movie on this tiny television in my room.”
“Don’t worry, Nance,” Robin laughs uncomfortable, the awkwardness from a few moments still lingering in the air. “I know it’s impossible to drag the boys out of the basement.”
The other girl’s shoulders - tense with stress - visibly drop and, if all of Robin’s attention wasn’t focused on Nancy, she wouldn’t have noticed the barely audible exhale of relief the girl lets out. A small smile creeps onto Nancy’s face and, following suit, a grin breaks out on Robin’s face as well. Looking at each other, the smiles grow larger and larger until the taller girl cracks and breaks out into laughter.
Clutching her sides, Robin laughs so hard that tears start to form in her eyes. Nancy, watch the other girl double over with laughter, starts giggling as well.
“Robin,” she speaks in the short time she catches her breath, “why are you laughing?”
Robin, gasping for air between her laughter, tries to speak. “Nance, I have no fucking clue.”
At that, the girls’ laughter grows even louder and soon, all of the tension surrounding the two dissolves. Robin, wiping the tears from her eyes, is the first to collect herself. She takes a second, as Nancy is still giggling madly, to observe the other girl; watches how the curls of her perm bounce with every shake of her shoulders, her eyes sparkling with mirth in the warm glow of her dresser lamp. The taller girl swears that she’s never seen anything or anyone more beautiful.
As Nancy’s giggles grow fainter and the girl starts to compose herself once more, Robin simply tilts her head and happily suggests, “Think it’s time to pop the tape in, Nance?”
The smile left on Nancy’s face wavers for a moment and Robin wonders if it is merely a trick of the light, because as quickly as it happens, the girl walks over to the VHS player and inserts the movie. Flouncing over to her bed, she sits on top of the pink and blue bedspread. She looks at Robin expectantly, gently patting the side of the bed beside her.
“Well,” she looks at the tall girl standing in the middle of her room, “aren’t you gonna sit down?”
Robin’s throat feels dry. The levity in the room seems to be overwhelmed by the onslaught of her anxiety. Nancy wants her to sit beside her; shoulder to shoulder, personal space almost non-existent. She gulps. Worrying her bottom lip her teeth and anxiously tapping the pads of her fingers against her thighs, she mechanically walks over to the other girl. She slides onto the bed and sits next to her; the two a shoulder's-width apart.
The sounds of a plucky piano start to play from the television as a grainy shot of the New York City skyline illuminates the screen. Robin watches enraptured; her attention easily captured by movies – any movie at all. The dance jargon flies over her head, but she bops in place to the music in the background.
Risking a glance at Nancy, Robin finds her looking uninterested at the screen in front of her. She starts to feel dejected, disregarding the fact that they haven’t even been watching the movie for 2 minutes. Stewing in the feeling, when she sees Nance start to lean forward, the haze of disinterest over her eyes dissolving, she snaps her gaze back to the television. The city skyline had been replaced by large groups of people – men and women both – dressed in sweats and leotards and crop tops and tights. Outfits in every colour of the rainbow. All of them practicing some sort of combination of dance steps.
The dance montage continues for nearly seven minutes. During the entire sequence, Nancy hardly even blinks – eyes wide and focused, absorbing each and every snap of the head, kick of the leg. Her hands start to form fists, grasping the soft fabric of her bedspread tightly.
“Wow,” Robin breathes in awe and Nancy’s head snaps to look at her. The taller girl looks at her and says, “They’re so talented. I could never move like that.” She chuckles, both in jest and self-deprecation. “I mean, I can’t even run properly.”
The spooked look on Nancy’s face fades away and is replaced with a small, but warm smile. “You are a weird runner,” she teases, poking Robin in the side lightly.
Lightly pushing the girl’s hand away, Robin kindly jokes, “Yeah, yeah, Wheeler, laugh it up. Just watch the movie.”
Nancy rolls her eyes but turns her head back towards the television regardless. They delve into a comfortable silence once more, the dialogue of the film filling in where their conversation ended. However, over the course of their teasing, the two girls somehow managed to get closer together: the previous shoulder-width distance between them narrowing down to the width of a single palm.
The two girls continue to watch the movie – Robin leaning back against the pillows, her weight resting on her palms splayed out on the bedspread, while Nancy leans forward, chin on her elbows and elbows on her knees – both fully entranced by the singing and the dancing and the seemingly unrequited romance of Cassie and Zach.
With every cut scene, the girls become more relaxed. Robin notices that the sheets underneath them are no longer crumpled in Nancy’s firm grip. Rather, the girl’s entire body is at ease – a rare sight. Her eyes twinkle with wonderment as the movie continues and her face is illuminated by the dim light of the television set. If Robin tries, she is able to pretend that it’s moonlight bathing Nancy’s face and not the screen but finds the sight just as pretty either way.
As she watches Nance watch the movie, the question of what spooked Nancy earlier starts to cross her mind: the choreography montage, the characters’ desperate need to dance, hell, even the movie recommendation. Dimly, she realizes that since the opening scene ended, there’s been no mention of ballet in the film. Sure, there’s been dancing – a whole tap routine was just shown, but nothing intrinsically ballet. No tutus, no pointe shoes, nothing.
There’s a niggling thought in the very back corner of her brain that’s starting to wonder if dance wasn’t simply a childhood pastime for the girl, as she had previously believed. But the movie only just started, and Nancy seems to be enjoying herself, so Robin acquiesces to lying in wait – ready to stop the movie should anything occur.
Robin had relaxed back into the sheets as half an hour passed without any incident. Nancy had joined her, the distance between the two girls evaporated as their legs rest against each other. The taller girl desperately attempts to make no mention of it, should Nancy tear herself away just as she did when they held hands. Her skin is tingling underneath the denim of her jeans pressed against Nancy’s thigh. An endless loop of oh my god oh my god playing in her mind as she tries to keep her cool.
And, of course, that’s when something happens.
It’s about 40 minutes into the movie and one of the women on screen – Sheila, Robin remembers – steps forward to answer the director’s question, beginning the next musical number. From the moment the woman started singing, the girl sitting next to her was tense. Every muscle in her body taut like a spring, ready to bounce at any sign of danger.
The strawberry blonde risks glancing at the girl every so often over the course of the song’s first verse, and there is no change in Nancy’s position. However, as the pre-chorus starts coming to the close, she sees the girl’s face drop. Listening to the lyrics closely, she catches mention of the character’s father – pressuring her mother to marry young, their age difference apparent; cheating on his wife with another, younger woman, and his daughter being aware of the infidelity from a young age; never treating his wife or his daughter with warmth or kindness.
Suddenly, she remembers the look on Karen Wheeler’s face as she opened the door – the exhaustion in her eyes. She remembers the same weariness in the tension of Nancy’s shoulders. Oh fuck, Robin thinks with sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
This isn’t going to be good.
Robin thinks, that if the song had stopped there, if the verse was the only lyricism poignant enough to make Nancy feel this way, everything would have been okay. But, of course, it didn’t stop. Instead, it gets worse. It reaches the chorus and of course, of fucking course, this character took ballet classes.
She’s all but abandoned the movie, not even pretending to watch the events unfolding on the screen. All of her attention is focused on Nancy: Nancy, whose face completely drops, whose eyes flicker over to her closet with a blank stare, pain lingering behind the film of unshed tears.
The girl goes completely still when the woman on screen belts out the final line of her chorus – “Everything was beautiful at the ballet. I was happy at the ballet.”
Her jaw is clenched almost painfully, the sharp bone structure becoming even more pronounced. Robin can see her fingers forcefully digging into her palms; if she were to unfurl the girl’s fists, she would be sure to find deep crescent moon indents littering her skin.
Somehow, she’s comprised of stone and glass – strong, dependant, able to weather any storm, but made to be broken.
“Nance?” Robin whispers, balancing her hand on top of the girl’s shoulder.
And that small kindness is what causes the dam to break. The glassy film over Nancy’s eyes is replaced with an outburst of tears. Her shoulders shake with vigor, her arms wrap around her torso in a weak attempt for comfort. The cries are silent, but the girl is gasping for air – her sobs overpowering her, strangling her as they wrench themselves out of her throat.
She’s distraught and Robin’s heart shatters.
“Oh Nancy,” she murmurs sympathetically, the words falling out of her mouth before she can stop them. She wraps an arm around the other girl’s shoulders and pulls her into a hug. It’s obvious Nancy is in a high level of distress as, instead of pulling away like she normally would, she turns into Robin’s chest and continues crying.
Shocked, Robin freezes, her eyes wide as she stares at girl sobbing into her chest. When Nancy grasps the smooth fabric of Robin’s shirt, the taller girl stops her staring and rests one hand on her back while the other runs through her hair. Rubbing small circles on the brunette’s back in an attempt to calm her down, she sighs. She’s never been good at comforting people – it’s the one situation that she finds herself at a loss for words; it doesn’t come naturally to her.
In this moment, she wishes that it did, because she wants nothing more than to rid Nancy of her heartache. But all she can do it wrap her in her arms and hold her until she stops crying. She rests her chin atop of the other girl’s head and plays with the ends of her curls, the repetitive action proving to sooth to both of them.
After a few minutes, Nancy’s cries subside, and her gasping breaths turn into quiet sniffles. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” she rasps, hastily wiping her eyes as she pulls away from Robin. “I ruined your shirt.”
“It’s okay,” Robin tells her softly, “I don’t like this shirt anyway.”
A lie. It’s her third favourite shirt. Nancy doesn’t need to know that (even if the girl does look at her with a look of disbelief).
There’s a beat of silence, before Robin blurts out, “Do you think you could do that dance thingy from the beginning of the movie?”
Nancy looks at her with confusion, and Robin can understand why – it’s a topical and emotional whiplash. But what she lacks in knowledge in comforting people, she makes up for in her ability to make people laugh. So, it’s worth a shot.
“The what?”
“You know,” Robin prompts her, “the dance thingy.” She starts flailing her arms around in a crude approximation of what the professional dancers were doing at the start of the film. “The duh duh dat duh duh dat da da dat da?”
Still, the other girl just stares at her in confusion. In fact, she’s even more confused by Robin’s attempt at singing the background music to the steps. But the pain lingering in her eyes is starting to fade.
Robin keeps going, seeing that Nancy has been distracted from her sadness, if not just for a little while. She hums, trying to think of another way to explain what she’s thinking. “Oh! The step, kick, kick, leap, kick, touch combination thing!” She exclaims, eyes wide with excitement.
Realization sparks in Nancy’s brain and she apprehensively starts nodding along with what Robin is saying. When she sees the girl catch on, Robin perks up and asks again, “So do you think you’d be able to do it?”
She feels no need to specify further, no desire to ask Nancy questions she suspects she already knows the answer to. It’s not a question of if Nancy can dance, if Nancy is talented, if Nancy is a ballerina, but simply, if can she do the steps from the movie. Can she be a dancer like the ones on the big screen?
Nancy just sends her a cocky smirk – somewhat less impactful by the cheeks still marked with tear tracks and eyes holding faint red tint, but still enough to cause butterflies to flutter in Robin’s stomach – and confidently says, “Of course I can.”
“Well,” Robin drags out the word, holding the “L” on the tip of her tongue. She looks at Nancy with elation. “Wanna show me?”
The other girl scoffs. “For free? Careful, Buckley, or else I’d think you’re trying to extort me for my talent.”
“Does stolen candy from Family Video suffice as payment?”
“Some Twix bars and a pack of Twizzlers, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
“Promise?”
Rolling her eyes with a smile, she says, “Fine. I promise.”
As Robin chuckles softly, Nancy patters over to her dresser looking for something that will fit the tall girl. There’s no issue finding a shirt, but Robin can see her pondering over the possible pyjama pants. After all, she does have quite a few inches on the shorter girl, so there’s no doubt that any pair she finds will be a bit small on her. However, that seems to be a non-issue and, after letting out a small “aha!” Nancy turns back around with two articles of clothing in hand.
“Hopefully the pants’ll fit. They used to be Mike’s and he’s only a bit taller than you, so they’ll be more comfortable than mine.” Nancy says kindly, but with exhaustion evident her voice. Thrusting the old t-shirt and pair of her brother’s flannel pyjama pants towards Robin, she adds, “You should get changed. Don’t worry, I won’t peak.”
Robin hesitates, holding the other girl’s pyjamas in hand. “You sure? I can just go to the washroom quickly and change there.”
With a watery smile, the brunette looks at her with sincerity. “I’m sure, Rob,” she sighs, “Honestly, I’m just tired. And the faster you change, the faster we can go to sleep.”
“Okay, Nance,” she speaks, attempting – unsuccessfully – to keep the concern out of her voice. “I’ll make it quick.”
She shimmies out of her jeans with difficulty, the denim sticking to her skin. In contrast, the pyjama pants are soft to touch, the fabric falling comfortably over her legs. For a moment, she debates keeping them after tonight and stealing them from Mike, before realizing she’d never hear the end of it from the boy if she did.
In an effort to change quickly, for Nancy’s sake, there’s no pause between pulling the pants to rest on her hips and stripping off her shirt. She catches sight of Nancy in the vanity mirror. The girl kept her promise of not peaking at her as she changed – her body, now tucked in her bedsheets, is turned completely away from the mirror. But, as she stands there, she wishes the girl would go back on her word. Desperately hopes for her to turn around and drink in the sight of her bare back, littered with freckles. Make Robin feel seen, make her feel wanted.
Robin shakes her head. It’s silly to dream of something that’ll never happen. Slipping the shirt over her head without care, she crosses the few steps between her and the bed – making her way back to Nancy and joining her under the covers.
It’s quiet for a moment. The two girls not yet ready to say goodnight, but unsure of how to fill the silence after the night they had. All that can be heard is the steady exhales from both and the faint thumping of two heartbeats.
Robin takes a chance.
“Hey Nance,” she whispers, voice muffed by the pillow underneath her cheek. Nancy’s eyes open and stare right into Robin’s, as she asks, “was this a date?”
The girl in front of her sucks a sharp breath in, but before she can respond, Robin continues, “Because I know earlier today you said, ‘it’s a date!’ but did you really mean it?” Hastily, she goes to correct herself, “it’s okay if you didn’t! I mean, it would kind of suck because I really really like you. But it would be okay! I know I’m a lot to deal with – my parents tell me that constantly! I talk too much and I’m too loud and I still suck with social cues even though I’m trying really hard to understand them. So, I get it – I don’t expect you to actually ask me out, but I thought I would ask just in case because if you meant it, that would just be absolutely amaz-”
Robin finds herself being cut out by a pair of lips pressing firmly against her own. Her brain short-circuits. Her eyes grow wide before quickly shutting. She’s encompassed by the scent of lavender shampoo and freshly washed laundry. Nancy tastes like the strawberry lip gloss and the buttery popcorn she left to make halfway through the movie.
A hand drifts up Robin’s neck and stops to rest on her cheek, the thumb cupping her chin, stroking her jawline softly. She whimpers at the gentleness she’s being treated with – Nancy holding her in her hands as though she’s a treasure to be handled with care. Something – someone – she wishes to keep safe forever.
Melting into the touch, she starts to kiss back, starts to tell Nancy that she wants this too – she craves it. Her hand makes its way into Nancy’s hair, gripping the soft chestnut girls like a tether, sure that if she lets go, she’ll float away in a daze. It’s intoxicating, drowning in Nancy. Her lungs burn, pleading for air, but she doesn’t want to stop. She thinks this will be a good way to go.
Nancy pulls away softly, her eyes hooded as she stares at Robin with affection. “Does that answer your question?” she asks, brushing a strand of hair back behind the other girl’s ear.
Still slightly in shock, but desperate for more, Robin coyly says, “I don’t know, Nance. I think I may need some more confirmation.”
The girl starts to lean in towards her, but right as Robin’s about to close her eyes, the trajectory changes and Nancy places a featherlight kiss on her forehead.
“Go to sleep, Buckley,” she teases kindly, her voice full of affection. “We’ll talk more in the morning.”
Robin groans, though not necessarily for the reasons she had been hoping for just moments prior. “You’re killing me, Wheeler,” she complains, with a distinct lack of annoyance. Still, she does as Nancy asks and closes her eyes in an attempt to fall asleep.
When she is on the verge of dozing off, she feels something nudge her hands under the sheets. She cracks one eye open to look at Nancy with suspicion, but the other girl’s breathing has evened out, seemingly fast asleep. The doubt starts to fade, and she shuts her eyes once more.
This time, when something hooks around her finger, she hardly realizes – too drowsy to notice. And so, she finally falls asleep next to Nancy, their pinkies intertwined under the covers, with a promise of more when she wakes.