Work Text:
robin doesn't say anything. she's just staring at him. it makes steve twitch from where he's rearranging the candy on his kitchen counter for the hundredth time.
he had called her saying that he needed to talk to her and that it's really, really, important robin! and yeah sure, we can get candy.
and steve, steve loves her, loves her in a way that he's never felt with previous friends. partially because those high school friends weren't real, but also because robin gets him in a way no one else has yet. they're two halves of the same idiot. and steve truly, truly loves her. true platonic soulmates. he wants to spend the rest of his life being her best friend, her dingus.
but steve still hasn't told her what's been plaguing him for nearly his whole life. what's especially been plaguing him since eddie called him "big boy" in that stupid goddamn winnebago he hotwired. even after she came out to him as a lesbian.
steve doesn't stop messing with the candy. he knows robin wants to throw him in the nearest dumpster, then laugh at him while he struggles to escape because he's nervous and won't tell her anything yet and that makes her nervous.
he knows that she wouldn't hate him after he told her. he knows! but the fear makes the words stick in his throat, makes him choke.
"steve."
he jumps, violently, and somehow pushes the entire pile of candy off the counter and onto the kitchen floor.
they both stare at the pile. steve crouches down to pick up the candy while robin heaves out an even heftier sigh, one that puts her earlier sigh to shame, before sitting on the floor. he refuses to look robin in the eyes.
she pulls his hands away from where he's fiddling with the candy and holds them, fingers intertwined. he runs his thumb over her knuckles. "are you using that lotion i gave you? your hands are soft."
she lets out a laugh before answering. "yeah, it's nice." she's quiet for a moment before speaking up again.
"steve...you know you can tell me anything, right? anything at all. even if it's something like you're moving halfway across the world." she traces a pattern on his palm that makes him twitch.
he just breathes. holds on to her hands, his lifeline, the only thing anchoring him to this world.
he never wants to let go of her hands, he thinks. he feels like he's being held in his body by holding her hands, like he can't float away, no matter how much his brain wants to check out from the fear of finally accepting this part of himself.
"i was a.....dickhead in high school. i wasn't a good person, like at all, and i know that i never did anything to you, and i never like, really did anything to anyone, except jonathan, who i still have to apologize to, jesus! anyways, it was mostly other people, like fucking tommy and fucking carol and all the other assholes i hung around, and that doesn't absolve me of anything, i know. cus i still stood there and let them bully people, let them call people names. but...i knew that if i said anything that they'd turn on me. and i was afraid of them turning on me."
robin doesn't interrupt. he knows he's not really making sense, but he feels fucked up and like his head's a snowglobe and someone just shook him too hard.
he keeps talking. "and, y'know, i played basketball and was on the swim team and i. i never wanted to understand what i was feeling. i'd see the other boys during practice, during games, and i never understood that i wasn't jealous or whatever i tried to tell myself to not admit that i liked boys."
he feels her hands tighten. he lets the feeling run up his arms and straight into his heart. she's safe, you're safe. he ignores the tears, lets them flow, but refuses to be snotty. he wipes his nose on the sleeve of his sweater. maybe it's robin's sweater, he thinks, delirious on fear, since he can't remember where it came from, just that it appeared in his laundry after they became friends.
he sniffs, and it's an ugly, wet thing. and he continues. "the coaches, during practice, if we weren't doing something correctly or if we made them mad, they'd say we threw or ran like a queer, like a fairy. my dad...my dad's favorite thing to call me was queer. he'd never be home, always at work, or at a work party, or cheating on my mom, or on a work trip.....but when he was at home, he'd call me a queer more than my own name. he'd say stuff like me caring about how i looked was me acting like a queer."
robin hasn't moved from her position. her eyes are wide.
"and i hardly even see him or my mom anymore, since my mom caught him cheating and tags along on every trip or party or what the fuck ever. but i can...i can still hear him calling me a queer in my head. saying other things, too." he busies himself with playing with her fingers. he won't look at her.
"i never wanted to accept this part of myself. i never wanted to be anything except steve 'the hair' harrington. i never wanted to stop going on dates or sleeping with girls, because to stop meant that i had to think about how i didn't just like girls."
he's still not looking at her.
"when i called jonathan a queer, i was copying my dad, my coaches, other people at school. because it was safe. i was the top of the food chain, i couldn't be gay! and then jonathan kicked my ass, and i got pulled in to all the upside down bullshit. i was humbled. and i still didn't accept it. i accepted that i wasn't the top dog at hawkins high anymore, i accepted that i probably won't go to an ivy league or whatever bullshit college my parents want me to go to, i accepted all those things. but not...not the fact that i'm a queer. i'm really, really queer."
robin brings his hands to her face and gently presses them against her mouth. he can feel her smile. he feels the fear melt away.
"i don't know what i am. i still like girls, but i like guys kind of a lot more. i went on all those dates trying to push away that part of me, thinking that if i was around a lot of girls then it would go away." steve snorts.
he finally looks up at his friend, his best friend, his best girl, his soulmate, his capital p platonic life partner, at her red, blotchy face, the tears that are running down her cheeks, and sees nothing but love.
love for him. not hatred. love.
he's sure his face is just as red and blotchy and tear stained.
"so this...this is me telling you, robin, my best friend, that i'm a big queer."
she beams at him. it's a big, beautiful smile.
he smiles just as big back at her.
"i love you a whole lot, doofus."
he feels safe. he feels seen. he trusts her so much, with every single squishy part of him.
"i love you too, dingus."
he cackles when she launches herself at him and wipes her tears and snot on his shirt, and then yells when she bites his bicep.
he'll be okay. even if the only person he has left in his family is robin.