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Steve and Robin will tell anyone who asks that they are not a couple—anyone except their parents. They give every excuse except for the truth. They tell tragic stories of lovers lost that have customers bringing flowers to the store. Steve says to Dustin that they went on a date and he ended up with a black eye. “Rob’s right hook is one of the best.”
Eddie teases Steve for giving up the pursuit. “You look hot in a dress,” he says, and he winks at the mirror. “She couldn’t turn down a pretty girl like you.”
“It’s not like that,” Steve tells him for a week before he understands. Eddie realizes when they’re groping in the dark, through whispers and moans. He hears it in the way Steve can barely say love.
“You and Robin are like a more real kind of soulmate,” Eddie says over booze. “The Greeks thought the original humans were split in two and we spend our lives trying to find the other half. That’s what soulmates are like.”
“I’m not sure I like that analogy,” Nancy tells him, barely tipsy. “It makes it sound like we can’t be our own people.”
“Exactly,” Eddie insists. “You’re anti-soulmates. You’re put together into two people who are like how the Greeks thought we started.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Robin tells him, but she smiles anyway.
“We don’t need damn soulmates,” Steve slurs into Robin’s armpit. “We’re superheroes.”
“That’s enough drinking,” Nancy decides when Steve reaches for a bottle. She holds it away from him while he drools on Robin’s shirt.
“Lightweight,” Eddie says, and Steve can’t do anything to complain. “I love you guys,” he says to the others. Jonathan nods drowsily, barely awake.
“We love you, too, man,” Argyle says. Steve thinks he’s somewhere on the ceiling. That’s probably the alcohol.
“I’m taking Steve to bed,” Robin tells them. He thinks somebody whistles. “After he drinks the water I’ll force down his throat.”
“Nighty, Rob,” Eddie says, his smile less wide than when he’s sober. “Stevie, too.”
Steve groans something back and Nancy laughs.
They wake up in the same bed, tangled in each other's arms. Steve and Robin, Robin and Steve, four-armed with hair matted by drink and drool. They dress in the dark and they don't even trip.
Jonathan tells them in the kitchen that Nancy left for work. A lamp is the only light, except for Eddie's match when he lit a cigarette.
"That'll kill your lungs," Steve tells him, like he's not hungover with chronic migraines. "Don't let the kids see."
"I'll beat 'em if they smoke."
"Steve'll beat you," Robin corrects. Her head's in the fridge and she's sitting on the floor.
"The electric bill, Rob," Jon complains. "Just get some ice and close the door."
She flips him off and starts to pull her torso into a contortionist's position. Steve grabs her arm and holds her back.
"You guys are so cute," Argyle says. He wasn't in the room a moment ago.
"We're not—"
"You're cute, man. Platonically, or whatever."
"Thanks," Robin mumbles around the ice she's shoved into her mouth. Steve starts prying her jaw open, but she just spits a cube out in his hand.
Eddie grins and leans forward with a newly-lit match. Steve screams and Robin coughs out another cube.