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Chrissy doesn’t frequent the mall as often as people tend to expect.
It seems to be some sort of film-induced stereotype, or something. Preppy blonde cheerleader spends all her time shopping and twirling her hair around the football players, giggling and gossiping with her fake friends.
Which, okay, Hawkins High doesn’t actually have a football team, but still.
In actuality, Chrissy finds the mall a little… Stuffy. Overwhelming, even. So many people, so much chatter, and in such a small town it’s impossible to avoid running into someone you know— be it chatty classmates or distant relatives who insist you surely must remember that one time they held you six weeks after your birth.
She just never expected one of those someones to be Eddie Munson, or that she wouldn’t be itching to leave the conversation the moment it started in the dimly lit record store across from Claire’s.
Nor did she expect that they’d start meeting there almost every day, browsing the records and teasing each others’ questionable taste, and then branching out to other stores, and then ditching the mall entirely to hang out at his trailer.
The truth is, Chrissy has never felt so comfortable with another person. So seen, so understood.
Eddie made it easy to tell him she didn’t love her boyfriend, because she didn’t like boys. He made it easy for her to end things with Jason, and then he told her something she’d needed to hear her whole life.
She wasn’t alone.
~*~
There’s one shop nestled in the line of establishments in Starcourt Mall that Chrissy and Eddie have yet to explore together, and that’s Scoops Ahoy.
See, this is for a multitude of reasons. The first on Chrissy’s list is Robin Buckley, the first on Eddie’s is Steve Harrington, and the second on both their lists (in all caps and underlined repeatedly) is Scoops Ahoy Uniforms. Technically, they haven’t officially revealed their absolutely-not-crushes on the parlour’s employees to each other, but the simple fact that they’ve collectively put off stopping for ice cream in the stifling heat of the summer for so long speaks volumes.
But today they’re feeling brave. Or rather, it’s “hot as balls” outside --colourful imagery courtesy of Eddie, of course-- and the mall air conditioning simply isn’t cutting it.
Chrissy's chunky knit cardigan— a birthday gift from her nana— is bundled in her arms, because although the baby pink yarn perfectly matches the flowers dotting her green sundress, there’s only so much discomfort she’s willing to sacrifice for fashion. She’d bought this dress last week, and Eddie’s smile had been so wide and encouraging in the change room that she’d bought it after trying it on for him. She hasn’t quite built up the courage to wear a cropped top, least of all in public, but Eddie has more than enough for the two of them— courage and cropped tops— going as far as cutting the sleeves off of some of his more worn in band tee shirts and cropping them himself. He wears one of those now, the band name cracked and faded, the messy, chicken scratch lettering practically illegible as it is.
Chrissy huffs, fanning herself with her free hand, nails painted pink from the last time she and Eddie had hung out at his trailer. Even up in her signature ponytail, her hair sticks to her neck, dots of sweat collecting on her uncomfortably warm skin. She’d lent a spare hair tie to Eddie, who’s pulled his own unruly curls into a misshapen bun on the top of his head. His bangs cling to his forehead, and he pushes them from his face with a grimace as they enter Scoops Ahoy. They let out a collective sigh of relief as the cool air hits them.
The place isn’t exactly empty, but not nearly as crowded as it would be on a weekend, or any time other than a Tuesday afternoon. While summer time has had the teens of Hawkins flocking to the newly built Starcourt Mall, Chrissy and Eddie rarely ever see the booths in Scoops occupied at full capacity, most people content to leave with their refreshing treats in hand.
At the counter, Steve Harrington has his back facing them, turned instead to Robin Buckley and the whiteboard in her hands. On it, in neat printing, she’s made two categories: You Rule, and You Suck. Steve protests as Robin decisively adds a tally to the ever growing “You Suck” column.
For his sake, Chrissy decides against bringing to attention how Eddie clears his throat before approaching the counter, or the steeling breath he takes in, or the way he wipes his hands on his jeans before lifting a finger to ring the bell situated on the counter.
Steve turns, mouth open to deliver some form of greeting, before his brows knit together in surprise. “Munson? What’re you doing here?”
Robin meets Chrissy’s eyes over Steve’s shoulder.
“Is that really how you address a paying customer, Harrington? And here I’d heard all this talk of your valiant redemption from douchebaggery.” Eddie drawls, mock hurt. He turns to Chrissy with an aghast shake of his head, seeking her agreement. She merely stifles a laugh behind her hand, tactfully disguising it as an unconvincing cough.
Steve huffs, shaking his head. He lifts his hand as if to run it through his hair before remembering the sailor hat concealing it. “You didn’t seem like the ice cream type, is all.”
“Turns out I am.” Eddie says, propping his arms up on the marble and leaning forward. “So how about you give me the ‘ole Scoops Ahoy welcome, huh?”
Steve fixes him with a look. “Just order your ice cream, dude.”
“Oh no,” Robin calls through the window, her voice making Chrissy’s stomach do a flip not unlike the ones she performs on the Hawkin’s High basketball court. “I definitely think they deserve the very best customer service we have to offer here at Scoops.”
Steve turns to her over his shoulder, indignant. “Why don’t you demonstrate, then?”
She uncaps her marker, hovering the felt tip over the empty space beside the recently added sixth tally on the You Suck column.
Steve groans, jaw ticking in irritation as he slowly pivots to face Eddie and Chrissy. The former straightens expectantly, and Steve rolls his eyes.
In a flat, unimpressed tone, he recites, “Ahoy there, are you ready to set sail on an ocean of flavour with me? I’ll be your captain, ready to guide you through a sea of choices.”
Chrissy’s jaw drops, and Eddie can’t contain his delighted giggle.
Steve’s expression morphs at the sound, but Chrissy can’t define what it's become.
“Now that is what I call a warm welcome.” Eddie applauds. Literally applauds, his rings making a faint metallic tap as they clink against each other on his long fingers. “Well done, Harrington, well done.”
“Yeah yeah, are you going to order or what?”
“Alright, don’t get your panties in a twist, I’m thinking.”
Steve sputters something unintelligible, beet red, and Robin seemingly takes pity on him, hopping onto the counter that separates the staff room and dining area and stepping to his side, patting his shoulder comfortingly.
“Relax Stevie, I’ll take it from here.”
“My hero.” Steve deadpans, eyeing Eddie, who blows him a kiss.
Chrissy recognizes Robin, although she doesn’t know her. Doesn’t really know her, anyway. She sees her in band, playing the trumpet in her emerald green uniform, the feather on top of her hat flopping to the upbeat rhythm of their peppy sheet music.
She’s prettier up close, charming freckles dotting her face and plush lips lined with a faded nude lipstick, and Chrissy’s not entirely sure what to do with that information. Layered chains hang around her neck, brushing the white collar of her striped uniform. Tracing the stray spots that travel down the smooth skin of Robin’s neck, Chrissy wonders if the freckles continue down her chest before promptly averting her eyes in mortification.
“Still need more time to decide?” Robin asks, addressing Eddie as he peruses the options.
“He’s indecisive.” Chrissy says apologetically when Eddie says nothing.
His hand swats at the vague direction of her face, his eyes still glued to the selection of frozen desserts. “Hush, Cunningham. I’ve got ten bucks to my name and I’m not about to waste $1.35 on a rushed decision.”
She bats away his feeble attacks with a scoff. “If only you put this much thought into Mrs. O’Donnell’s english assignments.”
Eddie squawks indignantly, but Chrissy pays him no mind because Robin is laughing. A perfect, unabashed, hearty laugh that shows off her pearly teeth and forms creases in the corners of her shining eyes, smudged with eyeliner.
She has dimples. She directs her smile at Chrissy, as though they’re co-conspirators, in on the joke together.
In it together.
Eddie goes back to scanning the miniature signs labeling each flavour from behind the display case, shaking his head and muttering something about betrayal, and Robin taps her fingers against the counter.
“We’ve got some extras in the back, if you want, but if you make me go all the way to the staff room to get you a single scoop of ice cream I’ll have no choice but to spit in it.”
Chrissy laughs, and Robin’s responding smile has a wistful softness to it, and there they are again.
Dimples.
“Seems fair to me,” Eddie muses, shrugging his assent. “Whatcha got?”
“We’ve got butterscotch, cherry cheesecake, cookie dough, and mint chip.” Robin finishes, listing the flavours on fingers painted in chipped black nail polish and decorated in rings not entirely unlike Eddie’s, minus the demonic imagery.
Eddie grimaces at the last option.
“Anything but mint chip. Tastes like toothpaste, and brushing my teeth once a day is more than enough for me, thank you very much.”
“You’re supposed to brush them twice, Munson.” Steve Harrington says without looking at him, adding sprinkles to a double scoop cone of vanilla for a mopey looking black haired teen, who seems to be lamenting about relationship drama. Whatever he's saying makes Steve wince sympathetically.
“No shit?” Eddie asks, lifting a hand to his chest theatrically. He shoots Chrissy a conspiratorial wink, earning a giggle from her and a sigh from Steve as he collects the boy’s change and sorts it into the register without bothering to count it out.
“So, what’ll it be?” Robin asks, clearly amused with the back and forth.
Eddie hums thoughtfully, tapping his chin, and Chrissy watches him; the way his lips purse in concentration, the way his brows crease in a little frown, the way his head tilts him side to side to a beat he hums out as he internally seesaws between options.
Chrissy waits for that warm feeling, for the flutter of butterflies in her stomach, everything her cheer mates talk about feeling with their boyfriends, and finds herself feeling nothing but honest contentment. Finds herself wishing she could like Eddie the way everyone thinks she does, the way everyone says she’s supposed to. She does this, sometimes. Wonders if it really is a phase, if she was wrong, if one day she’ll wake up and realize this was all a mistake and she’s finally “normal” after all.
But it never happens.
She glances up and meets Robin’s pretty, eyeshadow lined eyes, and that’s when she feels it. The warmth. The flutter. The hitch of her breath.
Chrissy looks away, cheeks pink.
“Think I’ll go with a scoop of rocky road, my lady.” Eddie says in the kind of exaggeratedly posh accent he might adopt during a DnD campaign, rolling his r’s and blessedly drawing Robin’s attention away.
She huffs a laugh, reaching for her scooper.
“Whatever thy gentleman says,” she responds with a mock salute that has Eddie grinning, and Chrissy swallows, throat dry.
Robin looks up at Chrissy through the glass of the display as she fills Eddie’s cone with an extra scoop than he asked for. “And you?”
Shit.
“Oh, I’m okay, thank you.”
“You sure?” Eddie asks, digging through his wallet for loose change. “I’m buying.”
Chrissy shakes her head, forcing a smile. “I don’t want anything, but thank you, Eddie.”
He watches her a second more before nodding, slow and unsure. He shrugs, accepting the cone with a smile— Robin had added extra marshmallows on top— and hands the girl a dollar and 35 cents.
Eddie waves her a wordless goodbye before beckoning Chrissy towards a booth. They slide into the same seat, side by side, facing the counter. Watching Steve toss his hat onto the counter and push his hair back, Chrissy wonders if this particular placement was intentional on Eddie’s part when he turns to her, a knowing smile on his face. Chrissy cocks a brow questioningly.
“Don’t think I didn’t catch that, Cunningham.” He singsongs, licking at his ice cream and shooting her a coy smirk, the affect of which only a little ruined by the chocolate at the corner of his mouth.
“Catch what?” She asks innocently, wiping at his mouth with the sleeve of her baby pink cardigan, ignoring his childish protests.
“The way you were ogling Buckley back there?” He says, eyebrows raised playfully as though it were obvious.
Chrissy chokes on air, if that’s even possible. “What? Robin? You think I was ogling Robin?” Chrissy lets out a laugh that’s too awkwardly pitched to even try to pass off as casual. “Of course I wasn’t-“
Her friend silences her with nothing more than a look.
She falls silent, pressing her lips together and fighting for her life in the unofficial staring contest he’s challenged her to.
She squints, eyes starting to sting, so she has no choice but to pull out the big guns.
“You know while we’re on the subject, Edward, don’t think I didn’t notice the way you were looking at Steve Harrington earlier.”
Eddie blinks.
“Okay-“
His rebuttal— and Chrissy’s celebratory cheer at her victory— is interrupted by Robin’s sudden approach to their booth.
“Uh- hey. Hi. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just uh, came here to bring you this.” She holds out a banana split, topped with caramel and chocolate sauce with extra sprinkles.
“Oh! Um,” Chrissy turns to Eddie, who simply shrugs unhelpfully and glances between the two girls, lips quirked upwards. He leans forward, licking at his ice cream languidly as he rests his head on his opposite hand, and not-so-subtly waves Chrissy along. “I don’t think, uh- we didn’t order this?”
“Oh, yeah- yeah I know, it’s on the house. Or on the parlour, I guess. You just..” She gestures vaguely at Chrissy, her silver bracelet jingling. Clasped to the chain is a charm of an ice cream cone. “You seem like a banana split person. Which is a good thing! Banana splits are cool. Awesome, even. I love banana splits. Fruit and dessert, best of both worlds, right? I know you said you didn’t want anything, but I figured you could split it with Eddie, or something, or..”
“Say split one more time, Buckley.” Steve Harrington calls from the counter, and Robin gives him a friendly view of her middle finger without glancing back at him.
Eddie snorts a laugh, and Chrissy notices Steve glancing up at the sound.
“Appreciate the offer, Buckley, but I’m good with this.” He lifts his already half-devoured cone of rocky road, squeezing past Chrissy and rising from the booth. “Besides, I’ve gotta head out. Wayne is coming home soon and he wants to watch the game.”
Chrissy frowns in confusion. “Game? What game? I thought Wayne was working late tonight?”
“Nope! I’ll see you later, Chris. Buckley,” Robin returns the nod he gives her, and Eddie’s smile gains an edge of mischief when he turns towards the counter, wiggling his ringed fingers in a wave. “Toodles, big boy.”
Chrissy is sure Steve’s face reddens at the display, and based on Eddie’s shit-eating grin as he walks backwards out of the parlour, he saw it too. Chrissy makes a mental note to make fun of him for backing into the door on his way out.
“So, uh...” Robin says, still holding the ice cream treat in her hand, and Chrissy turns back to face her. “Do you want to split it with me, then..? Maybe? If you want. We totally don’t have to, I just figured if you wanted to split it with someone, I could, since Eddie is gone, and I'm on my break- not that you have to split it with somebody, obviously, you can absolutely have it to yourself, but if you want the company-“
“Company would be great.” Chrissy interjects mercifully, cheeks as warm as she’s sure Steve’s must’ve felt moments ago. “Thank you, Robin.”
“Cool. Yeah, sure, of course. It’s no problem at all.” Robin says, breathless, sliding into the seat across from Chrissy and setting the offering between them.
“Steve seems cool.” Chrissy says tentatively, breaking the silence that ensued.
Steve was been in the grade above her, so although they coexisted as all cheerleaders and basketball players did, she never really spoke to him. But, of course, his reputation had preceded him. Chrissy didn’t like to judge a book by its cover, but from what she’d seen of him at the time, the rumours had been well-founded, and she knew to steer clear. He’d kind of fallen into the background his graduating year, though. Stopped hanging out with Tommy Hagan— good riddance— quit indulging in Billy Hargrove’s dick-measuring contest, and had apparently been shepherding a group of middle schoolers around town. Chrissy found the verity of that last claim to be rather questionable, but he had been admittedly civil at the counter. Or rather, as civil as one can be when handling Edward Munson.
Robin huffs a laugh, shaking her head in a way that’s oddly affectionate as she picks up a plastic spoon and digs into the vanilla ice cream. “Yeah, I was surprised too. Turns out his highness has got some charm to him. And an intense maternal instinct.”
Chrissy frowns at that, a confused laugh escaping her, but Robin merely points her thumb in the general direction of the counter. Stood behind it, Steve has a hand on his hip, the other holding a sample spoon out of reach from a young black girl in a brightly coloured t-shirt and acid washed overall shorts.
“He’s doing the Disappointed Dad Stance, isn’t he?” Robin asks without so much as looking in her coworker’s direction, taking in a well balanced bite that’s equal parts ice cream and banana, drizzled in the toppings she’d adorned the treat with.
“He kinda looks like my mom,” Chrissy muses with a tilted head, and Robin snorts, her freckled hand flying to cover her mouth.
“I’m so sorry,” She says, voice muffled by her hand and unfinished bite. “That’s not funny.”
Chrissy shrugs playfully, the corners of her mouth quirked upwards. “It’s pretty funny.”
Robin smiles, relieved, and nods. “I get it. My mom can be.. A lot. I just don’t really feel like she gets me, you know? Which feels like the most stereotypical ‘teenager’ thing ever, but, I don’t know. It’s not that I think no one understands me, it just sometimes doesn’t feel like she even tries.”
“I’d like to.” Chrissy blurts out, soft and unexpected and entirely unintentional, although she means it. Flushing, she stammers out a haphazard explanation, “Understand you, I mean. I want to get to know you better. I feel like I always see you, but we never have the chance to actually talk.”
Robin’s smile is soft at the edges, her speckled cheeks tinged slightly pink and for a moment, Chrissy lets herself imagine it’s for the same reason. “I’d like to get to know you, too.”
“I get what you mean, by the way. About your mom,” Chrissy clarifies when Robin tilts her head in question. “Sometimes it feels like my mom sees me as nothing more than a second chance at the life she wanted. Cheer captain, prom queen. I know I should be grateful— and I am, really— but… I don’t always feel like me. But I don’t even know what me is, without all of this.” She waves her hands vaguely, but Robin nods like she understands. Chrissy brings her hands back to her lap, her right leg bouncing beneath the table. “Wow. I’m sorry, that- that was a lot-“
“No! No, it’s okay. I meant what I said. I want to get to know you.” Robin sticks her spoon in the plastic dish, letting it rest upright in the melting ice cream. She wrings her hands together on the table, fidgeting with her rings, twirling them on her fingers. She looks oddly nervous. “I’ve seen you cheerleading, you know. I watch you when the cheer team and marching band have joint practices. Not in a creepy way, like, I don’t mean I’m watching you or something.” She wiggles her fingers menacingly, tone deep and ominous, and Chrissy giggles. “I just mean I see you practicing, and performing. You’re really good. Smiling, and laughing, and.. Happy. You’re in your element. I mean, despite everything, I can tell that you love it. Your mom can’t take that away from you— that’s yours.”
Chrissy’s mouth opens and closes wordlessly, a thousand responses on the tip of her tongue. None of them feel enough.
“Why have we never talked before?” She asks finally, voice soft.
The question seems to take Robin by surprise. She shrugs, eyes moving about the room. “I don’t know. I mean, we didn’t really have the opportunity to, you know?”
Chrissy frowns. “You said so yourself, the band and cheer team have joint practices every Wednesday. I saw you all the time.”
“Yeah, but.. I’m a trumpet player in a high school marching band. And you’re- you’re Chrissy Cunningham, the Queen of Hawkins High. You’re cheer captain, and I’m just.. The band nerd on the bleachers.”
“I happen to like talking with the band nerd on the bleachers.”
Robin quiets at that, stilling her fidgeting. “Yeah?”
Chrissy smiles, soft and warm, and stops herself from reaching out to take the other girl’s freckled hand.
“Yeah.”
A comfortable silence hangs between them as they hold each other's oddly fond gazes, the heel of Chrissy’s sage-coloured sandal making a faint tapping sound as it rhythmically hits the checkerboard floor. Robin glances down, then watches her for a moment, an indiscernible look on her face. Chrissy’s about to ask what’s wrong when the other girl turns her head, studying the framed silhouetted waves on the striped walls with rapt interest. Chrissy tenses in surprise when something brushes against her leg. Robin's foot hooks around her ankle, calming her anxious ticking. Robin looks anywhere but her as she runs her sneakered foot along the bare skin of Chrissy's calf soothingly, feigning nonchalance as she digs back into the ice cream, poking at it with her spoon more than anything else.
Chrissy doesn't dare to breathe, as though disturbing the air between them would fracture the peace between them, the tenderness. Her heart hammers in her ears, fingers tangling together in her lap, her stomach a jumble of nerves. Robin still doesn't look at her, giving the cheerleader the opportunity to observe her freely, eyes roaming her calculatedly blank expression for any tell of what she might be thinking. What she might be feeling.
As if sensing Chrissy's scrutiny, Robin finally —finally— meets her eyes. In them, Chrissy sees the uncertainty she feels fluttering in her own chest. She sees the tentative hope.
Chrissy chances a small, hesitant smile, and watches Robin's throat bob with a swallow.
The answering lift of her lips feels like a weight lifted from Chrissy's shoulders.
Then Robin straightens and slides her foot back when a chatty couple walks past their booth on their way out of the parlour, leaving Chrissy’s skin burning and bereft.
It's smart. Chrissy knows it is, knows that it’s safer, but still her heart sinks all the same.
As if avoiding Chrissy's disappointment, Robin looks away, eyes falling on Chrissy's untouched plastic spoon. Her expression falters further into a guilty grimace.
“Shit, I’m sorry. You’re not a banana split person, are you? I really shouldn’t have just shoved it in your face like that— oh god, you’re not lactose intolerant, are you?”
Chrissy can’t help the small laugh that escapes her as she shakes her head, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.
“No, I’m not lactose intolerant.” She picks up the spoon and hopes Robin doesn’t see her hand shake, doesn’t see the way her eyes calculate calories as she takes a scoop that’s equal parts chocolate and vanilla ice cream. Her eyes widen in pleasant surprise when she actually tastes it, humming contentedly around the spoon. Part of her expected the flavour to reflect the bitterness of her mother's scrutiny. “I forgot how good ice cream is.”
She doesn’t really register what she’s said until Robin looks at her questioningly. “You don’t have it often?”
Chrissy shakes her head, delaying her response with a meagre bite that doesn’t go down quite as easily as the first. “Not really, no. Haven’t really had the time, I guess.”
Robin hums, taking a bite of caramel drizzled chocolate and licking the spoon clean, an action Chrissy does not track with her eyes. A faint imprint of her lipstick is left on the plastic, and Chrissy wonders for a fleeting moment if Robin’s lips would mark Chrissy’s skin similarly.
She has a feeling there’s more Robin wants to ask, more she wants to say, but she doesn’t, and for that Chrissy is grateful.
Robin’s eyes fall to the locket Chrissy had forgotten hung at her collarbone.
“That’s pretty,” She says, and Chrissy reaches to grasp the heart shaped metal on impulse, feeling the floral design engraved against her fingertips. “Is there anything in it?”
Chrissy shakes her head, swallowing past a lump in her throat. “Oh, uh, no. Not- not anymore.” Something about the way Robin is looking at her, attentive and curious and comforting, makes her feel safe to continue. “It was a gift from Jason. He’d put a little ‘romantic’ note inside, so I’d always carry part of him with me.”
Robin’s freckled nose scrunches in distaste, Chrissy’s sour tone betraying her own displeasure at the memory.
“When I broke up with him, he demanded I give the locket back, but, um.. I told him to fuck off, and I kept it.”
Eyes wide and lit with glee, Robin leans forward, an incredulous expression on her face. “Holy shit.”
Chrissy nods, unable to keep the smile off her face, equal parts sheepish and empowered.
“That’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard. What did you do with the note?”
Chrissy drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, leaning forward and biting down a smirk. “Eddie and I set it on fire.”
Robin throws her head back with a cackle that draws the attention of a couple patrons, but Chrissy doesn’t care, because Robin doesn’t either.
Robin makes her feel brave.
“Chrissy Cunningham, I think you might be my new favourite person.”
“I don’t even know how it happened, honestly.” Chrissy admits, flushed from the praise and praying it passes as the afterglow of laughter. “I’ve never stood up to him before. I’ve never stood up to anyone before.”
Robin’s quiet for a moment, and Chrissy startles when she reaches out and lays her hand over hers.
“It was the right decision. Jason is.. A dick. Like, worse than pre-redemption King Steve over there.” Chrissy laughs, and it comes out mortifyingly watery. She blinks, and her vision blurs. All she sees is Robin’s easy smile, and her hand in hers. “That was really brave of you. Like, really brave. And kind of badass.”
“Thank you.” Chrissy says, soft and quiet but Robin hears her loud and clear because she smiles, running her thumb along the skin of Chrissy’s hand.
“Oh!” Robin squeezes Chrissy’s hand one more time before hopping out of her seat and jogging somewhat clumsily towards the staff room, holding a hand up in Chrissy’s direction as if telling her to stay put.
She returns with what looks like a slightly crumpled receipt and a whiteboard marker.
Chrissy tilts her head curiously, the beginnings of a smile playing at her lips as she watches Robin pry the cap of the marker off with her teeth, dropping it onto the table and frowning in concentration as she writes in printing too small for the messiness of a marker not meant for paper to begin with. The whole thing is unreasonably endearing.
Robin tears off the excess paper, admiring her handiwork before showing it off. In neat printing and thick marker is written,
To the only cheer captain who’d ever admit to enjoying the company of a bleacher-dwelling band nerd. You deserve all the banana splits :)
(As long as you’re splitting them with me) -R.B.
Chrissy can’t stop herself from grinning, all crooked teeth and dimples and creases by her eyes. Her mother would be horrified, but somehow that only makes her smile wider.
“It’s no love note,” Robin says sheepishly, shrugging one shoulder as she folds up the scrap of paper into small squares. “But it’s something.”
Chrissy realizes something in that moment: Robin doesn’t just make her brave. Robin makes her bold. Bold enough to channel some much needed Eddie Munson Charm, incline her head playfully, and say, “And here I’d had my hopes up.”
Robin glances up from her ministrations with a look akin to a deer caught in headlights. She presses her lips together, fending off a smile as she finishes the last of the folds, presenting a tiny square of paper between her thumb and forefinger, nails painted black. “Maybe next time, Cunningham.”
Robin leans across the booth to open the clasp of Chrissy’s locket herself, and Chrissy ceases to breathe.
“Promise?” It comes out light and airy, the two so close that the ends of Robin’s shoulder-length hair brush against her cheeks, the pleasantly subtle scent of her perfume clouding the air between them.
Robin deftly places the note between the open locket, clicking it closed. Only she doesn’t lean back. Instead, she hovers in Chrissy’s space, toying with the pendant and watching Chrissy through half lidded eyes. She lets the locket slip through her fingers and fall back against Chrissy’s chest, her touch ghosting against Chrissy’s skin. “Cross my heart.”
The girl leans away, pressing her back against the opposite seat and taking a bite of the steadily melting ice cream between them.
Chrissy sees stars.
~*~
That evening, as Robin tidies up the staff room after the shop has cleared out and Steve has gone home, something pulls her gaze to the hand held whiteboard. In neat-ish handwriting is scrawled, You Rule ?? followed by a stick-figure doodle of what’s presumably her, Ahoy! hat atop her head and hearts in her eyes.
Robin huffs, face heating. You suck, dingus.
She tells him as much on the board before closing up with a small smile she can’t seem to shake.
~*~
Fin <3
Art by @insomniico_ <3