Chapter Text
Spring arrived in Hawkins swiftly and unexpectedly. April brought long-awaited warmth and that special sort of joy that only this season can offer to all its residents. And you could almost feel it in the air this morning. You walked to school at a leisurely pace, almost lazily, letting yourself soak in every bit of this warmth. Your denim jacket swung loosely from your hands, and your heart felt unusually light.
You had always kept a special corner in your heart for these last months of school. They carried a gentle kind of magic – the unhurried, airy calm that made every moment feel like it could linger forever. They were a quiet punctuation, a chance to finally breathe and truly savor time spent with friends, before the coming summer gently pulled you all in different directions.
Being in your final year made this spring feel different – each breeze and sunbeam tinged with bittersweet nostalgia. Looking back, you’d handled this school year pretty well, in your own way. You found yourself a new small circle of friends – a few people from the theatre group you had met at a rehearsal at the beginning of the first term. They weren’t exactly your people, but at least they were company of some sort. They kept you from becoming a complete school recluse. And they fit your status well: not the most popular kids, but not outcast either.
You see, high school could be a very odd place. At some point, everyone walks this thorny path – concealing themselves just enough to blend in, tucking away this spark that makes them different. And you were no exception. You understood the rules of this social hierarchy perfectly well and had to follow them day in and day out. But you never cared about social status. You were always longing for something greater and deeper – the kind of sincerity you wouldn’t have to hide.
There were countless nights you spent in your room, wondering why growing up turns us into strangers to ourselves. Where does that pure, unfiltered honesty of childhood disappear to? You missed it more than you cared to admit. But that’s just how life is – we either adapt to it, or keep learning how to. So you had to settle for shallow connections and empty conversations with people who never really cared to see the real you. And if they ever did – if they caught a glimpse of this version of you that was hidden somewhere deep inside – you doubted they’d want anything to do with you at all.
Because being a teenager in Hawkins was… complicated. It wasn’t because your thoughts diverged from those of most of your peers. It was much deeper than that. There was this piece inside you, fragile and broken, something you could never seem to mend, no matter how hard you tried.
Last year it all clicked. The puzzle pieces fell into place. All those little signs you’d ignored for so long, they suddenly made sense. You were looking at girls differently, not like they were looking at you. And that was your greatest curse. Living with it in such a tiny, conservative town felt suffocating, as if the air itself wasn’t enough.
There were some days when you simply wished to vanish for a while – slip out of sight and out of minds. And today was one of them, despite the golden sunlight spilling across streets of Hawkins. Nothing terrible had happened, nothing that could explain the weight you felt. It was just the kind of week that leaves you drained: endless final rehearsals, the lines you still kept forgetting, the piles of information you needed to review before exams. It all pressed down onto you, heavy enough that all you really wanted was a moment alone.
And that’s what brought you here. In an almost deserted corridor at the far end of the school. The one that led straight to the gym. It was a simple plan. You knew the place would be empty – it was lunchtime, after all. Everyone preferred to spend it with their friends. But not you. And not today. The very last thing you wanted was to end up in the noisy cafeteria, chocking down the blandest burgers Indiana had to offer. And even less did you want to sit through those hollow conversations, where people spoke to you but never really heard.
So your feet continued to carry you along the narrow passage between the lockers. Your head was empty. Chest was tight. Heart pounded so loudly it felt like the sound echoed through the empty hall. You could hardly recall how you even made it to the gym doors. But the moment you stepped inside, you realized that you weren’t the only one seeking shelter in this sorry excuse for a sanctuary.
There, at the very top of the bleachers, sat a girl about your age. Textbooks and scribbled notes were spread haphazardly around her, forming a little island of chaos. Yet, it wasn’t what caught your eyes. You were captivated by the way she gently swayed her head to the music in her headphones. Her sandy hair framed her face like a delicate halo. She looked like she belonged entirely to her own little world – and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen someone allow themselves to live in a world beyond the Hawkins you were so sick of.
You recognized her. She was one of those people who somehow left a mark on your memory. Your paths had crossed more than once – a couple of shared classes, a few stolen glances at basketball games where she played in the school band. The way she played had always struck you – like she was the only one brave enough to wear her passion on her sleeve. But you’d noticed more than just that. You didn’t really know her; you’d never even had a proper conversation. Yet every small encounter had been enough for you to form an impression of her – a kind, sweet girl. And despite that, you couldn’t help but see her struggles with making friends. Her difficulty with socializing was hard to miss.
Most people at your school would have considered her… well, odd. But you couldn’t care less about their narrow-minded opinions. Being “weird” never felt like a flaw to you. If anything, it was a sign of uniqueness – something you’d been so desperately searching for in the people around you. Because people had forgotten how to be themselves.
But maybe you’d just been looking in the wrong places? What if the thing you’ve been quietly longing for wasn’t far at all – just sitting beside you in history class, waiting to be noticed? Sometimes it happens – we don’t always notice the beauty right in front of us. But in that moment, everything seemed to fall into place. A faint sense of intrigue spread through you. In front of you sat a girl who was an enigma to everyone else – and you, more that anyone, wanted to solve her. It just felt right.
And so, you were left with a choice: you could walk away and never look back, or you come up to her, try to get to know her – and keep that haunting “what if” from echoing in your mind for years to come. But doing the latter also meant leaving the comfort zone that had long overstayed it’s welcome. But then again, you had lingered in cowardice long enough. Now, shying away from the risk felt impossible.
So before you could second-guess everything, you began to walk toward her – softly, carefully, the old wooden floor creaking under your steps. The moment you came close, she lifted her gaze, curious. Her eyes seemed to ask why you were there. It was the first time you truly noticed their color – soft, watercolor blue, like the ocean on a quiet summer day: warm, yet restless. Her slender shoulders were slightly tense, as if they carried the weight of the whole world. Every detail about her felt mesmerizing – and strangely, beautifully unusual.
You’d never been much of a people person yourself – though you handled it slightly better that she did. But everything has to start somewhere. And somewhere deep inside your almost-disappointed-in-humanity heart, something told you this was the moment to finally learn how to take the first step towards something rare and radiant. So you gathered every bit of courage you had and let out the only simple phrase that bloomed in your mind.
“Um, hey. Is this seat taken?” you asked, your voice softer than you meant it to be.
The question was ridiculous – you knew it the moment it left your lips. You almost laughed at yourself for even asking it.
And yet, you had this quiet certainty that she wouldn’t think less of you for asking. Robin blinked, clearly surprised, then scooted her notes aside.
“Well, technically no” she said, her tone somewhere between joking and cautious. “But fair warning – this is kind of a disaster zone.”
You gave her a small smile. “Don’t worry, it takes a lot more than this to scare me.”
“Cool. Uh… then welcome to the mess. I promise it’s organized… in a way that only I understand.”
You glanced down at the chaos of papers and couldn’t help but grin wider.
“Guess that makes me lucky – I get the guided tour.”
You took her up on the offer and settled onto the bench beside her, letting your backpack fall to the floor next to hers.
“Oh well, feel free to explore… at your own risk.”
Your eyes landed on her history textbook, that massive brick of a book that had officially joined the list of things You’d Like to Throw Out the Window this week. You didn’t hate history – it was actually one of your favorite subjects – and Mr. Lawson was one of the few teachers who still gave a damn. But with the exam looming, even the French Revolution was starting to feel like a personal attack.
“How’s your exam prep going?” you’ve decided to ask.
“Well, considering this textbook hasn’t been used as kindling yet – I’d say pretty good. But seriously, not too bad. Dates are a bit of a pain, but I think I’m pretty much ready. What about you?” her eyes settled on you. And for some reason, it made you nervous – though oddly enough, you didn’t mind.
“Honestly, I think our teachers are having some sort of competition this year – like, who can burn us out first. And Mr. Lawson is definitely in the lead. But, being serious too, it could be worse. A couple of sleepless nights and most of it is finally sticking.”
She gave a little laugh, soft and warm, lighter than the spring air. You immediately knew you wanted to hear that sound again.
“But hey, it’s almost over. Soon we’ll finally be able to breathe. It’s tough, but you and I? We’ve got this.”
The honesty in her voice filled you with a sudden, almost surprising optimism.
“So any plans for when this never-ending nightmare is finally over?”
She tilted her head, thoughtful. “Most likely I’ll just eat a ridiculous amount of ice cream – possibly enough to make me sick. Maybe while having a cheese movie marathon. Classic. Very me. And what about you?”
“Hm… thinking of sleeping for three days straight and pretending school doesn’t exist. But honestly? Your plan actually sounds way more fun. Consider it’s stolen.”
She gave you a small, tentative smile – slightly nervous, maybe a little crooked – but that only made it all more charming. Then, as if a sudden thought had brightened her mind, her face lit up. She fumbled through her backpack for a moment and pulled out a handful of candies, each wrapped in a cheerful, colorful foil. Classic Laffy Taffy in various flavors.
“Speaking of sweet things. I think we need a little sugar boost before we survive the rest of the day.” she held them out to you in the palm of her hand. “Here. Choose wisely.”
“I didn’t know people still ate those,” you said with a small grin. Voice a bit louder than a whisper, careful not to disturb the pleasant silence that hung over the gym.
She glanced at the candy, then at you, a shy little smile still tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“What can I say? I have a weakness for cheap candy and bad jokes.”
You hesitated for only a moment before nodding and taking the cherry flavored treat from her hand. The taste was sweet, with just a little tartness. It filled all your senses. But the sweetness you felt wasn’t just from the candy. It was the quiet moment, the nearness of her shoulder to yours, the way the world outside the gym suddenly felt very far away.
“So… do you actually read the jokes on these?” you asked.
“Obviously,” she replied, her voice full of mock seriousness. She grabbed a candy too, peeled back the wrapper with careful precision, and read the little joke inside in a tone so dramatically serious that it made you grin.
“What do you call a factory that makes okay products?”
You tilted your head, thinking.
“Uh… a normal factory?”
Her laugh echoed slightly in the gym.
“A satisfactory,” she said, clearly proud of the punchline.
You couldn’t help but laugh, too. It wasn’t that the joke was funny – it wasn’t – but something about her laughing made the heavy knot in your chest loosen. For the first time that day, maybe even that week, you felt lighter. And in that moment, sitting on a nearly empty set of bleachers with a girl who smelled faintly of bubblegum, you decided you wouldn’t mind staying here a little longer.
“That was… impressively awful. Honestly, I think we should make this official. A contest. Worst joke wins.”
Her brows arched, curiosity sparkling in those watercolor eyes.
“A contest, huh? And what exactly does the winner get? The title of honorary court jester?”
“Tempting, but no,” you teased, pretending to think. “How about this: the winner gets to ask the other any question they want. No refusals.”
She paused, chewing thoughtfully on her piece of candy, then nodded.
“Alright. But so you know, I take competitions very seriously.”
You both dug into small pile of wrappers she’d left on the bench. She went first, unfolding hers with exaggerated care. You could almost hear the drumroll in your head. Clearing her throat dramatically, she announced:
“What did the janitor say when he jumped out of the closet?”
You covered your face with your hands, already dreading it.
“Oh no…”
“Supplies!” she was clinging to her composure with all her might, determined not to let the sheer silliness of the joke get to her.
But you surrendered. The laugh escaped you, and it wasn’t the joke that had you, but her theatrical delivery. It softly bounced off the empty walls of the gym.
“Okay, okay, that was terrible,” you admitted. “But I can beat that.”
You ripped open your wrapper, read the tiny black text, and smirked.
“Why did the bicycle fall over?”
She tilted her head, pretending to consider.
“I don’t know. Enlighten me.”
“Because it was two-tired.”
There was a pause. And then she burst out laughing. Her shoulder brushing against yours as she tried to catch her breath.
“That’s – that’s so dumb,” she managed between laughs. “It’s perfect.”
Her laughter was contagious, spilling into you until you were both grinning like idiots. And maybe the jokes were terrible, but the way her eyes lit up made the entire gym feel warmer.
You couldn’t take your eyes off her. It wasn’t even intentional – there was just something about her that pulled you in. Her freckles got to you the most, like tiny sunlit kisses scattered across her face, making every feature of hers look impossibly soft. Everything about this moment felt enchanted – from her fleeting, shy glances to the way the sunlight poured through the windows and painted the gym in gold. You wanted to linger here, in this moment, just a little longer.
Finally, she straightened, still smiling.
“Well, I think it’s obvious who the winner is.”
“Yeah, you.” You said, hands raised in surrender. “I admit defeat.”
“Good,” she replied, her tone softening as her grin faded into something more thoughtful. “Because that means I get to ask my question.”
A flicker of hesitation crossed her face. Her fingers kept toying with the candy wrapper, refusing to let it go. Her gaze was fixed straight ahead, somewhere far away. And finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, she asked her question – like she was letting you in on her own secret.
“Do you ever feel like you’re just… not supposed to be here? Like everyone else got the script, and you didn’t?”
The question caught you off guard. For a moment, you just stared at her, like the words hadn’t fully landed yet. It wasn’t the kind of thing any of your friends would ever ask – and that – you realized, was exactly what you liked about it. Your fingers twisted the edge of your sleeve as you thought. It was personal. Almost too personal. But somehow, the weight of the quiet gym made it feel safe. Sometimes it’s easier to open up to someone who doesn’t know your whole story.
“I think about that every single day of my life,” you admitted, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.
“That’s the hardest part about being this age, isn’t it?” Your voice wavered, soft but steady enough to keep going.
“The constant pressure. Adults act like by seventeen you’ve supposed to have some kind of ‘grand plan’. But I don’t. And it makes me feel like there’s something wrong with me – like I’m broken somehow because I can’t see which way I’m supposed to go. But that’s only half of it.”
You hesitated, your throat tightening as if your own words were fighting to stay inside. Your hands fidgeted in your lap, but the chance to finally say it – here, with someone who might actually understand – pulled the words out of you anyway.
“The worst part is that I never feel at home here. Do you know what I mean?” Your voice came out quieter now, almost a whisper.
“Everything about this place feels wrong for me. I wake up every single day dreaming about leaving, about getting out of here.”
The words hung in the air between you, heavier than you expected. You glanced at her, your chest tight, almost afraid of what you might see in her face. But in her gaze, you saw nothing but understanding – and kind of quiet defiance. Those sharp, ocean-blue eyes seemed to wrap around you like armor and a comfort all at once. Then she looked away, letting her voice drop low, almost conspiratorial.
“I get it. Every word. This town? Total crap. And the people? Don’t get me started. Honestly, why should we care if anyone likes us? Aren’t we supposed to live for ourselves?”
Her fingers drummed lightly on the edge of her notebook as she stared off, like plotting her escape. “Seriously. Why do we have to play by everyone else’s rules? Life would be way easier if people just minded their own business.”
Her tone softened slightly, as if she didn’t want to shatter the fragile quiet of the gym.
“I can’t wait for the day I flip this town the bird and never look back.”
Silence settled between you, not awkward but as gentle as sunlight filtering through early spring leaves. Her words sank deep into your mind. You let each one drift through your thoughts, delicate and unforgettable, like the soft rustle of pages in an old book you always return to. And yet, a question nudged at your chest, insistent and urgent – you had to ask, desperate to know her answer.
“If you could leave this place forever, without ever looking back, where would you go?”
“Probably a big city,” she responded, her voice low and careful. “One so huge that no one would even notice me. I think that’s where I’d feel the freest. Maybe I’m wrong… but people just seem to live more easily there, without the constant pressure of everyone knowing you and expecting things from you.”
Your chest tightened in a way that was both thrilling and gentle. And you felt an unfamiliar flutter in your stomach at her words.
“There’s so much I want to try in this life,” she continued, her gaze finally meeting yours, soft and serious. “And if you’re stuck here, it’s hard to do any of it. And what do you think?”
“I guess I wouldn’t want to stay in one place. For me, freedom is discovering something new. Learning about the world… and about myself. That’s what I want to do with my life.”
Robin listened carefully to every word, her gaze never leaving yours. It was the first time she had shown such complete boldness in your presence.
“Not a bad plan,” she said. “It’s kind of amazing to meet someone who has real dreams and goals. And the best part? They’re unlimited.”
Her response was simple, but it offered the kind of understanding you had been craving.
“Still, looks like we’ll have to suffer through this shitty town a little longer.” She smirked. “On the bright side, at least gossip here is bad enough to keep us entertained.”
After her comment your little bubble burst open. The hallway outside erupted with voices, lockers slamming shut, and hurried footsteps – the break was over. Robin let out a small, reluctant sigh and rocked forward on the bench, her elbows on her knees for a moment before she finally stood up.
She smoothed out the wrinkles on her jeans and began frantically sorting through the battlefield of papers and textbooks – the tragic result of her failed war against exam prep.
At first, the way she was shuffling through dozens of notes almost made you laugh. Every single page was covered with ridiculous doodles from top to bottom. Something told you someone had been spending way more time being distracted than actually studying. You bit back a grin, but then, watching her sink deeper into the chaos, you felt a twinge of sympathy. Finally, you stood up.
“Move over.” You said, crouching down beside her and starting to help.
“Thanks. You’re literally saving my life. Because if I don’t clean this up right now, I’m seriously going back to my bonfire idea,” she said at top speed, words tumbling out like a runaway train.
“Well, I’d hate to see you expelled for starting a fire in a public place. We’re way too close to graduation for that,” you replied, giving her a soft, teasing look.
She snorted and shook her head, brushing a stray paper toward the growing pile. At one point, you both reached for the same notebook – your elbows bumped, and you both froze for half a second before laughing at yourselves.
“Well,” she said, stacking the books with exaggerated care, “teamwork makes the chaos slightly less… chaotic.”
“Glad I could help save you from textbook doom,” you said, holding up a stray pencil like it was a victory flag.
Finally, everything was back in order – textbook by textbook, page by page – until the gym floor was clear again.
“Thanks again,” she said, standing up and nervously rubbing the back of her neck, though there was a tiny smile tugging at her lips. “
No problem. But, you know, as payment… cheap candy is always accepted,” you said with mock seriousness.
Her smile widened. “Deal. We’ve got plenty. I’ll even give you the cherry ones.” She pulled a handful of candy out of the small pocket of her backpack and dropped them into your hand.
“Well, now we’re officially even,” you said, tossing one into your mouth, its taste already feeling strangely familiar and comforting.
She threw her backpack over her shoulders and gave her head a quick little shake, like she was trying to tame her hair into behaving. It was ridiculous how endearing you found things like that.
“Looks like it’s time to go back and pretend that we care about miss Click’s class once again.”
Her little comment was enough to pull a soft laugh from you. Robin glanced at you again, this time with a look that was almost shy – almost. “See you around?”
The words were casual, yet to you they felt like an invitation. So you nodded before your brain could get in the way. “Yeah, see you.”
With that she shot you a lazy two-finger salute before turning away. As she walked away, weaving easily into the stream of students in the hallway, you stayed standing there for a moment longer.
And as you made your way down the hallway after saying goodbye, the world already felt a little lighter. Even the classes you still had to somehow survive through for the next few hours didn’t seem so soul-crushing anymore.
Weird, right? One short meeting, and what an impact.
And right there, in the middle of the crowd spilling in every direction, you made up your mind. You had to see her again. Not in history or literature class – where your main mission was simply to avoid dying of boredom right alongside Shakespeare. No. You wanted to see her there. In that little bubble the two of you had made. The one you hadn’t even known existed when you woke up this morning.
But little did you know, that today when Robin pedaled her bicycle slowly along the familiar path to her house, she noticed the local scenery for the first time in what felt like forever. Scenery she had once found unbearable and suffocating. But today, the midday sun felt just a little bit warmer, the air just a touch fresher, and both gently brushed her freckled face and tousled her always-messy hair. Headphones were in her ears, a Walkman in her pocket. And in her heart, a new, unfamiliar lightness lingered – like the faint echo of something she hadn’t known she was missing.