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Robin Buckley was paralyzed.
Not literally, of course. She's not actually sure if there were anything that could paralyze her without hurting her. Maybe there's a ritual wheel for it, but she certainly hasn't cast it. Now, actually, she's kinda wondering if Eddie could paralyze somebody with his powers…
But that's not related. She's supposed to be doing chores. She has a neatly made list detailing everything she needs to do. Sort the dishes, then wash and dry them, and put them away. She needs to do her laundry, then set a timer so she remembers to swap it in an hour. Her mom keeps ragging on her to clean her room, so she broke that up into all the relevant tasks, too.
Take out the trash, vacuum, dust, clean the windows, make dinner, call Steve…
It was just so much that even getting started was impossible. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know anybody else who had a problem like this, where she was so completely and utterly stuck when faced with everything she needed to do.
She kept trying to tell herself it wasn't even a lot to do! It was a really simple list, and she'd even made all the tasks into smaller tasks so she didn't forget any of the steps like Steve suggested, but it just made the list so much longer.
She's been paralyzed in this recliner for the last half hour, legs curled up to her chest staring at a hole in the wall. She does want to do it. She wants to get up and clean, because that was her plan for the day, and she doesn't have anything else to do. Worse, if she doesn't do it, her parents will be disappointed and she'll feel all guilty while listening to them do it for her.
She just… can't. She literally can't move. She's spent that half hour repeatedly telling herself to get up, to just start on any of the chores. Just one. She doesn't even need to do all of them! her parents won't notice if she doesn't vacuum until tomorrow, or dust, and she could probably get Steve to bring her dinner.
But then, she has to eat that dinner, and even that sounds daunting right now. She's hungry, too, which is just the worst, because she doesn't want to eat.
Her house phone rings. It's been so long that she should be taking a break now, an hour into cleaning and probably getting distracted so much that her tasks were only halfway done. It's probably Steve, expecting that exact thing.
She stares at the phone, and wills herself to move, and it just doesn't happen.
The ringer stops. A few seconds later, it starts up again, and she still can't move. She's screaming at herself internally— just get up! It's not that hard, she can move just fine, and she wants to talk to Steve! She always wants to talk to Steve, she's his ride or die! His capital P Platonic soulmate!
The phone rings only one more time after that, before it stops. She feels a bit like crying, curling further into herself. She just wants to get up and do something, she feels so useless sitting here without a thing to show for the day. She hasn't even done any reading, or any crafts, or shower like she was planning to after cleaning.
God, cleaning! Why wasn't she fucking cleaning?!
There's a knock at her door. She can't get up to answer it, her whole body submerged in cement. She manages to turn her head so she can see the clock on the wall, scowling at the sight of it being fifteen minutes past the phone ringing.
Keys jangle, and then the door is thrown open and Steve Harrington is standing there in all his glory.
Except he's not very glorious right now. He looks panicked and rumpled, his shirt haphazardly tucked into the waistband of his sweats, like he didn't have time to change out of lounge clothes. His hair wasn't even done, instead it was a sad, floppy mess that clearly hadn't seen the treatment of his typical hair routine.
She stared at him, and he stared at her, and she heard him take a deep breath, before he said, "You're okay." Like he had thought she wasn't. He slumps, and when he comes inside and shuts the door behind himself he leans against it, breathing. She doesn't know what's happening, but if it's another apocalypse and she's stuck in this fucking chair, she's going to lose it.
Steve runs a hand down his face, "I thought— you didn't pick up the phone, and I know it's ridiculous, but I thought— It's— are you okay?"
She manages a hum, turning her gaze down to the list on the table. Tears burn at her eyes at the sight of it, but she can't look away. Why hasn't she done anything, yet? Why hasn't she gotten up?
"Robin?" Steve appears at her side, "What's that? Oh."
Now he's going to be disappointed in her, and she's going to feel like shit for fucking things up again, and it's all going to make her day wor—
"Oh. Okay, I'll start the dishes, come on. You can eat the alfredo I brought you until you feel better." He pats her shoulder, then holds a hand out for her to take.
Somehow, that's all she needs to get up on her feet. Half an hour later, she's chattering away with Steve and running her washing machine, the dishes set out to dry, and her bedroom halfway through being neatened up.
Before he leaves that night, she makes sure to tell him she loves him, and he just laughs and says it back with a grin on his face.