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Robin’s uncle’s house wasn’t just big.
It was ridiculous.
And Steve knew a thing or two about big houses.
Steve stood in the driveway, staring up at the three-story white-brick mansion like it might start speaking to him. The porch wrapped around the front like a hug. The windows gleamed. The lawn looked freshly landscaped. All prim and proper, how this is a relative of his frivolous friend, he’ll never know.
He let out a low whistle.
“Jesus, Buckley. Your uncle’s loaded.”
Fishing out the key from under the flower pot Steve hauled his bags inside, taking in the spotless foyer, the polished floors, the framed family photos that looked like they belonged in a dentist’s office. He wandered through the kitchen, the living room, the dining room each one cleaner than the last.
It felt sterile and safe, unlike Hawkins.
Like a place where no one ever spilled juice or left socks on the floor.
He dropped his keys on the counter and checked his watch.
Robin’s train should be arriving soon.
He grabbed his jacket and headed back out.
The station wasn’t hard to find as it was buzzing with people rushing, announcements echoing, and trains screeching. Steve leaned against a pillar, scanning the crowd, looking, searching, and then –
“STEEEEVE!”
He barely had time to turn before Robin launched herself at him, arms wide, hair flying, backpack bouncing.
“Jesus—!” he laughed, catching her as she slammed into him. “Are you trying to kill me or what?”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” she said, squeezing him tighter. “You missed me. I can tell. You’re doing the emotional shoulder thing.”
“I’m not doing the emotional shoulder thing.”
“You totally are. You’re doing the little pat thing you do, like you’re comforting a toddler.”
He snorted. “I’m literally just hugging you.”
“Mm-hmm. Sure.” She pulled back, squinting at him. “You look older.”
“Wow. Thanks.”
“In a good way! Like… mature. Responsible. Like you own a spice rack.”
“I do own a spice rack.”
“See? Mature.”
“I need new friends.” he said
But rolling his eyes, he smiled.
He missed her. More than he realized.
“You will not believe who was on the train,” she said, immediately launching into a rant. “There was this woman – this woman who spent the entire trip clipping her nails. On public transport. Like some kind of –”
Steve wasn’t listening anymore.
Because over Robin’s shoulder, at the top of the platform bridge, struggling with a suitcase that was clearly too heavy, was –
“Nancy.”
Her name slipped out before he could stop it.
Robin blinked. “Huh? Oh yeah. That’s the other part of my story –”
But Steve was already moving.
He jogged up the steps, heart thudding in a way he loved and hated at the same time.
Nancy Wheeler stood there, looking as beautiful as ever, even with her cheeks flushed from the cold, hair slightly windblown, and wrestling with a suitcase that looked like it contained a small anvil.
She looked up when she heard him.
Her eyes widened.
Then softened.
“Steve?”
He swallowed. “Hey. Here —let me—”
“I’ve got it,” she said, automatically hoisting it up before she immediately lost her grip. “Actually—no, I don’t. Please take it.”
He laughed under his breath and grabbed the handle.
“Thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow.”
“Robin called,” she said, shooting a look down the platform stairs. “She said it’d be more fun if we all arrived together.”
“And left you to haul your luggage off the train yourself? Yeah, that sounds like her.”
Nancy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“You look good.”
Steve blinked.
“Oh. Uh. Thanks. You too.”
She smiled small and shy, the kind of smile that still managed to undo him completely.
They walked down the steps together.
Robin was waiting at the bottom, arms crossed dramatically.
“Well, well, well,” she said. “If it isn’t Nancy Wheeler, what are you doing here?”
“You’re acting like you didn’t sit beside me for the full journey.”
“So? What happened to tomorrow?”
Nancy rolled her eyes. “You begged me to switch my ticket.”
“I politely insisted.”
“You threatened to call me every hour until I agreed.”
“Semantics.”
Walking back to his car Steve snorted.
God, he’d missed this.
They loaded the trunk, and Steve hesitated before finally pulling Nancy into a hug.
She’s still as soft as ever.
Smelling like Jasmine and Vanilla.
She stiffened for half a second then melted into it.
“It’s really good to see you,” he murmured.
“You too,” she said softly.
When they pulled apart, her cheeks were pink.
Robin climbed into the passenger seat. “Shotgun! Because I get carsick in the back and Nancy gets carsick in the front and Steve gets carsick if anyone else drives.”
“I do not get carsick,” Steve protested.
“You get control sick,” Robin corrected. “It’s different.”
Nancy laughed quietly from the backseat.
Steve caught her eye in the rearview mirror.
It felt like being seventeen again.
But he’s twenty one.
Feeling everything in between.
“Okay,” Steve said, buckling in. “Before I pull away, Byers is still arriving tomorrow morning, right? Because I love you both, but I can’t handle any more surprise guests.”
“No more surprises,” Nancy promised.
“Unless Jonathan decides to hitchhike,” Robin added.
Nancy groaned. “Please don’t even joke about that.”
Steve smirked. “I thought there was no bad blood between the two of you.”
Nancy hesitated. "There's isn't."
Then: “It’s just awkward between us.”
Robin made a face. “Translation: it’s complicated.”
“Robin.”
“What? It is.”
Steve cleared his throat. “Well. Uh. I hope it works out. Y’know that you stay friends and all.”
Nancy met his eyes in the mirror again.
Something flickered there.
Something he wasn’t ready to name yet.
Robin, oblivious as ever launched into a monologue.
“So anyway, I’ve decided I’m going to be the next feminist icon. Like, everyone knows Plath, Reagan, and King went to my school—”
“Reagan?” Steve asked.
“Not Ronald Reagan. His wife Nancy. Typical patriarchy, the man being more famous than the woman.” she sighed.
Nancy snorted. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet you love me.”
“Debatable.”
“So, as I was saying, everyone knows Plath, Reagan, and King, and you two—” she pointed dramatically “—are two of the lucky few who get to say, ‘I knew Robin Buckley before she was an icon. In fact, I knew she’d be an icon.’”
Steve and Nancy exchanged a look in the rearview mirror. Eyebrows raised. A silent conversation they hadn’t had in years.
“An icon of what?” Steve asked
“Being awesome, duh.”
“That’s not a thing” Nancy pointed out.
“It will be a thing.”
Steve watched them bicker, warmth blooming in his chest.
He’d missed this.
He’d missed them.
They didn’t make it far down the road before Robin suddenly shrieked, “STOP! —”
Steve braked so hard Nancy had to grab the seat in front of her.
“That place sells the best Philly cheesecake in the entire state!”
“Jesus, Robin! Give me a heart attack, why don’t you?”
“What? You’ll thank me later.”
Steve sighed and turned to Nancy.
“Hungry?”
She shrugged, smiling. “Starving.”
“Yay! My family and I used to come here all the time when we were younger. I thought it closed down, but I can see why it isn’t” Robin continued to blabber as they left the car and walked inside where they were greeted by a waitress who smelt of grilled onions and nostalgia.
They slid into a booth; Steve and Nancy facing each other, Robin beside Steve who immediately excused herself to the bathroom.
Leaving Steve and Nancy alone.
Nancy hid behind her menu.
Steve watched her for a moment.
“You’ve been quiet, you okay?” he asked.
She peeked over the top. “Yeah. Just tired. I was up all night editing.”
“Still writing for the paper?”
“Yeah. It’s just… hard. Good hard, like a challenge. But it's exhausting.”
“I get that,” he said. “I brought a stack of tests to grade. Thought I’d get ahead.”
Nancy smiled softly.
“You’re a good teacher. Certainly better than that old fart we had Mr. Barefoot”
He felt his ears warm.
“Thanks, but disrespecting my colleague, and your former teacher no less. Who are you and what have you done to Nancy Wheeler?” Steve teased.
Giving him a coy look Nancy shrugged her shoulders, and flipped her menu back over.
“You always were good with kids,” she added. “Even when you pretended you weren’t.”
He laughed. “Yeah, well. They grew on me.”
“They adore you.”
He shrugged, embarrassed.
“They’re good kids.”
Nancy’s smile lingered like she was going to say something.
Warm.
Fond.
But Robin returned, slamming into the booth, ruining her train of thought.
“Okay! I’m back. Did you two confess your undying love for each other while I was gone?”
“Robin!” Nancy sputtered.
Steve choked on air. “What – no – what –”
Robin waved a hand. “Relax. I’m kidding. Mostly.”
They ordered.
They ate.
They talked.
Robin, always one to ignore proper dining etiquette, continued her story of the women who cut her toenails in their carriage. Nancy added details when she could.
“She was wearing sandals too, like, think of all the dirt that gets in between toes.”
Steve laughed in disgust until his stomach started to hurt.
Then the conversation gradually shifted.
“So,” Robin said, mouth full of fries, “Steve broke up with Kristen.”
Nancy’s head snapped up. “You did?”
Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. She wasn’t… right.”
Robin smirked. “Translation: she wasn’t the girl in his dreams.”
Nancy froze.
Steve shot Robin a murderous look.
“Robin.”
“What? You said it on the phone!”
Nancy swallowed. “You… said that?”
Steve’s face went red.
“I, uh.. yeah. But it was a while ago. Doesn’t matter.”
Nancy looked down at her plate.
Thinking.
Pondering.
Wondering if she’s still the girl of his dreams.
Then she said softly, “I’m… not seeing anyone right now. I’m too focused on work.”
Robin snorted. “Translation: she’s emotionally unavailable.”
“Robin! Stop doing that.”
“What? I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. That’s what us philosophy scholars do.”
Steve cleared his throat.
“Well. Uh. Work’s important.”
Nancy met his eyes.
“Yeah”
Something unspoken passed between them.
Something warm.
Something old.
Something dangerous.
Steve looked away first and quickly changed the subject
“So Robin, how’s Vickie? Still putting up with your nonsense?”
By the time Steve pulled into the driveway again, the sky had turned a deep navy blue. The house glowed warm from the inside, like a postcard version of home.
Robin yawned so dramatically it echoed.
“I’m going to bed before I collapse and die.”
“You say that every night,” Steve said.
“And one day it’ll be true,” she replied, dragging her bag up the stairs. “Goodnight, losers.”
“Night,” Nancy called softly.
Steve lingered in the foyer, rubbing the back of his neck.
“You good? Need anything?”
Nancy shook her head. “I’m okay, thanks though.”
He nodded, but he didn’t move.
Neither did she.
There was a moment — a soft, suspended moment — where they just looked at each other.
Not awkward.
Not tense.
Just… familiar.
Then Nancy cleared her throat. “I should, um… get some sleep.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
They parted ways, heading to their assigned rooms.
But sleep didn’t come.
Not for either of them.
Steve lay on the overly soft mattress, staring at the ceiling.
The house creaked in ways he wasn’t used to.
The rain gutter outside dripped steadily.
His brain wouldn’t shut up.
He tossed.
Turned.
Flipped his pillow.
Nothing.
Finally, he sighed, grabbed his hoodie, and padded downstairs.
The house was dark except for a faint blue glow coming from the living room.
He paused in the doorway.
Nancy was curled on the couch, wrapped in a throw blanket, hair messy, eyes fixed on the TV. The light flickered across her face, softening her features.
She looked small.
And tired.
And heartbreakingly familiar.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
She jumped a little, then relaxed.
“Hey.”
“What’re you doing up?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” She shrugged. “You?”
“Same.”
He stepped inside, rubbing his arms against the chill.
It was quiet for a moment.
Steve sat on the arm of the sofa and stared at the televised adverts.
“I usually make tea when I can’t sleep. Want some?”
Nancy hesitated — then nodded.
“Mm. Sure. I take it m—”
“Milky, with the bag left in,” he finished. “I remember.”
Her cheeks warmed.
“You always do.”
He disappeared into the kitchen, the kettle clicking on.
Nancy waited on the couch, her expression softening in a way she didn’t let many people see.
When he returned, he held out her mug.
“Careful. It’s hot.”
“Thanks.”
He hovered awkwardly for a second.
“Mind if I…?”
She lifted the blanket, scooting over.
“Sit.”
He did.
It was quiet.
Their shoulders brushed.
Their knees touched.
Neither moved away.
DuckTales played quietly on the TV, the theme song humming through the room.
Nancy hummed along under her breath.
“DuckTales… woo-hoo.”
Steve snorted. “You know the words.”
“I know all the words,” she said, lifting her chin. “I’m a dedicated viewer.”
“Oh yeah? Prove it.”
She didn’t hesitate — she sang the next line, off-key and too quiet, but with absolute confidence.
Steve laughed, leaning back into the couch.
“You’re such a nerd.”
“Says the man who alphabetizes his VHS tapes.”
“Hey, if it weren’t for that I wouldn't have gotten the Family Video job.”
“That’s a nerd job.”
He nudged her knee with his.
She nudged back.
The warmth between them grew — slow, steady, familiar.
They watched in silence for a while, sipping tea, wrapped in the same blanket.
The rain gutter dripped outside.
The house creaked.
The cartoon characters quacked.
Then Nancy spoke.
Quietly.
Like she wasn’t sure she should.
“It’s not the bed,” she said. “Or the rain. Or the house.”
Steve turned to her.
“What’s not?”
“Why I can’t sleep.”
He waited.
Nancy stared at her mug.
“It’s my head. Even though they’re dead… I’m still scared.”
Steve’s chest tightened.
He knew exactly what she meant.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Me too.”
She looked up, surprised.
“You?”
“Of course I am,” he said. “You think I just… stopped being scared? That’s not how it works.”
Nancy swallowed.
“I guess I thought you handled it better.”
“I didn’t,” he said. “I just got good at pretending.”
She let out a shaky breath.
“You never seemed to have trouble sleeping before,” he added gently.
“That’s because…” She hesitated. “Because I knew you were there.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“I knew you were there to keep me safe,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “Back then. When everything was happening. When everything was awful. I slept because you were there.”
Steve’s heart stuttered.
“Nance…”
She shook her head, eyes shining.
“You were too good for me, Steve Harrington.”
“That’s not—”
“It is,” she insisted. “I messed things up. I hurt you. And you still—” Her voice cracked. “You still showed up. You still cared. You still protected everyone.”
He set his mug down and shifted closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“Nancy,” he said softly. “I wasn’t perfect either. There’s a reason we’re not together.”
“It’s not because I didn’t want to,” she whispered. “I just… I had so much to figure out. I still do and I don't deserve you.”
He rested his chin lightly on her head.
“You’ve come so far. You’re allowed to be scared. You’re allowed to be human.”
She leaned into him, trembling slightly.
“Can we stay like this?” she asked.
“I think that can be arranged.”
She rested her head on his chest.
He kissed her forehead.
The cartoon flickered on.
They stayed like that for a long time.
Wrapped in each other.
Wrapped in the past.
Wrapped in something that felt dangerously like hope.
Eventually, Nancy whispered, “I miss you.”
Steve closed his eyes.
“I miss you too, Nance.”
The next morning Nancy woke alone on the couch, wrapped in the blanket.
Fraggle Rock played softly on the TV.
Her neck ached.
Her heart ached more.
Footsteps approached.
Steve walked in, hair messy, shirt fresh, holding a plate.
“Morning,” he said, voice warm. “Don’t tell Robin you’re getting the last of the Pop-Tarts. She’ll skin me alive.”
Nancy blinked.
“You… made me breakfast?”
“If looking through the cabinet, opening a packet and putting them in the toaster is considered making breakfast, then yeah.” He shrugged. “I made you breakfast.”
She grinned.
He handed her the plate.
Their fingers brushed.
Neither pulled away.
“And cranberry juice,” he added. “Because it’s all Robin’s uncle had.”
Nancy smiled — soft, sleepy, real.
“Thanks, Steve.”
“No problem,” he said, but his voice was too warm for it to be casual.
He sat beside her.
Close.
Too close.
The morning moved slowly after that in a soft, sleepy way that only happens when you’re away from home. The house was quiet except for the low hum of Jim Henson's puppets om the television.
Nancy sat on the couch with her Pop‑Tarts and cranberry juice, legs tucked under her, hair still mussed from sleep. Steve sat beside her, close enough that their knees brushed every time one of them shifted.
He didn’t move away.
She didn’t either.
“Robin’s still asleep?” Nancy asked, taking a bite.
“Completely dead to the world,” Steve said. “I checked to make sure she was breathing.”
Nancy laughed softly. “You’re such a mom.”
“Excuse you,” he said, offended. “I’m a cool mom.”
“You colour‑code your sock drawer.”
“That’s called being organised.”
“That’s called OCD and being a mom.”
He nudged her knee with his.
She nudged back.
The warmth between them was easy. Too easy.
After breakfast, they wandered the house together while Robin snored upstairs.
Nancy trailed her fingers along the banister. “This place is huge.”
“Yeah,” Steve said. “I got lost many times already.”
“You? Mr. ‘I Have A Perfect Sense of Direction’ Harrington?”
“Hey, I managed to drive here without getting lost, didn’t I?” he said defensively. “And all the hallways look the same.”
Nancy smiled, and something in Steve’s chest tightened.
They peeked into rooms; a conservatory full of plants, a kids’ playroom with toys scattered all over the floor, a study with floor‑to‑ceiling bookshelves.
Nancy paused in the doorway.
“Wow,” she whispered. “This is… beautiful.”
Steve watched her instead of the room.
The way her eyes softened.
The way she tucked her hair behind her ear.
The way she breathed in like she was inhaling the moment.
“You always liked places like this,” he said quietly.
She turned to him. “Places like what?”
“Quiet ones,” he said. “Where you can think. Where you can… be you.”
Nancy’s expression shifted into something warm, something vulnerable.
“You remember that?” she asked, thinking of the little adventures they used to have.
“Yeah,” he said. “I remember everything.”
She held his gaze a moment too long.
Then a thump and a yell was heard from upstairs, “I’M AWAKE, WHO WANTS TO MAKE ME BREAKFAST?”
Later, after Robin had eaten half the pantry and declared herself no longer ‘zombified’ the three of them decided to explore the neighborhood and explore the area as Jonathan wasn’t due to arrive till later that afternoon..
But Robin got distracted by a group of kids playing basketball down the street and wandered off to “teach them the fundamentals of feminist sportsmanship.”
Which left Steve and Nancy walking the park alone.
The air was crisp.
The trees were bare.
The sidewalk was cracked in that charming, old‑city way.
Nancy hugged her coat tighter. “It’s colder than I expected.”
Steve immediately shrugged off his jacket. “Here.”
“N‑no, Steve, you’ll freeze.”
“I’m fine,” he said, draping it over her shoulders before she could protest.
She looked up at him, eyes soft.
“Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
They walked in silence for a moment, the kind that could be full without words.
Then Nancy said, “Last night… Thank you. For staying with me.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do,” she insisted. “I haven’t felt that safe in a long time.”
Steve’s breath caught.
“Nance…”
She stopped walking.
He did too.
They stood on the foot path, facing each other, the winter sun catching in her hair.
“I meant what I said,” she whispered. “I miss you.”
He swallowed hard.
“I miss you too.”
Her eyes flicked down to his mouth — quick, instinctive, but unmistakable.
Steve’s heart thudded.
“Nancy…” he said again, softer this time.
She stepped closer.
Just a little.
Just enough that he could feel her breath.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted. “I don’t know what this is. I just… I feel like I can breathe around you. Like I haven’t been able to in a long time.”
He reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
Noticing how it’s grown longer.
His fingers lingered.
“You don’t have to know what it is,” he said. “We can figure it out. Together.”
Her eyes fluttered shut for a second.
When they opened, they were shining.
“Steve…”
He leaned in slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away.
She didn’t.
Her hand lifted, fingers brushing his jaw.
His breath hitched.
They were close now.
Too close.
But not close enough.
Her nose brushed his.
Her lips parted.
It was perfect.
And then —
“GUYS!” Robin shouted from down the street. “I FOUND A DOG!”
Nancy jerked back, startled.
Steve blinked, heart pounding.
They both turned alarmed to see Robin jogging toward them with a large golden retriever on a leash.
Nancy exhaled shakily.
Steve ran a hand through his hair.
"She seriously chooses her moments."
Said moment was gone.
But not forgotten.
Not even close.
As they naturally intertwined their fingers Steve and Nancy walked back towards her.
“Robin, there’s dogs everywhere. Give them back to their owner.”