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The first time could have been an accident. Nancy had stumbled through her morning groggy, grimacing down two cups of coffee and a bagel. After slipping into her heels and fixing her lipstick, she went to grab her keys before a flash of pink stopped her dead in her tracks.
It was a sticky-note. Plastered carefully over the rough draft of her most recent article, creased at the bottom so it wouldn’t cover any of the words. Nancy went to inspect it, nails tracing the edges of the crisp paper. The note was simple- just a smiley face and a surprisingly accurate thumbs up. Despite the trainwreck her morning had been, Nancy pressed away a smile.
It had to have been Robin- likely left before she left for her shift at the crack-of-dawn. Since the two had finished college, it only made sense for them to rent a place together. Nancy had been apprehensive at first, saving the world means nothing when it comes down to being able to put up with someone all of the time, but having Robin around has been nice. Really nice, now that she thinks about it. So, even when Nancy catches sight of the clock and curses to herself, she leaves their apartment with an extra pep in her step.
“Did you leave a note on my article?” Nancy asks, later that night, and Robin looks up in surprise.
They’ve assumed their typical positions- having dimmed the lights and shut the curtains. Nancy’s at the table with her type-writer, wet hair tied back and a cardigan slung gently over her shoulders. Robin’s sprawled on the couch with a notebook, limbs everywhere, flushed from the heat of the radiator and glowing from the lamplight. She cut her hair in the sink last week, and then let a frantic Nancy fix it with sewing scissors. Now it feathers around the hollows of her throat, and Nancy’s decided she can’t look in her direction while she’s working. Each time, her fingers manage to stutter out unintelligibles without her realizing.
Still, the question that’s been nagging at Nancy’s brain is halting her progress, so she might as well break her rule anyways. When she looks over, Robin’s taken to tossing her pencil in the air and catching it- a tic that is usually irritating but somehow is endearing in the softness of this evening.
“My article,” Nancy says, tapping on the back of her chair. “Did you read it? Was that your note?”
The pencil hits Robin square in the face.
“Yes!” She sits up, looking oddly sheepish. “I mean, well, I didn’t mean to snoop but- I guess the first sentence caught my eye and then I just kept reading, and then I felt like I had to leave a note because it was like, crazy-good- I’m not kidding, Nance, I don’t know how you don’t have a partnership with some major news company-”
“You liked it?” Nancy asks hesitantly, a warmth pressing against her ribs. Listen, she knows constructive criticism is what she needs, but sometimes she just craves confirmation that she is good at what she does. Robin’s lips break into a promising grin, sparkling more than the collection of rings on her fingers.
“Liked it?” Robin leans forward, raising an eyebrow. “Nancy Wheeler, that is the best goddamn article I’ve ever read in my life.”
“How many articles have you read again?”
“Enough!” Robin says indignantly, and the promise in it makes Nancy’s stomach flip. “I’m serious, anyone more professional than I am would think the same thing.”
“Mhm,” Nancy nods, swallowing a smile. Her heart is doing a weird thing- excited palpitations she’d associated with highschool flings and her college diploma. She tacks on- “Thank you- for the note. It made my morning.”
Robin grins, paper creases up to her eyes, “Always, Nance.”
The next time it happens, Nancy’s socks are wet. In fact all of her is wet (gross, Robin!), given that she’d been forced to rescue their decorative outdoor pillows from the balcony. The Sunday rain is coming down in sheets, skewing like a hose over the banister and onto their windows. After Nancy re-enters the house, she’s a mess of soaked wool and mascara, dripping onto their hardwood.
Of course, Robin is there in seconds with towels and a jibe, coasting a hand through her soaked hair. Nancy can’t even find it in herself to snap back, not when Robin’s shutting the curtains and turning around out of respect. Not when Nancy is tugging off her sweater, and for a second she wants to clear her throat, to have Robin see her like this. She bites it down, shivering in place, god, what’s gotten into her? Of course, she just gathers up her wet clothes, secures the towel, and grunts an affirmative for Robin to scurry out of the way.
On her way to the shower, she catches sight of her polished article, still stapled and laid out from last night. On it is yet another pink sticky note, the pen that was used uncapped and slightly to the right.
It reads: Beautiful.
Suddenly, Nancy is no longer cold. She smiles to herself, a bonfire bursting in her chest, dripping all over their precious chairs without a care in the world.
The notes keep coming. Incredible. I love this. You had me with the first sentence. I can’t believe how talented you are. How do you make redistricting so engaging? Sensational.
Nancy feels like she’s fourteen again, giddy over a note from some stupid boy like Steve Harrington. Her days at the office always feel like an uphill battle, all of her work brushed off and forgotten underneath the bullshit her male coworkers submit. It infuriates her, makes her bitter in a way that she hates. Coming home always feels like taking off some form of armor, taking off her shell to find the kettle on and Robin bustling around.
Tonight, after they’d scarfed down chinese takeout, Nancy joins Robin on the couch. Robin looks vaguely surprised- it’s a break in their routine- but she sets down Sister Outside to give Nancy her rapt attention.
“My mom called,” Nancy says, the paper she’d brought creasing in her hands. “She says hi, and that you’re invited for Christmas since, well-”
It was certainly a surprise that Robin and Nancy’s mom clicked so well, chatting excitedly over muffin batter during the Upside Down days. It was no secret that Robin didn’t have a good relationship with her mom, and after all hell broke loose Robin cut that relationship for good. Nancy remembers standing in her driveway, Robin leaving with her shoulders hunched and her mom screaming obscenities after her. She remembers telling Robin to get in the car, seriously, and delivering a few words she’d rather not repeat into Mrs. Buckley’s echoing hallway.
Most of all, she remembers coming back home and watching her mom rush down the steps. She’d taken Robin into her arms, hands soothing as the taller girl broke down. Karen Wheeler promised her, fiercely, that no matter what she would always have a home in Hawkins. That she would always have somewhere to come back to.
“Mrs. Wheeler!” Robin exclaims, white teeth catching the light. Nancy swallows. “Tell her that I would love to.”
Nancy nods, eyes trailing back to the writing in her lap. The words blur, and she begins to second-guess herself. She’s always been confident of her abilities, so why is handing it over to Robin of all people so goddamn nerve-wracking? Robin is clearly waiting for her to speak, watching Nancy with soft eyes and a bouncing leg.
“Sorry, I just-” Nancy passes over the paper before she can think twice about it, shaking her head. “Would you read this? I want to know what you think of it.”
“Of course, Nance,” Robin says immediately, holding it gingerly. Her hands pass over it like gold, and Nancy entertains herself with her own beating heart and watching the way Robin’s eyes glide across the page. It’s an individual work, rather than something for her newspaper company, and one that she’s hoping to publish personally. It's careful summary of Underground LGBTQ+ Activism, and the importance of it in the approaching late 90s. She knows that it’s dear to Robin, dear to her, and so when Robin’s face breaks into a soft smile she exhales a sigh of relief.
“Nancy,” Robin says finally, having been quiet through the entire thing. “Nancy, Nancy, Nancy.”
“Yes?” Nancy asks with a slight hint to her voice, leaning on her elbow.
Robin looks up at her, eyes shining. The article shakes in her hands, clinks against her rings, and Nancy gently takes it from her to set it on the coffee table. Their fingers brush, and Robin takes this new opportunity to enclose Nancy’s hands in her own. They’re calloused but careful, and Nancy resists the urge to melt right then and there.
“You’re unbelievable,” Robin punctuates the word with a squeeze. She tries to say more, but apparently just settles on, “Nancy Wheeler.”
Bingo. With the burst the rush of praise gives her, Nancy reaches to cup Robin’s cheek. Her finger smooths down the blush there, tangles in the loose bangs. Her heartbeat floods her throat, and Robin’s breath stutters. They look at each other, frozen, warm in the soft light of their apartment.
“Unbelievable enough to do this?” Nancy asks, leaning impossibly forward. The words gust across Robin’s face, across her neck, and the other girl shivers at the touch.
“Do you mean-?” Akin to a deer in headlights, Robin just stares. So much for smooth. In place of an answer, Nancy cocks her head and flicks her eyes down to Robin’s parted lips. “Oh. God, Nance, yes.”
It’s soft, exhilarating. It’s running down a flight of stairs, the smoke of a gunshot, and giving some asshole a piece of her mind. Robin’s arms wrap around her, entangling them, breathing her in. Eventually, they draw apart just to smile into each other, and to laugh where they meet. Hair tickles Nancy’s cheek, hands pressing on the bare, dry skin of Robin’s hips. Shyly, Robin trails her lips along Nancy’s jaw, presses them sweetly at her temple. Nancy sighs, and it feels like success, in every sense of the word.
“I had no idea,” Robin says when they start to slow, and Nancy’s looking at her like she hung something akin to the moon. Her fingers wisp against Nancy's collarbone, the soft skin of her neck, like she’s afraid to touch. “I didn’t even think-wow. Even if you were, me? Really?”
She looks stunned, and Nancy can’t help but swallow a giggle.
“Idiot,” Nancy takes her shoulder, smooths her thumb over the bone. “I like this. I like you. You’re just so clever, and kind, and quite frankly beautiful enough that I’m surprised I lasted this long-”
“Careful,” Robin says wryly, eyes twinkling. “You’ll make my head bigger than it already is.”
Nancy raises her eyebrows, “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Cruel,” Robin shakes her head, sinking back into the cushions. Nancy follows easily, her head finding a home in the crook of Robin’s neck. The other girl’s heartbeat echoes, grounding, against her ear. “Hey, does this mean we can make out every time I read your articles?”
Nancy groans into her skin, “Robin.”