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The first time Carol kisses Robin, it’s with teeth and tongue and roaming hands. Robin’s head thunks against the bathroom door, the dull throb nothing compared to Carol’s mouth bruising her, changing her. Robin’s never kissed anyone before. She gasps and trembles through it all, opening her mouth to let Carol in, in, in— thinks she would let her crawl inside of her if she wanted, would ask her to live behind her ribcage, be the steady thrum in her veins. Carol kisses her, and then she stops, shoving away from her.
She looks at Robin like she’s scared. Like she could ruin her. And then she shoves past her and out the door, leaving Robin there.
And– it doesn’t make sense. Carol Perkins and Robin Buckley are not friends. They have three classes together total, and Carol’s called her an uptight bitch to her face before. So this– this is–
Carol Perkins kissed her. Carol Perkins kissed her. Like, she put her mouth on Robin’s mouth, on purpose. And Robin can’t tell anyone, because– well. She just can’t. She’s already weird, she can’t be the one to put a target on her own back, can’t become the town pariah on top of everything else just because Carol–
Heart hammering, Robin flickers her eyes over to the mirror. To her bruised lips. Her ruddy cheeks. Swallowing, she makes herself grin wide. Laughs maniacally. And then she marches back out into the thick of the party.
“I just don’t get it,” Robin whines. “It’s like– why promise to put a copy away if you’re just gonna sell it to the next person who asks anyway? And now it’s like– I have to find my dad a new birthday present which, fine, whatever, but I’m also a student making minimum wage, and this record was perfect. I would’ve been the best daughter ever for a day and a half, and what, David from Camelot Music decides to be so incompetent he sells my copy to some old lady ten minutes before my break? It’s so- ugh.”
“Maybe he was bored,” Steve mumbles, pen in his mouth. He’s not even looking at her. Asshole.
Robin scowls. He could at least pretend to care about her situation, dire as it is. She opens her mouth to insult his hair, or something, when the bell rings. With a sigh, she hauls herself up from the couch.
“Our esteemed customer awaits.” She smiles blandly.
Steve just frowns like he heard the insult anyway, and follows her out.
Robin beats Steve out, so she gets to take the order while Steve scoops the ice cream. She doesn't feel too bad- he’s got the muscle for it. Robin’s got noodle arms. Once the ice cream’s been served, Steve’s shoulders slump, customer service smile slipping back into a bored frown.
“Any plans later, Harrington?” Robin asks, wiping down the counter.
“Driving Henderson to the arcade at five,” Steve says. His voice always takes on a note of fondness when he mentions the kid. It's sweet.
“Henderson.” Robin smiles. “He really likes you.”
He huffs a laugh. “Yeah. He’s a good kid.”
“It’s nice. What you do for him.”
It’s a new development, being nice to Steve. Gone are the days she'd start a shift by rolling her eyes at him for tugging unhappily at his hair underneath the hat. It’s a brave new world, and Steve Harrington, it turns out, is not a bad guy. A little confused, maybe. A little lost. But Robin’s both of those things too, and honestly? She could use a little normal in her life. Besides, with him at her side, she’s camouflaged.
“Thanks.” Steve smiles at her– at her, not only because of her. Maybe giving this whole friend thing a go isn't the worst thing in the world. “What about you? Got any plans?”
Robin purses her lips. “Kathy’s throwing this party, I was thinking– I might stop by.”
Steve raises his eyebrows. “Kathy? I know Kathy. Maybe I’ll see you there.”
Snorting, Robin knocks into his shoulder on her back into the staff room. “I thought you were too cool for high school parties, big guy.”
“Um, duh,” Steve calls after all. “I’m bringing the cool with me.”
“Dingus behaviour," she shouts back.
The second time Carol kisses Robin, she’s drunk.
Kathy’s party is just that: a party. People get drunk, the music’s turned up at around midnight, and Robin loses track of her band friends. It’s loud and lonely, and ridiculously, she finds herself wishing Steve was here. He’d make a stupid joke about the bad punch, probably, and Robin would laugh and tell him his refined palate doesn’t belong at Kathy’s high school party. But Steve’s not here, so Robin doesn’t laugh, or say anything at all. Instead she watches - always the wallflower - and drinks too much bad punch. She thinks she spots Eddie Munson lurking in a dark corner, his trusty lunch box clutched to his chest, eyes as shifty and wild as always. She looks away, sniffing.
And then, out of nowhere, a pair of strong hands are grabbing hold of her, fingers digging into her waist and spinning her around. She yelps, stumbling too hard to get away. The hands are well manicured, the pink nail polish not chipped at all– not like Robin’s, who’s never been able to keep her nails unchipped for longer than a day.
“Buckley!” Carol– that’s Carol’s voice, and Robin snaps her head up, eyes taking a second to focus.
Carol’s fucking gorgeous tonight. She’s wearing blue eyeshadow, eyeliner painting her eyes dark. There’s glitter on her cheeks, and as she grins at Robin, she tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear.
Robin wants to kiss her. Wants to let Carol fucking ruin her.
“Come on,” Carol says breathlessly, tugging on her arm. Robin follows without a word.
The slight breeze outside is no more sobering than the half-spilled drink in Robin’s hand. Carol is an alcohol all on her own, she thinks, head spinning. She feels drunk in her presence. Is pretty sure she would even when she’s sober.
Carol doesn’t stop until she’s reached the far end of the backyard, shrouded in shadow, which– creepy. It’s dark, out here. Robin says as much.
“Don’t be a pussy,” Carol says, turning suddenly to throw her arms around Robin. She’s so short, Robin has to lean down a little to catch her. “Just… just be here with me.”
“Okay,” Robin says, turning her face into Carol’s hair, her chest a windstorm of confusion and attraction and fear. Carol’s shampoo must be floral. She smells like summer and cigarette smoke.
“Tommy did ecstasy,” Carol giggles against her neck. “He almost went blind.”
“Oh.” Robin’s reeling. She’s pretty sure she’ll always be reeling around Carol. “Um. Is he okay?”
Carol snorts. “He’s fine. Fucking idiot. Steve’s helping him take a shower.”
“Steve? Steve’s here?” Robin wishes she’d looked a little harder. Although– she wouldn’t have wanted to help Tommy Hagan take a shower. She shudders at the thought.
“Yeah. Steve.” Carol’s voice is muffled against her skin, her breath making Robin shudder again, this time for an entirely different reason. “What, you like him or something?”
It’s hard, getting her thoughts in order. “No, I– no. We work together.”
Carol pulls back, eyes unfocused. “You work together.”
“Yes.”
Carol barks a laugh. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”
Robin starts laughing too, inexplicably happy here, with Carol Perkins in her arms.
“God. Just–” Carol pushes up on her toes and presses her lips to Robin’s, still laughing. Their teeth click, and Robin steadies her, hand on her neck. Her skin is so warm.
Robin doesn't know who trips who, but suddenly they're falling, and Robin's ass hits the ground hard enough to make her yelp.
"Shit," Carol slurs. She pushes up, but her elbow buckles and she crashes back into Robin. She knocks her head into her chin.
"Ow." Robin tries to shift, and Carol rolls off of her.
She lays next to her with her pink lips pursed, palms pressed to her eyes.
Robin's too drunk to move at first. She thinks she might be dying, that her heart's going to explode with how fast it’s beating. But then she looks at Carol again, and realises she's shaking. That her mouth's trembling. And suddenly it's the easiest thing in the world to reach out, to wrap her hand around Carol’s wrist, to look her in the eye and ask, as soberly as she can manage, “Kiss me again?”
That night, drunk and stupid, Robin realises that Carol Perkins might be the best thing that’s ever happened to her. And then, the thought stumbling into the recesses of her love-drunk mind, that she might also be the worst.
Robin knows Carol likes her because she gives her her last cigarette, once she’s stopped kissing her. Not that Robin smokes. She just pretends to. Keeps the smoke in her mouth before exhaling slowly. She thinks Carol probably knows. And yet, she still gives her that cigarette.
The next day is... interesting, to say the least. Robin doesn’t think she’s ever been hungover like this before– her legs literally shake every time she goes to stand, and sparks appear behind her eyelids whenever she closes them. What the fuck is that.
So she’s not entirely there, is her excuse, when she runs into Carol and Tommy in the grocery store, walking arm-in-arm.
“Hi,” she says, without thinking.
“What do you want, shitbird?” Carol asks. She blows a bubble (gum pink, like her nails).
Tommy looks delighted, his grin smarmy and toothy and full of gleeful malice. Robin thinks they look incomplete, without Steve. A small part of her thrills at the fact she’s got him now, that he’s her friend instead of theirs. A bigger part of her knows she wouldn’t think they looked incomplete at all if she didn’t know who they were.
“Nothing,” she says. Tries to keep her face blank. “Hope your eyes are okay, Hagan.”
Tommy looks confused for a split-second, before Robin turns to go. Ignores the way her chest tightens. She's such a fucking idiot.
“Hey,” Carol catches her arm. Looks at her meaningfully, but Robin can only see the mean twist of her mouth. “Don’t take it so personally, okay?”
Robin wrenches her arm free. “Whatever.”
But Carol leans in, lips brushing her ear. "Lover's Lake. Six o'clock, tonight."
And then she turns back around, letting Tommy tug her into a kiss.
Robin looks away, face burning. She leaves the store without Paracetamol, biking home in a daze.
Unlocking her front door, Robin hisses a breath through her teeth, and tells herself she won’t go.
She’s always been good at lying to herself.
As soon as she's had dinner with her parents, Robin bikes to Lover's Lake. It takes forever, so she hums that new Pat Benatar song, Invincible, under her breath. The air is just cool enough to dry the sweat on her forehead. She hits the bumpy road to the lake just as the sky goes golden, and for a second, Robin feels infinite.
Carol's car is parked on the grass near the water, the sleek black of it glimmering in the evening sun. Robin leads her bike over, nearly tripping when she rounds the car and finally spots Carol.
She's sitting in the grass wearing a white dress, holding a bottle of champagne. In the breeze, her dress lifts a little, and Robin's eyes flick to her bruised knees. (She's not going to ask.) Carol's barefoot, shoes kicked to the side, and her ankles are delicate and tawny. Robin can't stop staring.
She wants to fuck her. Wants to tell her. She’s never felt want like this before, it's- it's a rush, like someone's plugged her into a socket. When her gut tugs with want, she clears her throat.
"Hi."
"Buckley." Carol raises the champagne, offering her a smile much softer than it usually is. She pats the ground next to her.
When Robin hesitates, casting a nervous look around, Carol makes a noise.
"It's Monday. No one's coming out here tonight."
"Okay." Robin sits. Takes the offered champagne, and drinks. It's a little warm, and Robin makes a face, and she feels that spark again, of being infinite.
Breathing deeply, Carol shuffles closer. Her shoulder brushes Robin's. For a while, they sit in silence, passing the champagne back and forth. By the time they're halfway through it, Robin's got a pleasant buzz going. Maybe that's what makes her brave enough to ask.
“Why did you kiss me? The first time?”
Carol doesn’t snap at her, like she thinks she might. Instead, she retrieves a cigarette from behind her ear - why is that so attractive? - and lights it expertly.
“I knew you were, you know,” Carol gestures, squinting at the sunset. Blows smoke out of her nose. “A dyke, or whatever. I was curious.”
Robin’s heart lurches. A dyke. She fights the urge to wince, to let the fear that just shot through her chest become visible on her face. She refuses to flinch— after all, she didn’t exactly bother denying it the first time Carol kissed her. Or the second time. It would be stupid to start now. Instead, she clears her throat. “Curious?”
“Yes. Curious.” Carol glances at her, eyes still narrowed, but Robin swears she seems — vulnerable? Carol chews at her lip. “I wanted to see what it was like.”
Robin swallows, throat dry. “And what was it like?”
Carol looks at her out of the corner of her eye. “Hot.” She takes another pull, blowing smoke into the sky. When Robin says nothing, Carol puts her cigarette out, only half-smoked. “You just gonna sit there like an idiot, or are you gonna kiss me, Buckley?”
Robin trips over herself in her haste to get closer, fumbling and shy.
And— fuck, she’s beautiful. Robin has always thought so, privately, watching her cackle as she held onto Tommy’s arm, or twirl her gum around her finger as Steve tripped freshmen up in the corridor, but she’d never allowed herself to really look. Now she can— or, in this moment, at least, she can. So she does.
She catalogues the blue of her eyes, the dark of her pupils. She thumbs over the pink in her cheeks, and listens to the click in the back of her throat when she swallows. She realises, suddenly delighted, that Carol has freckles- small and faded as they are.
Carol watches her back, for a moment, her eyes half-lidded and growing more clouded by the second — like she’s disgusted, but also excited, and also confused. Eventually she leans back and murmurs, “Why are you just looking at me, you freak?”
“You’re pretty,” Robin murmurs, and then she kisses her so that Carol can’t see her face anymore.
Robin's going to write a poem about Carol's tongue. Fuck- a book too, if she wants. She's going to learn how to play guitar and become one of those half-famous country-buskers so she can sing about Carol to an audience made up of more than just herself.
They make out until the sun goes down, and then they make out some more. The throb between Robin's legs is a distant thing. It doesn't matter how wet she is, Carol's mouth is right there, she's not going to pull away.
They kiss until they run out of steam. Carol's pressing soft, sleepy kisses to the corner of Robin's mouth, and Robin's trying not to smile, just in case it breaks the magic.
When they finally pull away, Carol doesn't offer to drive her home. Robin gets it. They're playing a game, here. Well, Robin's always been competitive. The rules are pretty self-evident. She follows Carol's car down the road on her bike, deep in thought, until her headlights become distant and blurry. Then she drives home.
It’s a slow day at Scoops. Wednesday’s usually are, but this one is especially unbearable without Steve here. Robin tries not to pout. Distracts herself by organising the newest shipment, navigating the freezer until it hits her that the only thing holding the door open is a broom, and Steve’s not here to rescue her if she gets locked inside. After that, she resolves to stand behind the till with a book.
After an hour of this, she shuffles on her feet, somehow knocking the scoop off the counter. Swearing, she ducks to get it. When Robin stands again, Carol Perkins is standing there, elbows on the counter. She blows a bubble, pops it before grinning.
“Carol,” Robin says. Tries not to look as off-kilter as she feels.
“Buckley.”
Better than shitbird, Robin thinks darkly.
Behind Carol, Tommy Hagan sidles up, resting his head on hers. His arms slide around her, rocking them back and forth.
Robin thinks she might puke.
All at once, she resolves to lock everything away. Grins wide, even as her hands start shaking. “Welcome to Scoops A’hoy! What can I help you with today?”
Tommy leans forward, grazes his nose against Carol’s cheek. “What does the lady want?”
Carol rolls her eyes, shoving him away. “Strawberry. One scoop.”
“I’ll have, uh…” Tommy scans the ice cream, clicking his tongue. “Chocolate. Can’t go wrong with chocolate, right?”
Robin doesn’t look him in the eye. She hates him. She fucking hates him. “Coming right up.”
Robin works methodically. She’d rather be anywhere but here, serving Carol and Tommy, but a small part of her is grateful it’s not Steve. She knows he’s ashamed. Knows he thinks working here, when all his friends are starting college (or are still in high school), is something he should hide. She doesn’t even want to imagine how shitty he’d feel if he had to serve Tommy dressed as a sailor. It’s almost funny. Almost.
The two lovebirds sit at a table near the till, so it's all Robin can do to keep her eyes trained on the floor. She startles when Carol suddenly appears again, grabbing for the tissues.
"When's your shift over?" she asks.
Robin bites the inside of her cheek. "At five."
Carol glances at her watch. "Only thirty minutes. Meet you in the car park?"
"I have to lock up, too," Robin says, voice weak.
"I'll wait," Carol replies, and Robin resolves herself to doing the shittiest job she's ever done locking up.
She's not sure how things escalate so quickly. One second, she's bitching about a customer in the passenger seat of Carol's car, the next Carol's slipping a hand between her legs, accelerating on an empty stretch of road.
"Oh-" Robin exhales harshly, parting her legs. She's never been touched like this before, and it's overwhelming, eyes flickering between Carol's fingers rubbing over her stupid Scoops skirt, and the road ahead of them. Carol rubs until she's wet, gut twisting in pleasure and anticipation.
When she starts panting, Carol accelerates further, motor whining.
"Fuck- slow down," Robin moans. She's not sure what she's talking about. She realises, distantly, that Carol is not a good driver.
"Almost there," Carol says, and then she pulls her hand back.
Robin gasps. Has to clench her hands into fists not to touch herself. It feels like cheating, somehow. It's only another minute before Carol's turning down a desolate road, and she drives another thirty seconds before stopping at a clearing. The place looks abandoned enough, Robin thinks, squeezing her thighs together.
"Backseat," Carol says, turning off the motor.
Robin's never moved so quickly before.
Once in the backseat, Robin expects Carol to kiss her. To warm her up. She doesn't. Instead, she shoves Robin down and yanks. Robin yelps, then laughs, suddenly horizontal. I'm in Carol Perkins car, she thinks giddily. She's going to fuck me. Sex wasn't even something she thought she'd be having ever just this morning, and now-
“Didn’t think sailors got you going,” Robin pants, when Carol presses a palm to Robin. She bucks against her hand to let her feel how wet she is, how she’s throbbing for her.
“What can I say?” Carol shoots her a grin that’s all teeth. “I like my ladies a little wet.”
Robin huffs a laugh which turns into a moan when Carol circles her clit, relentless but gentle. Just enough to make her lightheaded.
“Oh, fuck.” She tries to hold her breath, before it punches out of her. “Carol–”
“Shut up,” Carol whispers. It’s not mean, but she injects enough poison into the command to dampen the pleasure. And then the words sink in, and the pleasure doubles.
She says nothing when Carol yanks her skirt and underwear down, settling between Robin’s legs with hunger written clear on her face. She bites her lip, just looking at her, and Robin feels so seen she squirms.
When Carol ducks down, licking her way up Robin’s cunt like she’s collecting her slick on her tongue, Robin lets herself pant. Her muscles twitch, hand landing in Carol’s hair. It’s so much, too good, too fast, and she can’t decide whether to push her away or push her down. She wants to make her choke on her, wants to use her mouth. It’s clear she’s new to this, but fuck, she’s a quick learner. It makes Robin’s chest clench, knowing Carol cares enough about pleasuring her to study her, learn what gets her going.
“Fuck me,” Robin begs hoarsely. “Please.”
Carol only hums, and slips a finger into her. Curls it, and slips another in when Robin sighs, hand tightening in her hair. The noise is what gets Robin. She loves it, the wet squelching, the soft slurping, the panting. It makes her feel hot all over, stomach clenching.
“I’m close,” she gasps, shocked to realise it’s true, so soon, and Carol comes up for air only to give her a quick smile, face wet with slick, before she's licking her again, sucking on her clit, fingers curling inside her.
Robin cums without making any noise. Just squeezes her legs together, letting the white hot pleasure roll over her wave after wave. Here, in this moment, she has Carol. Has her mouth on her, drinking her up. Her hands, squeezing her thighs, slipping down to her ass. Her soft breath on her skin as she drags her nose up, through her slick hair. Carol spits on her, when she finally sits up. Wipes her face with Robin’s shirt, and huffs a laugh.
“Can I use your hand?” she asks, and Robin can only nod, panting for breath.
Carol crawls forward until she’s stradding Robin. Undoes her jeans, but doesn’t take them off– instead, she takes Robin’s hand and slips it past her underwear, right to the wet heat of her. She makes a soft sound as she twitches forwards, hand flying to Robin’s wrist to hold her still.
“Yeah,” she pants. “Yeah, yeah, just– just a little more, fuck–”
Carol humps quicker, and the realisation that Robin’s going to be picturing exactly this moment to get off for-fucking-ever, slams into her so fast she loses her breath.
“So hot,” Robin manages, voice low and hoarse. She wants to call her beautiful. Wants to say she’d fuck her forever, if she let her. Wants to ask if she can hold her after this. Instead, she keeps still. Watches as Carol tips her head back, baring her neck, as she moans high and breathy – sounding surprised, almost – and jerks against Robin’s palm.
“Fuck.” Carol crawls off of her all at once, like she’s been stung in the ass.
Robin watches her clamber out of the car and button her jeans. Sits up to grab for her skirt and pull it on, too. When Carol turns, Robin makes a noise. “What, no kissing this time?”
“We’re not like that,” Carol says, easy as breathing.
You just had your fingers in me, Robin doesn’t point out. Instead, she swallows hard. Says nothing when Carol drops her off at the mall parking lot again.
When she's gone, Robin groans. Fuck, she’s going to have to bike back home in this heat. Maybe she’ll ask Steve for a ride, next time.
Carol visiting her at Scoops becomes something Robin tentatively wants to call routine. It's not like she shows up on the same day every week, or anything. But she does ask Robin about her schedule. Tends to waltz in ten minutes before her shift's over just to hop onto the counter and bat her eyelashes at her until Robin brings her a scoop of strawberry ice cream. She doesn't show up when Steve's also working, which makes sense. The closer she gets to Steve, the guiltier she feels about Carol. But- it's not like he has to know. She's certainly not going to tell him.
The sun is scalding today, so Carol ushers Robin into the car after her shift and blasts the AC. They eat their ice creams - strawberry for Carol, mint for Robin - in companionable silence. She tries not to think about the fact Carol fucked her in the backseat of this very car just a few days ago.
"It's not sentient," Robin says into the quiet, watching Carol slurp. "It won't run away from you."
“Fuck you,” Carol replies, licking up the trail of ice cream on her wrist. She says it like it means nothing, which makes sense, seeing as her two best friends were guys for like, years, and all. Maybe she had to learn to be tough. Learn to be more than something to ogle. Robin looks away quickly, cheeks burning. Who’s doing the ogling, huh?
“Fuck you too,” Robin says, but she falters a little, unused to being harsh. Which is stupid– it’s not like it’s difficult. It’s just… uncomfortable. Like dirty words are something you have to get used to having in your mouth.
Carol sighs a little as she shifts, rolling down the window to toss the cone into a nearby bush. Robin bites her tongue not to say anything about it.
Reapplying her lip gloss, Carol asks, “Do you want to?”
“Do I want to what?”
Carol rolls her eyes. Smacks her lips. “Fuck,” she says.
Robin wipes her sticky hands on her napkin. "Yes."
Fucking Carol in the backseat of her car is as addicting as it is cramped. She manages to elbow Carol not once, not twice, but thrice. Each time, Robin falls over herself to apologise, but Carol just pulls her back down into a bruising kiss.
She eats Carol out for the first time, bent over in the seat beside her. It's an awkward angle, and Robin's shaking, but she must be doing something right, because her fingers only meet a flood of slick when she brushes over Carol's pussy. She squeezes her thighs together as she works, listening to every little thing Carol corrects her on, every hitch of her breath, every murmured, Tommy never does this part right, but- shit, shit, Robin, just like that-
When Carol cums, she seizes up. Her grip in Robin's hair is unforgiving as she whimpers, and she jerks against her, slick coating Robin's mouth and chin, and she's fucking drunk on it, drunk on Carol-
“This doesn’t mean anything,” Carol pants against her shoulder, after. “Us. This.”
“Okay.”
“It’s just sex.”
“Okay.”
Robin invites Carol over a few nights later. She's so surprised when she agrees that she stress-cleans her room an entire three times before the doorbell rings. Carol had agreed to come over with the condition Robin's parents had to be out, which - hurray! - they usually are.
"Didn't realise you lived in an apartment," Carol says when Robin opens the door.
"Good evening to you, too." Robin closes the door behind her. "It's not- it's not much, but. It's home."
She watches Carol look around for a minute, cataloguing the small kitchen, the pictures on the wall, the paint stains on the carpet. She barely has time to school her face when Carol suddenly turns back to her. "So, where's your room, Buckley?"
Robin's room isn't much to look at either, but it is hers. She's got too many posters to count up on her wall, and her desk - despite all the stress cleaning - is still cluttered with books in Portuguese and French (and a few in English, too). Her bed is pushed up against the wall, right next to the window, and she's got a pale green carpet laid out on the wooden floor.
Carol whistles, nodding at the TV sitting on her desk next to the books. "You have your own TV?"
Robin ducks her head. "Um, no. I brought it in from the living room."
"Cool."
Carol doesn't seem to care much about the gesture, so Robin walks over to her bed and waits for Carol to follow. She does, flinging herself on top of it. She still has her shoes on.
"Hey," Carol says, pushing herself up on her elbows. "Come here."
Robin flushes, eyes already on Carol's lips. It's so easy - too easy - to lean in and catch her mouth in a kiss. Easier still to tongue at her bottom lip, beg for more, for entrance. Only-
Robin wrenches away. “You taste—"
Carol regards her with an unreadable expression, eyes trained squarely on her face. And then she sits back up, pushing into Robin's space so she has to scoot away.
“Spent the day with Tommy,” she says, and Robin’s chest constricts. She feels hollow, all of a sudden. Like all the light in her has at once been snuffed out. Like someone stopped the music mid-waltz.
“Oh," she says, instead of I don't want to kiss Tommy out of you. I don't want you to kiss Tommy.
“Anyway.” Carol gives her a smile— too big for her face. Too false, even for her. “What were you thinking? Movie and drinks?”
Numbly, Robin nods. Retrieves the bottle of vodka she’d asked Steve to get (steal for) her from under the bed. Carol doesn’t even ask for a mixer before she’s taking a swig from it. She hands it to Robin expectantly, but Robin just stands. Walks back into the kitchen silently, grabs a can of soda, and returns.
For once, Carol looks unsure where she’s perched on the bed. She schools her face quickly when Robin looks at her.
"Don't be a bitch about Tommy," she says, but Robin knows her well enough now to see the insecurity written all over her face. She doesn't know how to play this. Doesn't know what to do when Robin goes quiet.
Without saying a word, Robin sits back onto the bed, grabs the vodka, and drinks it down, chasing it with the soda. The second she’s swallowed, she hauls Carol in by the neck and kisses her.
“You don’t have to call me a bitch to get me to fuck you,” Robin whispers, breath ghosting over Carol’s lips. She watches her pupils dilate.
“Okay,” Carol whispers back. “Fuck me, then.”
After, Carol lays on her back with a cigarette in her mouth. She’s beautiful, and Robin aches all over. Neither of them bothered getting dressed, letting the sweat dry on their skin. Robin takes a deep breath. Luxuriates for a moment, and presses her nose to Carol’s outstretched hand. She smells like sex.
“It’s eight,” Carol says after a moment. When she speaks, she jostles the cigarette. There’s ash on her collarbone.
Robin skims her eyes down her body. Her soft, pale skin. The mole on her stomach. The swell of her breasts. The thrum of her heartbeat in her neck. It’s so easy to love her, and Robin kind of wishes she could ask her to stay.
“Yeah,” she says instead, and closes her eyes. She listens to Carol get up, to her tugging on her jeans, fixing her hair. It feels dangerous to look at Carol as she dresses, but she can’t help it. She cracks an eye open to and watches her smoke, blowing smoke through her nose like she always does. Watches her run a hand over herself, smoothing out her shirt.
“Bye,” Carol says.
Robin doesn’t reply.
“You seem different,” Steve tells her one day. They’re in his backyard, out by the pool.
Robin rolls her head slowly to look at him, splayed out on the grass. It's hard to think when the sun's boiling her brain. “Different?”
“Yeah, like…" he taps a rhythm into his thigh. "Distracted.”
"Fuck you."
"And meaner," Steve adds lightly.
Robin bites her lip not to snap again. Steve's right, is the thing. She's almost always in a bad mood. Carol leaves her so fucking off, it's like the second she leaves her, everything stops making sense. When she's with her, she can't breathe. When she's away from her, she aches.
"Is it... a boy?" Steve hedges. He's sitting up, on a blanket, unlike Robin because, uh, I don't want bugs in my hair, you weirdo.
"No," Robin says.
"Okay." Steve purses his lips. "It's okay if it is, though. You know that, right? I don't like, like you or anything. I mean- fuck, you're my friend, so of course I like you, but I don't like like you like-"
“I like girls.” The words rush out of her all at once. Steve’s eyes go wide. “I’m gay.”
Steve looks like the air's been punched out of him. “Oh. Oh. Robin–”
Robin sits up, heart hammering. She feels sick. “I know, it’s–”
“Me too,” Steve says quickly.
Robin snaps her head up. He’s looking at her with wide eyes, almost like he’s as surprised as her at his confession.
“Me too,” he reiterates after a moment, slower.
Robin feels the tightness in her chest ease, replaced by a safe kind of happiness (a happiness she associates with Steve, these days). Camouflaged, she'd thought she was, with Steve at her side. She hadn't realised she was his camouflage too. “Holy shit. Holy shit, Steve.”
“Holy shit,” he agrees, laughing breathlessly. “I could– I could drive us to Indy, if you want?”
“Indy?”
“Yeah, to like, you know. Bars, for people like us.”
“People like us,” Robin echoes. She looks at Steve, at her best friend, and feels her throat constricts. Reaching for his hand, she says, “I love you.”
Steve’s face goes slack with shock. And then he grins so brilliantly Robin kind of wants to cry. “I love you too, Rob.”
“There’s this new movie out next week,” Robin says conversationally. She's chewing a piece of gum Carol offered her earlier, when they got milkshakes. She wonders why they're always in Carol's car, only to answer her own question a second later: this way, nobody knows they hang out. “It’s called The Breakfast Club. Wanna go?”
Carol ignores her. “My mom says me and Tommy’re gonna have beautiful kids one day,” she says. Sucks hard on her cigarette. “What do you think?”
Robin’s eyebrows fly up. Can’t help the mean edge her voice takes on as she says, “About your hypothetical kids? With Tommy Hagan?”
Carol hums. Taps her cigarette into her empty cup.
“Sure.” Robin purses her lips. Looks out the window. “You’re both attractive. You’re beautiful so, it— sure.”
Carol turns to look at her, raising her eyebrow playfully. “I’m beautiful?”
Robin swallows. Can’t find it in herself to joke back. “You know you are.”
When Carol looks away, starting her car, Robin opens her mouth again.
“What about me?”
“What about you?”
“Am I… am I beautiful?” Robin doesn’t mean for her voice to go quiet. Feels her heart kick up at how vulnerable she sounds, how much of herself she’s giving away.
But Carol just scoffs. “Sure.”
Robin tries to keep her face blank. Tries to sound mean the way Carol does. “Sure?”
Carol shrugs. “You’d be prettier if you wore makeup.”
Robin blinks, feeling the words like a slap. The sting of Carol’s words dig deep, clawing at a wound she thought had scabbed over long ago. In the back of her mind, she hears her mom echo the sentiment: girls like you need to doll up, honey. It’s camouflage.
“So, what," she says, stealing the cigarette out of Carol's mouth. "You’re saying I’d be something to look at if I wore mascara?”
“I don’t know."
"Well, maybe if you stopped wearing makeup I'd say the same about you." It's a lame insult. Barely even an insult, and still, Robin's chest goes tight once she's said it. She feels dirty. Wrong.
Carol looks at her, unimpressed. "I’m just saying, maybe your mom would be telling you how beautiful your kids with Steve're gonna be if you did.”
“Fuck you,” Robin snaps. Her eyes prickle, and horrifically, she realises she’s about to cry. “Don’t fucking say that. Steve isn’t— me and Steve, we’re not—“
“Jesus, stop crying about it, will you?” Carol snaps. “We can go see the movie if you want. Just— stop that.”
Robin knows she should keep her mouth shut. Knows it, even as her mouth trembles. Hugging herself, she says, “It’s my birthday.”
Carol’s hand slips on the wheel, knuckles turning white and back again as she flexes. She glances at her, and Robin can’t read her, can never fucking read her. She feels pathetic, as Carol looks away again. Shifts so she’s leaning against the window, suddenly wants nothing more than to get out of the car but she’s already said too much so she keeps her mouth shut, presses her tongue against her teeth until pain blooms.
The engine turns off. Robin looks up in confusion, finds Carol watching her. Her face cycles through emotions that Robin can’t place, finally settling on something similar to apologetic. She reaches over the console and grips Robin’s chin in one hand, manicured thumbnail pressing harsh against her jaw bone. She leans in to kiss her, deepening it immediately, licking into her mouth like she can force an apology down her throat.
When she pulls back, she keeps her eyes trained on her. “Happy birthday.”
Robin, whose face has gone warm, stutters out a breath. “Thanks.”
It’s never been lost on Robin that Carol Perkins is a bad person. She’s mean. Cunning. She uses people, plays them like a game. Steve, for status. Tommy, for sex, for security. Robin, for… something. The thrill of doing something wrong, maybe.
The thing is, Robin doesn’t think she’s a good person either. She’s never done things out of love, only for it. Carol Perkins is proof of that.
Still. She thinks Carol could be her bad person. She wants to let her corrupt her, doesn’t care how it derrails her life. Shit, she’d probably let Carol call her shitbird and then fuck her.
It occurs to her, she already has.
They're on Robin's bedroom floor when Carol spots something under Robin's bed. Robin grabs for the notebook first, of course, but Carol snatches it right out of her hands. She flips through a few pages while Robin scrambles to grab for it, and gasps.
“You’re writing a book? Oh my God—“
Carol splays a manicured hand on one of the pages. Opens her mouth to narrate, “I was my own person, completely, incurably myself, even when I did not know who that was—"
Robin lunges for the notebook, but Carol squeals and ducks away from her.
“Heart like a yawning chasm - woah, Buckley - without her here. I beg for love the way a starving dog begs for attention instead of food, with— hey!”
Robin snatches the notebook back, heart pounding as she stuffs it under her leg. She feels reckless- wants to recite an old quote she read somewhere. If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die. But Robin's not a writer. She's not even a poet. What she is, is horribly, inconsolably in love, and she's starting to think that's not a good thing.
Carol pouts. “Come on. I was invested!”
Robin shakes her head, adrenaline making her laugh. “Absolutely not.”
Carol leans in closer, so close Robin could count her eyelashes if she wanted to. Her perfume makes Robin’s mouth water.
“What if I kissed you?” Carol murmurs.
“Mmh, don’t think so,” Robin smiles, going a little cross-eyed looking at Carol.
“What if I kissed you twice?”
“…I’m intrigued.”
Laughing, Carol tips into Robin, catching her mouth in a soft kiss.
“It’s awful.”
“It’s not.”
“It’s– it’s like candy, but liquid. And bad.”
“Robin.”
“And carbonated.”
"Robin."
Exaggerating another grimace, Robin thrusts the Aperol Spritz at Steve. She can't believe he actually likes this drink, and worse- tried to convert her too.
“We can’t be friends,” Steve concludes with a sigh, pushing his glasses up in his hair. It makes it stick up funny, and Robin kind of wishes she had a camera with her. She settles against Steve's couch and grins.
“I think you’re missing the bigger picture here.” She grabs the beer she’d brought just in case Steve’s magical orange drink wasn’t to her taste. “This way there’s more for you.”
Steve narrows his eyes. “You might be onto something.”
"Anyway," Robin grins. "You didn't answer my question. Fuck, marry, kill- Tammy Thompson, Nancy Wheeler, Carol Perkins."
He points at her with his drink. "This feels targeted."
"That's because it is."
Steve groans. "Fine." He pulls a hand through his hair, accidentally dislodging his sunglasses. Picking them up, he says, "As a gay man, I'd have to say... Fuck Tammy Thompson, Marry Nancy Wheeler, kill Carol Perkins."
Robin squawks. "What? You'd marry your ex over Tammy?"
"Tammy sings like a muppet, I can't marry her!"
"Oh my God, that is so not true-"
"And Carol's like, evil, Robin."
Robin decides not to linger on that one, and flings herself back onto the couch instead, harrumphing.
"What about you?" Steve asks. "Fuck, marry, kill, same people?"
It takes a second for the question to land, and when it does, Robin stills. "Same people?"
Steve shrugs. "Sure. Why not?"
"Um." Robin bites her lip. "I guess- Fuck Carol Perkins-" she speaks over Steve's disbelieving gasp, "marry Nancy Wheeler, kill Tammy Thompson."
"Okay, first of all," Steve shuffles closer. "Weren't you just defending Tammy? Hello? And also, this game is stupid, I don't wanna kill anyone. Also, you'd fuck Carol Perkins over Tammy? I thought muppets were your like, type, Robin-"
Robin launches a pillow at him, and he yelps, ducking.
"Let's stop talking about this," she says, turning back to the TV.
She feels Steve watching her, but keeps her gaze resolutely forward.
"...Sure," he says finally. "Hey, how about some popcorn?"
“Do you like yourself?” Carol asks, one night. She hasn’t slipped out of Robin’s arms yet, her cheek pressed to her chest.
Robin thinks about it. Wonders how to tell Carol she hates who she is around her. That she loves her anyway.
“I think so,” she says. “Do you?”
Carol swallows against her. Voice softer than Robin’s ever heard it before, she says, “No.”
Instinctively, Robin tightens her arms around her. Carol lets her.
A minute passes. Two. Carol exhales through her mouth, and Robin realises at once that she’s crying. Carol Perkins is crying, pressed to Robin like she could love her back, and isn’t that the worst thing in the world?
I would do anything for you. You can do anything to me.
Heart hammering, Robin leans down. Presses her lips to Carol’s head.
“I–”
“Don’t,” Carol whispers. She hiccups, hands spasming around her. “Don’t.”
It ends, of course. There isn’t a world out there in which it doesn’t.
Robin Buckley isn’t meant to hold a fire like Carol in her hands. She's not made of water, she would never snuff her out. No, she feeds the flame until the flame kills her, or both of them. Deep down, she knows it's always going to be that way.
They're in Carol's car when she tells her. She's reapplying her lip gloss, eyes on herself in the mirror.
“Tommy’s gonna propose to me in October.”
Robin says nothing.
Carol laughs, humourlessly. “Romantic month, right?”
They're on their way back from the drive-in cinema. They'd watched a horror movie, one Carol wanted to go see.
After a minute, she finds her voice. “Are you gonna say yes?”
“I don’t know.”
Being with Carol is like being on a rollercoaster. Only, you realise too late you're not wearing a seatbelt. Softly, Robin asks, “How can you not know?”
“I just don’t, Robin.”
Robin explodes. “You don’t fucking love him!”
“Fuck you,” Carol hisses. She drops the lip gloss. “You don’t know anything about me.”
Robin sees red. She’s trembling. “I know you.”
“We were never even friends,” Carol shouts. “You were supposed to be a quick fuck, and you know what? You fucking are. You're easy, Robin!"
Tears welling over, Robin clenches her teeth against the feeling of dread. She had never told Carol everything. Never mentioned how she's always waiting for the other shoe to drop. So there's no explaining the relief washing over her, no explanation for the way she exhales wetly and looks her in the eye.
“I love you.”
For a moment, Carol looks devastated. And then her mouth twists. “Not my fucking problem. We’re not the same, do you understand? I don’t like pussy enough to ruin my fucking life over it.”
Robin feels cracked. Raw. Like she’s become opaque. Her bones are brittle. She’s pretty sure she could press her hand against her chest and feel her ribs crack.
“Don’t marry him,” she says. Can't manage more than a whisper. She’s not sure when she started sobbing.
Carol’s face gives nothing away. “Listen," her voice breaks. She clears her throat. "Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to college, and you’re going to graduate, and we’ll bump into each other in five years in fucking Melvald’s or whatever, and you’ll– you’ll have someone, and I’ll have Tommy–”
“Shut up,” Robin snaps, voice cracking. “Don’t say that, don’t–”
“And we’ll say hi,” Carol says, breathing hard, “We’ll say hi, and I’ll pretend I don’t remember your name, and you’ll tell Steve I’m still a fucking bitch. And that’s that.”
“Carol.” Robin can barely speak around the lump in her throat.
Carol turns away from her. Grips the steering wheel, and stares at the road ahead. “Get out of my car.”
Eyes burning, Robin sucks in a wet breath. “Okay.”
She manages to pry the door open and trip out somehow. Covers her face with her hands and listens to Carol start her car again, speeding away without asking Robin to close the door.
She can’t do much more than sob, knees giving out right here, on the sidewalk. Thank fuck it’s the middle of the night, she thinks hysterically, swiping harshly at her face. This way she doesn’t have to look stupid in front of anyone else. She can cry until she’s hoarse with it, can hug herself with only the stars to keep her company.
Only, a car rolls to a slow stop in the place Carol had sped away only minutes, only a couple minutes into her pity party.
For a dizzy moment, Robin thinks Carol’s come back. But then a door slams shut, and it’s Steve who’s calling to her.
“Robin? Robin, what–”
She raises her head blearily. Can’t stop her mouth from twisting, another ugly sob squeezing past her teeth.
“Oh, Rob–” Steve’s there in an instant, kneeling beside her, surely grazing his knees on the gravel.
“I can’t,” Robin sobs, reaching for him. “I can’t–”
Steve tugs her into a hug as she crumbles, tightening his arms around her when she starts shaking. She doesn’t want to cry, because it means Carol’s won. It means Robin was wrong after all, that she isn’t strong. Isn’t capable. Isn’t something a person– a woman, could love.
“Hey,” Steve says softly, his hand rubbing a circle into her back. “What happened, Rob?”
Robin shakes her head, gasping. Pictures Carol under the sun at Lover’s Lake. Pictures her eyes sparkling, her lips on her cheek, her hand on her waist. Feels the weight of her loss like a stone in her gut, tugging her down, down, down. Nothing will ever be okay again.
Robin sleeps over. Steve brings her water and a shirt to sleep in, and when she ducks her head again, vision swimming, he hauls her into another bone-crushing hug. She’s never been shown kindness like this, and it occurs to her suddenly that she is loved. And it’s good.
Steve loves her gently. Isn’t afraid to push back, or bitch at her, but he never goes too far. He loves her like she’s something precious, something he wants to keep. It makes Robin cry harder.
It’s easy to let the tears keep coming with him. Easy to let him hold her. They both fall asleep just like that, on top of the covers, holding each other.
Robin wakes up feeling raw and unmoored. She stares at the ceiling for a long moment, wondering if she's going to start crying again. And then Steve jerks awake, slapping himself in the face, and Robin cackles so violently it dislodges something in her chest. Steve sits up, hair sticking up like a skateboarding ramp, and gives her a sheepish smile.
She’ll be okay.
An hour later, they’re both draped over a sun chair each. Robin’s wearing a flannel shirt over her bikini, and Steve’s wearing shorts over his swim trunks.
When they've both been quiet for a long moment, Robin finally tells Steve.
Steve... Steve is not a fan.
"Fucking- Carol? Carol Carol? Carol Perkins?"
"That's her name, yes," Robin says, weary.
"What the fuck." Steve falls back in his chair. His eyebrows are up in his hairline, mouth slightly parted like he just can't believe it.
"I'm... sorry?" Robin tries.
"Jesus, it's-" Steve sighs. Nudges her with his foot. "It's fine, Robin. I just- Carol?"
Robin makes a noise of distress. Steve's got this air about him, like he's in a state of perpetual confusion, but like, he's bored also. Right now, for the first time, Steve's looking at Robin with serious eyes.
After a moment, he says, "I'm here for your lesbian woes."
Robin barks a laugh. "Thanks." She pulls her knees up. Picks at an old scab. "They'll write about our homosexual endeavours in the history books, Steven, mark my words."
Steve snorts. Then he sobers. "What, um. What like, happened?"
Robin picks at her nails. "I'll tell you everything. Just- not right now. I just- I don’t even know what to do, Steve.” Robin runs a hand through her hair. Quietly, she admits, “God, I loved her. I loved her." She looks up, eyes wide and earnest. "She made me feel…”
“Wanted?” Steve offers quietly.
“Wanted.” Robin grimaces against the sting in her eyes. She’s not going to cry again. “She made me feel wanted.”
Heaving a sigh, she sits up. “It’s just so– I mean, she just left. We never had – there was no closure, or whatever. I never got to say my piece, which– yeah, I get it, she didn’t want me to, but it’s so unfair, Steve." She swipes at her eyes, mouth twisting. "I have all these words inside of me and they keep spilling over but she’s not here to hear them.”
They sit in silence for a minute. Robin watches the sun glimmer in the pool. She’s suddenly itching for a cigarette.
“You know,” Steve says slowly. “Me and Tommy, we like, messed around before Nancy.”
Robin turns her head to look at him, eyebrows flying up. “Elaborate.”
“We had sex. Like,” he falters. His hands twitch nervously. “Like, I know it’s not the same as— you know, you and Carol, but she can be so mean, and Tommy was—“
Frustrated, Steve pulls a hand through his hair. “I’m not making any sense. I just… they’re kind of the same, in a way. Right?”
Robin looks at Steve, at her best friend, and feels herself smile softly. “Yeah, Steve. I think we fell into their orbit.” She shuffles over, holds out her hand. “Pinky promise not to do it again?”
Steve’s lips twitch up. “Only if you promise too.”
“Deal.”
They don’t bump into each other in Melvald’s five years later. It happens in Indy.
Carol looks good in the low light of the bar. Her hair is shoulder-length, styled differently now– more modern. Her eyes are softer, somehow. Kinder. Robin doesn't think she's imagining it. The leather jacket she’s wearing doesn’t look like it belongs to her, too big around her shoulders. She’s holding a glass of white wine, laughing with a group of friends. There’s no ring on her finger.
For a second, Robin feels eighteen again. Feels her chest constrict, heart racing. But then she releases a breath and looks at Nancy. At Steve, at Eddie. And it hits her all at once that she made it. She has the kind of love she thought she would never be allowed, and Carol looks happy. Happy, and kinder, and loved. Maybe Robin was never meant to love kindness into Carol, maybe she had to grow into it on her own. It doesn’t matter. It’s like a weight has lifted, like she can finally breathe, now that she knows Carol’s okay. So, without saying a word, she turns back to her friends - her family - and smiles.
“Next round’s on me.”