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The city—and city, isn’t that such a word; she’s now someone who just casually says the city about her place of residence, though perhaps it is precisely that which still marks her so very clearly, so glaringly brightly as was born in bumfuck nowhere, what does she know—is cold and wet like this at night, but Robin’s insides are all warm. Even though her jacket is missing.
Well, missing. It’s right there, of course: around the slender shoulders of the most beautiful girl in the whole entire world, one Vickie Dunne.
It’s late. They should probably drive home—home, and isn’t that such a concept, too, their home—instead of sitting here on the curb outside of the diner after they got kicked out—not for bad behavior, mind! They just closed! Vickie and her just got lost in their talk, alright!—but, well, the thing is, they always get dessert. They never, ever, ever skip it. It’s a whole thing, alright? It’s sort of evolved into one naturally.
After everything, there need to be things like that. Little habits, Vickie’d called it after Robin insisted on dessert one time when they were cutting it close after going out together, with that cute little smile that makes her cute little crooked teeth poke out just a little. With a fond shake of her head. Robin can’t believe it, sometimes, that after everything, with everything, she still gets this. That after they had to run, after they had to fight, after Vickie got taken in by the military too for her involvement, they’re still right here, together.
Vickie is beautiful in this light, too. The streetlamp is a little busted, shining orange over her porcelain skin, glittering bronze in red hair. it makes her eyes sparkle, but nearly fades her adorable freckles into nothingness. She’s in a blue dress and dangly, wooden, handmade earrings, and it looks almost funny, her with Robin’s beat up leather jacket on her shoulders.
While Robin is fiddling with a cigarette, Vickie is fiddling with the plastic pudding cup they got from the gas station across the street. They didn’t have any spoons there—boo—so the only thing they really do have is the plastic fork Robin nicked from the diner, which isn’t great, but hey.
“It’s already great just being with you,” says Robin, for whatever goddamn reason.
Vickie, naturally, looks a little confused when she glances at her sideways. Brows knitted together just a little, eyes squinted in the half-dark. It’s really very cute.
Robin waves her hand through the air, which snuffs out the flame from her lighter she’d just gotten to work because there’s some wind (of course there is!), but that’s whatever. “I was thinking how a fork isn’t really convenient for pudding, right? And then I was like, Well, whatever, at least I’m here with Vic. You know.”
“At least I’m with you,” Vickie agrees, grinning. Cute, cute, cute. Robin’s face burns just a little with it, anyhow.
Embarrassing. All those thoughts, warbling together, until what she does at last say out loud doesn’t make any sense at all anymore. It’s okay, though: Vickie rips off the foil lid and Robin lights the cigarette and there is no weight resting on them, resting on Robin; the only thing they have to do right now is sit here and enjoy the crisp night air (that quickly cools all lingering abashment, anyhow), and perhaps get their clothes a little damp on the wet asphalt. The world isn’t opening up, and they’re—Vickie and Robin and Robin and Vickie—whole, too. They always will be.
Robin’s head drops back with a groan when she takes the first drag. God, that always tastes so good; smoke drifts up from her mouth up towards the ink-spill sky, like clouds. Next to her, there’s a wet noise that sort of makes Robin want to crack a stupid joke, but she can’t think of one.
Vickie is eating with the plastic fork, it turns out. Dipping it into chocolate pudding, then pulling it back out—there’s the wet shlick again, though this time Robin is distracted by the sparkle of Vickie’s lip-gloss—sucking the pudding off the plastic. Closing her lips around it real tight. Robin’s mouth is dry.
It’s not even that cold, actually. Well, it is, but it’s so hard to feel it with such a pretty girl next to her, wearing her jacket. Chivalry makes Robin act stupid, it always has, but she likes having the space for it—for giving that to Vickie, for offering it on her knees—right here, so much.
She gets snapped out of her thoughts when Vickie laughs, snorting with it. She pushes the fork back into the pudding and sucks more off it, then laughs harder, voice going raspy with it in that way that always makes Robin tingle. “This is so—so bad!” Vickie laughs, covering her mouth with her free hand. For a moment, Robin feels almost inclined to tell her to leave it, that Robin wants to see all of her, but on second thought, she’s probably not that in love. Almost, though! Even for pudding in the open mouth! “Robin, this doesn’t work at all!”
Robin shrugs. “Well, my dear, it nonetheless has to be done.” And then, with a flourish that makes Vickie snort again, stars shining in her bright blue eyes—which is just as well, since thanks to light pollution, they’re definitely not shining up above—: “However, if you so desire, we could swap.”
Makes Vickie giggle, and Robin go all warm inside, everywhere. See? Not wearing a jacket is totally fine. A-okay, in fact.
“I thank you kindly,” says Vickie, still grinning.
They swap, then. Vickie takes the cigarette from Robin’s offered hand, perches it between her fingers, then cups said fingers over the rim of the pudding to hold it out to Robin, dropping it into Robin’s hand. The plastic fork is next. It glistens where it’s still wet from the inside of Vickie’s mouth, and some of her bright pink lip-gloss is smeared on it, too. Stamped, like letters at the post office. That someone like Robin would ever be writing so many letters for so many people spread out over the country!
It’s so magical, Robin thinks; like they’ve finally arrived in the wonderland that is happy reality. Everything is glistening. The street is wet and inky black and starry with the reflection of the street lamp light. It’s cold, and there’s nowhere she’d rather be.
It’s cold, and it’s wet, but Vickie is beside her and smiling to herself—leaving another one of those delicious lip-gloss stains, of those beautiful stamps behind, this time on the cigarette—and there is no tension coiled up inside of Robin’ ribcage, no adrenaline, no fear. This weekend, they’re going to drive up to meet up with the others; with Steve (whom Robin calls nearly every day, much to the dismay of their phone bill, and, at times, Vickie) and Jonathan and Nancy (who are totally dating again even if they’re keeping it under wraps, Robin’s lesbian, not stupid, she totally sees those gazes) (and she’s never really hung out with Jonathan before, because of the Lenora thing and all that, duh, but now that she does she knows that he’s a great guy, too, so good for Nancy, honestly), and things are just peachy, aren’t they?
It still feels weird, sometimes. Things aren’t perfect: they fight sometimes, and sometimes Robin wakes up sweaty and with a scream caught in her throat, and sometimes, it’s Vickie instead. Sometimes, they have so very normal problems: like Robin forgetting to do the dishes or Vickie leaving the window open or money or college work or or or.
Sometimes, they lie on the floor of their tiny bathroom side by side, fingers intertwined, staring up at the water-stained ceiling. Robin’s heart will beat loudly in her chest and she’ll press her thumb into Vickie’s pulse to feel it beating, too. Things like that.
Just peachy. It feels weird, too, to actually believe it, this time. For good.
It does turn out to be quite difficult to eat the pudding with a fork. Robin tries scooping it, but then has to admit that her girlfriend likely is one of the smartest people ever, because dipping it and sucking the pudding off the fork works much better. Takes fucking ages, though. Mhmm, chocolate and fruity lip-gloss. Awesome.
Vickie smokes. Robin tends to expel the smoke through her mouth; Vickie mostly exhales through her nose. It’s cute, watching the smoke billow, like a cartoon bull. The tip of the cigarette lights up bright orange as Vickie takes another drag, lips pinched tight around the butt of it, making her eyes shine golden. Robin takes another forkful of pudding, then another. Hey, slowly but surely she’s getting somewhere.
Vickie’s head tips over. This is the very best part of their late night dates—and indeed, dessert—in Robin’s humble opinion: when Vickie gets all sleepy. When she has to lean against Robin’s shoulder, smelling like wild berries and diner grease and leather and smoke, to keep her head up.
Robin’ll drive them home again today. But that’s alright; there’s nothing she enjoys doing more. If she’s lucky, Vickie will fall asleep, and then Robin will carry her to their apartment and she’ll pretend like she didn’t wake up when Robin was fumbling with her and then she’ll pull Robin down and they’ll make out and Robin will get to taste the inside of Vickie’s mouth and get her hands under that dress. And things like that.
“Sleepy?” she asks, even though she knows the answer already. Vickie groans.
But when Robin holds out another forkful of pudding, Vickie leans in, anyway; parting her lips for Robin, eyes half-lidded with that cute colorful eyeshadow she likes. She sucks perhaps a little harder than necessary, really. Robin feels it all over.
The cigarette is perched in Vickie’s hand pointing away from Robin, but when Robin gestures for it, she passes it over. The pudding cup is balanced in Robin’s lap. A car passes by them, the lights blinding for just a moment; Vickie turns her head and buries her face with her wet, warm breath at the side of Robin’s throat to escape it. Robin swallows, takes a drag from the cigarette. It warms her lungs, but Vickie does that, too, so.
It’s a bit fumbly, too, to balance the cigarette and the plastic fork and feeding Vickie and herself, but it’s okay, she can take it slow. A lot of the ash lands on the wet asphalt with Robin’s movements, some on her pants. She turns her head and presses a kiss into Vickie’s hair, and Vickie hums at the back of her throat, all throaty and happy.
A few drags of the cigarette later, Robin passes it back over: Vickie gets cold more easily, so she needs it more. Ah, maybe Robin should have gotten beer from the gas station, too. Wouldn’t that be nice!
But there’s the pleasant weight of Vickie’s head and the scent of her shampoo and the scent of the city, too. Robin forks more pudding into her mouth, then watches the way Vickie leans in when she feeds her. Licks at the fork where Vickie’s mouth just was until Vickie giggles; until Vickie blushes, because she still does those things, even after everything, even though she’s likely more excited—though sleepy, in that way that makes her smile go all loopy—than embarrassed. Vickie hates it. Robin thinks it’s the cutest thing in the entire universe, and she’s right. She is definitely right about that.
The cigarette, all burnt to a stump, goes out. Vickie drops it and crushes it with her heavy shoes. Robin licks chocolate pudding out of the corner of her mouth.
“I wanna stay like this forever,” slips out of her. Vickie laughs, eyes crinkling, nose wrinkling. In the dark like this, burnt golden by the lantern light, it’s like her edges are blurring, like she’s not actually here, like she’s a mirage, like she’s a nice dream. But her weight and her breath and her hand when Robin places her own atop it are quite tangible, quite imperfectly real.
“Out here? It’s going to rain again soon, Robin.”
A laugh gets startled out of Robin’s throat at this, too. She coughs. If they keep loitering here, someone from the diner once they’re all done closing up—or are they done already?—is going to tell them to get the hell out of here, probably. But dessert first!
Ah, perhaps they should’ve eaten in the car. Then Robin’s pants wouldn’t be wet at her ass. Oh, well.
“Not out here,” she says through her teeth, trying her best not to gesture, so she doesn’t throw Vickie off. “Just… in general. With you. It’s… hmm. It’s late, and it’s dark, and it’s almost scary, or, well, could be, but I just think it’s awesome. I never thought I’d find a wet street across from a gas station beautiful, but hey, I do.”
Vickie smiles, eyes closed. “And we have chocolate pudding and a plastic fork.”
Robin pumps her free hand, plastic fork and all. “Hell yeah! See, that’s what I’m talking about.”
“I get it,” Vickie replies, seamless. “It is nice. I always wanted to live in a bigger city. We never could have done any of this back in Hawkins; we’re not in any danger of anyone we know seeing us here. Or, you know, in any sort of other danger.”
Yeah, that too. And Robin also always did want to live in a big city. They almost do, now. Well, to Robin it’s quite big.
“And after everything…” Vickie continues. “It feels better to be far away from it, right? Oh, sorry, no offense to Steve, obviously. And, um, I mean, all you guys obviously had it worse than me, too, I just sort of came in at the end, didn’t I? I still can’t believe it sometimes.”
Robin coughs a laugh again. Vickie’s smile goes a little lopsided.
“Me neither,” Robin sing-songs. She contemplates scraping out the rest of the pudding with her tongue. “But then it turns out you’re real and not just a fairy I made up in my head.”
Which earns her a shove. “A pretty fairy!” she adds. “Mercy!”
And mercy is indeed granted to her, by the kindest girlfriend ever. Vickie relents, accepts the last bit of the pudding Robin managed to scrape together, then leans back into Robin with a huff. Once Robin is all done, she crumples the plastic cup up in her hand, then nudges at Vickie with her shoulder.
“We should get going,” she says, softly. Another car passes them, so she’s worried for a second Vickie didn’t hear her, but then she groans. “C’mon, Vic, we’ll get bladder infections from the cold.”
Which makes Vickie laugh again, but she does lean back, lets Robin get up, lets Robin help her up, too. Robin thumbs at the small of Vickie’s back, watches how Vickie’s eyes go all round with how she has to look up at Robin from this angle, even with those chunky shoes.
“That’s no laughing matter, miss,” she says. Glances around, but there are no cars, and the diner behind them is dark, too, so she brushes her nose alongside Vickie’s once, and quickly. “You volunteered at a hospital, you should know that!”
Vickie giggles, swats at her chest. On their way to the car, they stop by a trash can. Robin lights another cigarette.
“I’ll drive,” she says, opening the door for Vickie. Vickie sticks out her tongue (and hey, now that Robin finally does have that license, all paid for with her own money, she’s going to very much use it!), but curls up in the passenger seat, anyway, cheek pillowed against the frosted glass, her breath turning it all misty. Robin cracks her own window, so she can smoke out of it; passes the cigarette over to Vickie every once in a while, at least until Vickie is asleep.
It’s late. They’re driving home. They went on a date, and had dessert after.
Life’s so simple, Robin thinks. It really is so very awesome.