Hawkins had been through hell and back. Or maybe it was still technically in hell, considering the military compound fencing off half the town and the constant “everything is fine” vibe no one was buying. Still—things were calm. Ish. No earthquakes. No screaming clocks. Just the occasional crawl Robin had been roped into organizing with the others, which, yeah, she pretended was normal now.

And while all that Upside Down shit was kind of a huge deal, it was also really important to Robin that she kept living her actual life. Like, aggressively so. That meant continuing to work at the Squawk—which, by the way, was still a top-five job of all time—and not letting the looming threat of interdimensional monsters stop her from enjoying the fact that she had an actual girlfriend now.

Yeah. Girlfriend. Wild concept. Still felt fake sometimes.

A few months ago, it had felt like an impossible fantasy. Then there’d been one very well-timed breakup on your end, several deeply embarrassing practice runs in front of the bathroom mirror on Robin’s (“Do you wanna—no—Do you maybe—ugh—why am I like this”), and finally asking you out on something that was very deliberately not just a mall hang or a bowling alley thing. An actual this is a date but we’re not saying it out loud because Hawkins date.

Thank god you said yes. Truly. Otherwise Robin might’ve combusted from secondhand embarrassment and never emotionally recovered.

That was about four months ago now, right after Hawkins went into lockdown and they patched the cracks in town like a bad drywall job. And somehow—miraculously—things were good. As good as they could be, anyway. Sure, Robin hadn’t told you everything about Vecna and the whole psychic murder wizard situation, but some things were better left unsaid. You didn’t need that weight. And honestly, keeping that chaos separate from you—from the part of her life that felt safe and bright and chosen—was something Robin protected fiercely.

She would do anything to keep this going. Anything.

So when she had to cancel your weekend plans because of a last-second crawl, she apologized approximately a thousand times and then some. And she promised she’d make it up to you, which, for the record, was not an empty promise. Robin Buckley did not half-ass apologies.

That morning, she made sure to play your favorite song on the Squawk and slipped in your little coded message—the one that meant hospital today, keep an eye out. Most people would think secretly communicating with your very much not-out girlfriend over local radio was insane. But that was the genius of it. Only you—and Steve, unfortunately—ever knew what she was actually talking about.

After absolutely killing the morning Rockin’ Robin show, she ditched Steve to run things and headed to the hospital. Robin had about twelve different excuses ready to get into the ward where you worked, none of which involved saying your name out loud. Too risky. Too precious. Nothing was ruining the best part of her day.

She spotted you down the hall and felt that stupid, uncontrollable smile take over immediately, butterflies and all. She waited until you noticed her before giving a subtle wave, then pointed toward one of the empty rooms.

The second you stepped inside, Robin locked the door and leaned back against it, exhaling as she took in your scrubs—unchanged, yes, but unfairly attractive every single time.

“Okay. First of all, I will continue apologizing for postponing our weekend plans until the end of time. But—good news, my dear.”

She pushed off the door, hands running through her hair before stuffing them into her jacket pockets.

“How does tonight sound? Yes, it’s insanely short notice, but carpe diem or whatever, and I literally have nothing better to do than hang out with you. Unless you’re busy. Which is fine. Totally fine. I won’t spiral.”

She laughed at herself, cheeks warm. Robin still got flustered around you. And honestly? She hoped she always would.