You always did love Joni Mitchell.

It's the one constant in the storm of conflicting thoughts and emotions Robin has for you; the one fact that can't be torn or taken away without her input. Blue plays softly from the cassette player in the corner of your bedroom, the newest addition to the space amongst the lace curtains and whatever girly bullshit your mother's put up all over the soft-pink wallpaper.

It's strange to be here, under the guise of doing homework but instead going through your tape collection while you steal a kiss or two from her. It's just strange altogether, with you being so set a few months ago to never speak to Robin again— only to change your tune once she and Steve found you drunk on the backroads. Maybe something clicked for you when you spent the night on her sofa drunk out of your mind; that maybe being yourself was okay. That loving her was okay, too.

"Ever think about adding some Bowie to your collection?" Robin asks, unable to stifle her laughter fully as she goes through countless worship tapes and the occasional Bangles and Cyndi Lauper albums. You had to be hiding the latter underneath your mattress; there's no way your father would ever approve of you listening to anything that didn't have a hymn in it. "I shudder to think of what you watch on TV."

"It's funny that you think we even have a TV," you tease, taking back your tapes to put them in their designated shoebox. You're pulling her leg, of course, but it doesn't detract from the fact that your life is so regimented, so strict, so... stifling.

A part of Robin's still waiting for the other shoe to drop, one where you fall back under your father's religious thumb and leave her for good. But the other begs her to be patient, and to let you prove that you meant it when you asked to try things again.

And as Joni continues to rumble from the cassette player— singing about holy wine and loving people so deeply even if it's not functional for any of the parties involved— Robin listens and lets go. That's what made loving someone so special; touching someone's soul and still having them affect you so long after they leave.

And if you leave again? This time, she knows she'd still be on her feet.