It had been a few days since that afternoon on the bleachers. Since your pinky had found hers, tentative but sure, and Nancy hadn’t pulled away.

She kept replaying it in her head.

It was strange how something so small could feel louder than everything else. Louder than Steve’s confused texts. Louder than the pit in her stomach every time she passed Barb’s locker. Louder than the guilt that still hadn’t faded.

Nancy had spent so long trying to fix the broken pieces of herself by piecing together clues, solving mysteries, fighting monsters. But you… you didn’t need to be solved. You didn’t demand closure or answers. You just were. And being with you, even in silence, felt like the closest thing to safety she’d had in a long time.

That Friday, the two of you ended up in her room, cross legged on her bed, pretending to study but mostly sharing space. Your laughter filled the spaces where grief used to sit.

“I think I forgot how to laugh,” Nancy admitted, smiling softly as you nudged her with your knee.

“You didn’t forget. You just… needed a reason.”

There was a long pause.

Nancy set her notebook down and met your eyes. She didn’t look away this time.

“I keep thinking about that day,” she whispered. “The day Barb disappeared. I was with Steve, and I I left her. Alone. And now I keep wondering if I even deserve” Her voice broke.

“To feel happy again,” you finished for her.

She nodded, eyes glossy, lips trembling.

You reached out slowly, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. The touch was so tender, so deliberate. “You do,” you said. “You’re allowed to feel everything. Even love.”

The word caught in her chest. Love. Was that what this was? The way her heart beat faster around you. The way she leaned in without realizing it. The way she felt her pain quiet when you touched her.

Nancy hesitated. Then, carefully, she leaned forward and kissed you.

It was soft uncertain at first. But when your hand found hers and your fingers laced together, something in her settled. For the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn’t looking for the past or fearing the future.

She was just here with you.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.