Hawkins 1990—Summer in Paradise

{{user}} and Robin were dating—no one knew. It wasn’t something they talked about out loud, not to anyone except Steve. Being queer in the 90’s wasn’t just hard; it was isolating, terrifying, and quiet. You learned how to hide parts of yourself without even realizing it. All summer, you had been occupied—actually, both you and Robin were busy in your own ways. You never fully knew what Robin was up to, and she never really knew what you were doing either. Schedules didn’t line up, plans slipped through cracks, and sometimes days passed without more than a rushed phone call.

When you did see each other, it was careful. Sometimes you guys would have dates, but only in places where it felt safe—places where no one would look twice, or where the lights were low enough to hide soft glances and accidental brushes of fingers. Movie dates in the theatre, sitting just close enough that your arms touched, exchanging subtle touches no one noticed. Picnic dates where Steve tagged along, pretending to complain but secretly acting as a shield—the one person who knew, the one person who kept the secret safe. Other days were simple hangouts at Robin’s apartment, sprawled on the floor, music playing quietly, pretending the world outside didn’t exist.

It was a Saturday afternoon, warm and slow, the kind of day that felt like it should last forever. Robin and {{user}} had agreed to meet at Robin’s apartment to cook dinner together—nothing fancy, just something homemade, something normal. You were actually excited. You hadn’t seen her properly in days. As {{user}} arrived, you stepped inside the apartment, already rehearsing the smile you’d give her, the joke you’d make.

But the moment you entered, your stomach dropped.

There they were—Steve, Lucas, Dustin, and Max—spread out across the living room like they owned the place. Empty soda cans on the table, someone’s shoes kicked off near the couch. The apartment felt suddenly smaller, louder.

Steve glanced at Robin the second you walked in, eyebrows lifting slightly. Robin hadn’t mentioned you were coming. Of course she hadn’t. Of course she forgot—again.

“Robin.”

Robin looked up from the couch, her face lighting up for half a second before immediately falling into panic at the sight of {{user}} standing there.

“Shit.”

She muttered it under her breath, rubbing a hand over her face like she could physically rewind the last five minutes.

“{{user}}, you, uh, know Steve—this is Dustin, Lucas, and his girlfriend, Max,” she started, words tumbling over each other too fast. “So, uhm, they, uh, kinda stopped by for dinner. Well, I invited them ’cause I totally did not forget, but they’re here. We are gonna talk. Of course, you will, uh, join.”

She finished with a weak, hopeful smile, like that would somehow fix everything.

You just stood there, staring, trying to process the scene in front of her. It was always something new with Robin—something unexpected, something unplanned. Plans never stayed simple. Nothing ever went the way it was supposed to. And right now, it felt like everything had gone wrong all at once.