Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

DAY 4: I Love You, Robin Buckley

Robin is awake long before the sun.

The room is still wrapped in darkness, the pale blue numbers on the clock the only source of light.

5:11 a.m.

She doesn’t remember the last time she looked at it.

Maybe ten minutes ago. Maybe an hour. It doesn’t matter.

Because she isn’t trying to sleep anymore. She gave up on that sometime during the night.

The sheets are tangled around her legs from hours of turning over, but she doesn’t stay in bed long enough to think about it.

The second her eyes open, she’s moving.

Not because she has somewhere to be.

Not because she has a plan.

Because stillness feels dangerous.

The moment she sits still, her mind wanders.

And the moment her mind wanders, it goes to Nancy.

Robin doesn’t want that.

Not right now.

Not after last night.

Not after every word that was said.

Not after hearing Nancy tell her she loved her.

Not after hearing Nancy tell her she couldn’t.

So she gets out of bed.

Immediately.

Before she can think.

Before she can remember.

Before she can feel.

Her suitcase sits open near the wall.

Half packed from the beginning of the trip.

Robin kneels beside it.

And starts folding clothes.

A sweatshirt first.

Then a T shirt.

Then another.

The motions are automatic.

Fold the sleeves in.

Fold the bottom up.

Press it flat.

Set it down.

Repeat.

Her hands move carefully.

Precisely.

Like she’s handling something fragile.

The pile grows.

Neat.

Organized.

Perfect.

Robin stares at it for a second.

Then picks up the sweatshirt she’d folded first.

Refolds it.

The corners aren’t straight enough.

She fixes them.

Then rearranges the entire stack.

Dark clothes together.

Light clothes together.

Thicker fabrics on the bottom.

Smaller things on top.

None of this matters.

She knows it doesn’t matter.

But the alternative is thinking.

And she’d rather organize a suitcase for six straight hours than think about Nancy Wheeler for five minutes.

The room remains silent.

Except for fabric shifting. Zippers opening. Drawers sliding. Robin empties the nightstand. Puts lip balm in a side pocket. Then takes it back out.

Puts it somewhere else. She gathers every charger she brought. Phone charger. Portable charger. Camera charger. Headphones.

She wraps each cord carefully around her hand.

Makes perfect loops.

Secures them.

Lines them up beside each other.

Then places them inside the suitcase.

Then changes her mind and reorganizes them. Because now they’re too crowded.

The sky outside the window slowly begins to lighten.

A dull gray replacing the black.

Robin never looks up.

She keeps moving. A book gets put away. Then another. Receipts are thrown out. A hoodie gets folded.

Refolded.

Folded again.

The room slowly becomes cleaner than it’s been all week.

Every surface cleared. Every item returned to its place. Every trace of living in it erased. Like she’s preparing for checkout. Like she’s preparing to leave.

She’s not. She knows she’s not.

But something about putting things away feels easier than confronting the fact that she still has days left here.

Days left in the same house. Days left seeing Nancy. Days left pretending everything is fine.

Robin pauses for the first time when her hand lands on a navy blue sweatshirt draped across a chair.

Nancy’s sweatshirt.

The one she’d borrowed.

The one Nancy had tossed at her a few nights ago because she’d complained about being cold.

The memory hits before she can stop it.

Nancy laughing. Nancy rolling her eyes. Nancy saying, “Just take it, Buckley.”

Her grip tightens around the fabric.

Like her body reacts before her brain does.

For one terrible second, she can hear Nancy’s voice.

Can see her smile. Can remember exactly how she looked.

Robin drops the sweatshirt onto the chair.

Hard.

The sound echoes in the quiet room.

No.

Absolutely not.

She isn’t doing that today.

She isn’t sitting here thinking about Nancy.

She isn’t replaying conversations. She isn’t analyzing looks. Or touches. Or confessions. Or fights.

She can’t.

Because if she lets herself think about Nancy for even a second, she’ll think about everything.

About the way Nancy said she loved her. About the way she cried. About the way she immediately followed it with reasons they could never be together.

And Robin knows herself well enough to know where that road ends.

So she moves again.

Back to the suitcase.

Back to the folding.

Back to anything that keeps her hands busy.

Because as long as her hands are moving, her heart has less room to break.

Nancy wakes up in a way that feels almost violent, like her body decides to restart before her mind has the chance to negotiate with it, and for a few disoriented seconds she just lies there staring at the dim ceiling, listening to the sound of the house and trying to pretend that nothing happened the night before, as if sleep might have somehow rewritten it into something softer or less real.

But it hasn’t.

It’s still there.

Every single piece of it.

And the moment she becomes fully aware, it all comes back at once, not in flashes, not in fragments, but in a steady, unbearable clarity that settles into her chest.

Robin’s voice first broken in a way Nancy can still feel in her bones.

I can’t stop fucking loving you.

Nancy exhales shakily, turning her face into her pillow for a second like that might mute the memory, but it doesn’t, because the words don’t exist as sound anymore, they exist as something closer to pressure, like they’re still sitting in the air around her, refusing to leave.

Then everything else follows.

The way Nancy had said it back.

The way she had admitted things she hadn’t fully understood until they were already out of her mouth.

The way Robin had looked at her like she was holding something fragile that had just been dropped.

Nancy sits up a little, pressing her fingers against her forehead as if she can physically hold her thoughts in place, because at first there’s defensiveness, a reflexive attempt to rebuild the version of herself that knows how to argue, how to justify, how to make everything sound less complicated than it actually is.

But it doesn’t hold. It dissolves almost immediately.

And what replaces it is embarrassment, hot, sharp, inescapable, because she can hear herself now with too much clarity, can remember the exact moment she said it out loud, I love you too, as if that sentence wasn’t something that should have taken months or years or never happened at all.

Her hand drops into her lap.

She closes her eyes again.

Robin’s face appears immediately anyway.

Not the anger. Not the yelling. Not even the tears during the fight.

But the moment after.

The way she had gone still, like something in her had shut down instead of exploded.

The exhaustion in her expression.

The way she had looked at Nancy as if she were trying to decide whether staying in the same emotional space was still safe.

Nancy’s chest tightens, unexpectedly, because that’s the part she can’t stop returning to—the realization that Robin hadn’t been furious in the end, hadn’t been trying to win or argue or break anything, she had just looked… hurt in a way that felt final, like she had reached the edge of something she didn’t know how to come back from.

Nancy opens her eyes again.

I didn’t mean it like that.

I didn’t mean that it was embarrassing to begin with, or that it would ruin my life the way it probably sounded when I said it out loud. Well—no, I know I said it. I know exactly what I said. I just didn’t think Robin would take it and apply it to herself like that.

Of course I don’t think that about her. That’s the part that keeps getting stuck in my head, because it feels obvious to me, but apparently it wasn’t obvious to her at all. And that’s what I can’t stop thinking about.

When I said it… I wasn’t thinking about her. Not really. I was thinking about everything else. The future. The expectations. The way my life is supposed to go, or at least the way I’ve always been told it’s supposed to go. And it all came out wrong. It came out like I was talking about her instead of talking about myself.

Robin looked at me like I had just decided something about her. Like I had reduced her into something small and temporary and shameful, and that’s not what I meant. That’s not what I meant at all.

I don’t think Robin is embarrassing. I don’t think loving her is embarrassing.

I think I got scared.

And I think I said the worst possible version of what I actually meant, which is that I don’t know how to fit her into the life I’ve been told I’m supposed to want.

Because I do want her. That’s the part I can’t stop admitting, even in my head, even when I try to back away from it.

I want her in a way that doesn’t make sense with anything else I’ve planned.

And I think that’s what I was trying to fight.

Not her.

Everything else.

But she’s the one who got hurt anyway.

I keep trying to make it sound complicated, like there has to be some other explanation for it.

Because if it’s simple, then I don’t get to avoid it anymore.

And I don’t know if I’m ready for that.

I don’t feel like this about anyone else. That’s the part I keep coming back to, even when I try not to. Not Mike. Not anyone before him. Not any idea of what I was supposed to want or what I was supposed to feel. It has never been like this.

And with Robin, it’s not even something I have to search for. It’s just there. Constantly. The way I think about her without meaning to. The way I look for her in a room without realizing I’m doing it. The way everything feels different depending on whether she’s there or not.

That has to mean something. I just don’t know what I’m allowed to call it.

Because I can admit I love her. I can say that without it feeling like a lie anymore, even if it still feels dangerous to write down like this.

But I keep trying to separate it from everything else, like I can file it away as something that doesn’t change me. Like I can just decide it’s friendship but “more intense,” or something that exists only because she is her and not because it means anything bigger than that.

That feels easier.

Safer.

But it doesn’t feel true.

And that’s the problem I can’t stop circling around.

Because if I stop making excuses for it, if I stop telling myself it’s temporary, or situational, or something that only exists because of her specifically, then I have to admit that it’s real in a way that doesn’t go away just because I don’t want it to.

And I think I already know what it is.

I just don’t know how to say it without everything changing.

Because if I say it out loud, even once, then I don’t get to go back to pretending I can plan my life around something that doesn’t include her.

And I don’t know how to lose that version of my life yet.

I keep thinking about what I said, and I hate that it came out the way it did.

Because I know Robin heard it like I was talking about her. Like I was saying she’s something embarrassing or wrong or something I’d have to hide in order to have a normal life.

And that’s not what I meant. That’s not what I meant at all.

The truth is, I’m scared. But I don’t think I’m scared of her.

I think I’m scared of everything around her.

I care about what people think of me. I always have. That part isn’t new, and I don’t think it ever fully goes away. It’s like… something built into me. People always have an opinion about me before I even open my mouth. How I’m supposed to act, what I’m supposed to be good at, who I’m supposed to end up with. It’s always there, like background noise I can’t turn off.

But I’m not living my life based on it.

At least… I don’t think I am.

Because if I was actually doing that, I don’t think I’d be happy at all. I don’t think I’d feel like myself. I’d just be performing whatever version of my life other people already decided for me. And I don’t want that.

And Robin thinks I do.

Or maybe she thinks I’m closer to that than I am.

Like I’m just following a script without questioning it.

And I get why she thinks that, because I know I can be that way sometimes. I do listen to people too much. I do second guess myself. I do try to make things make sense in a way that fits what I’ve always been told is “right.”

But this…

This isn’t that.

This isn’t me trying to follow what people want.

This is me trying to understand.

And the worst part is that Robin is right there in the middle of it.

And I hate that I hurt her.

Because I don’t think she understands that I’m not choosing everyone else over her.

I think I’m just… scared of what it means if I don’t.

And I don’t know how to tell her that without making it worse.

I don’t really know how to say this in a way that sounds normal, or even honest without immediately making it feel like I’m locking myself into something I can’t take back.

Because I keep trying to describe what I feel like it is, and every time I do, I can hear myself stopping just before I say the actual word.

Like there’s a line I keep circling without stepping over it.

I think I know what Robin is to me.

And I think I’ve known for longer than I want to admit.

It’s not just that I love her, because that part I can say now without it feeling like I’m lying. It’s deeper than that, and more specific, and more constant than anything I’ve ever felt before. It doesn’t turn off when I’m busy or distracted or trying to think about something else. It just stays there, like a thought that doesn’t go away no matter how many times I try to push it aside.

Nancy reaches the end of the page and just… stops.

Not because she’s finished. Not because there isn’t more to say. If anything, there is too much to say.

The problem is that every sentence seems to lead directly into another question, and every question seems to circle back to the same thing she’s been trying to avoid naming for months.

The pen remains poised above the paper for a few seconds before she finally lowers it.

The notebook rests open across her knees.

The ink is still drying.

The words stare back at her.

She doesn’t read them again.

She can’t.

Not right now.

Instead, she leans back against the couch cushions and lets her head fall against the fabric, staring up toward the dark ceiling while the first traces of morning begin to creep through the windows, turning the glass from black to gray.

The house is completely silent.

For a moment, Nancy thinks she might be alone in it.

Then she hears a door open upstairs.

The sound is faint.

Ordinarily she wouldn’t even notice it.

But after last night, every nerve in her body seems permanently tuned toward Robin.

Nancy’s eyes immediately lift.

She doesn’t even realize she’s holding her breath.

A few seconds pass. Then footsteps.

Not the hurried footsteps of somebody late for something.

Not the heavy footsteps of somebody fully awake.

Just the quiet, absent minded movements of somebody who never really slept to begin with.

Robin.

The realization comes instantly.

There is nobody else it could be.

She glances toward the clock sitting on the end table.

5:29 a.m.

A strange ache settles somewhere beneath her ribs.

Because Robin is awake at five thirty in the morning.

Because Nancy is awake at five thirty in the morning.

Because neither of them slept.

Because neither of them had to say that out loud for it to be true.

The footsteps continue across the second floor.

Then reach the staircase.

The old wood creaks beneath Robin’s weight.

One step.

Another.

Then another.

And suddenly Nancy becomes hyperaware of the notebook in her lap, of the words written across its pages, of everything she had just admitted to herself only minutes ago.

She closes it quickly. Not because Robin can see it. Robin isn’t even in the room.

But because the thought of Robin somehow reading it makes her heart lurch into her throat.

The footsteps reach the bottom floor. A second later, she hears Robin move into the kitchen. Then the familiar sounds begin.

A cabinet door opening.

The refrigerator.

The low mechanical hum spilling into the quiet house before the door swings shut again.

A drawer. The rustle of plastic packaging. The soft clink of a glass being set onto the counter. Nancy can picture it so clearly that she doesn’t need to look.

Robin standing in front of the open refrigerator with her arms folded.

Robin staring into cabinets without really searching for anything specific.

Robin grabbing random snacks she probably isn’t hungry for.

Not because she wants food.

Because she needs something to do.

Because sitting still means thinking.

And Nancy knows that because she’s been doing the exact same thing for hours.

For a second, she just listens.

The house reduced to the sounds of Robin existing one room away.

A cabinet opening.

A bottle being moved.

A wrapper crinkling.

And Nancy hates how comforting it feels.

Because despite everything that happened last night, despite the argument and the tears and the things neither of them can take back, there is still something painfully familiar about hearing Robin wander around a kitchen before sunrise.

Something that makes the house feel less empty.

Something that makes Nancy’s chest ache in a way she doesn’t know how to fix.

She lowers her gaze to the notebook resting in her lap.

Then toward the hallway leading to the kitchen.

Then back again.

The question isn’t about what she is.

It isn’t about what she should do. It isn’t even about the future. It’s something much smaller.Much simpler.

She just wants to see Robin.

The thought arrives so naturally that it startles her.

Nancy stares at the floor for a moment.

Then slowly closes the notebook.

Sets it on the table.

Robin stands in the kitchen in the strange, gray light that exists just before sunrise fully arrives, the overhead light above the stove casting a warm glow over the countertops while the rest of the house remains wrapped in shadows.

She looks exhausted.

Not the kind of exhausted that comes from staying up too late.

The kind that settles behind somebody’s eyes after they’ve spent an entire night fighting their own thoughts.

Her eyes are red.

The skin beneath them dark and swollen.

The result of hours spent awake.

Hours spent trying not to think.

Hours spent failing.

A half open bag of pretzels sits on the counter beside her.

A granola bar. A bottle of water. A bowl she isn’t actually using.Robin isn’t hungry. She’s just moving things around.

Opening cabinets. Closing them. Grabbing random snacks. Setting them down. Robin reaches into the pantry again.

Then freezes.

A sound upstairs.

A door opening.

Nancy’s door.

Robin immediately recognizes it.

She doesn’t know why.

Maybe because she’s spent months learning every sound Nancy Wheeler makes without realizing she was learning them.

She stands still for a second.

Listening.

Then comes the hallway.

Footsteps.

Careful footsteps.

Trying to be quiet.

Unfortunately, the house has never been cooperative about that.

The old floorboards announce every step anyway.

Robin hears all of it. The hesitation. The slow pace. The pause halfway down the hall. Nancy is clearly trying to figure out whether she should come downstairs.

Robin closes the pantry door.

Then shakes her head slightly.

Because of course she is.

A second later the staircase creaks. One step.

Another.

Another.

Robin doesn’t turn around.

Doesn’t even look.

Instead she reaches for the bottle of water.

Twisting the cap open.

And says quietly,

“I can hear you.”

The footsteps stop.

Robin takes a sip.

“You can come down here, you know.”

A beat.

“I mean…”

She shrugs.

“It’s your house.”

For a second there’s nothing.

Then she hears Nancy exhale.

A few moments later Nancy finally comes the rest of the way down.

Robin still doesn’t look at her.

Not because she’s trying to be rude.

Because she doesn’t trust herself to.

Because the second she looks at Nancy she’s going to remember last night.

And she really doesn’t have the energy for that right now.

“Hey.”

Nancy’s voice is careful. Almost hesitant.

Robin focuses on the water bottle.

“Hey.”

A small pause.

“Up so early?”

“Mhm.”

That’s all Robin gives her.

She reaches for the pretzels.

Moves them.

Then moves them again.

Nancy slowly takes a few steps closer.

Not close.

Not even remotely close.

There are still several feet between them.

An entire kitchen island.

An entire argument.

An entire night.

Nancy smiles slightly.

Or at least tries to.

“How’d you sleep?”

Robin lets out a quiet laugh through her nose.

A humorless sound.

“Haven’t slept a bit.”

She twists the bottle cap back on.

“Been awake all night.”

Then, after a second,

“You?”

Nancy looks down briefly.

“I slept a little.”

A pause.

“Not much.”

Another pause.

“Barely, I guess.”

Robin nods.

That’s it.

No attempt to keep the conversation alive.

Just a nod.

“You should try to get some rest.”

The irony almost makes her laugh.

Then she picks up her water bottle again.

Starts toward the stairs.

“Goodnight, Nancy.”

Robin doesn’t wait for a response.

She just starts climbing the stairs.

The old wood creaking beneath her feet.

One step.

Then another.

Then another.

And behind her, standing alone in the kitchen, Nancy simply watches her go.

For a long moment she says nothing.

Then, so quietly Robin almost doesn’t hear it “Goodnight.”

And by then Robin is already halfway upstairs.

Robin doesn’t wake up all at once.

Instead, consciousness returns in slow, miserable pieces.

The first thing she notices is the headache.

A dull ache sitting behind her eyes that immediately reminds her she cried herself to sleep sometime after sunrise.

The second thing she notices is the warmth of the room.

Sunlight spills through the curtains in thick golden stripes, stretching across the floor and climbing halfway up the opposite wall.

Far too bright.

Far too late in the day.

Robin groans and buries her face deeper into her pillow.

For a second she considers going back to sleep.

Robin squints.

Immediately regrets it.

Her head throbs.

For a second she just lays there, completely disoriented.

Then..

A soft knock.

Robin barely reacts.

Another knock follows.

Gentle.

Careful.

Like whoever is standing outside doesn’t want to disturb her.

Then she hears a voice.

“Robin?”

Nancy.

Even half asleep she’d recognize it.

A pause.

“Robin, are you awake?”

Robin groans again.

Her entire body feels heavy.

She doesn’t want to move.

Doesn’t want to think.

Doesn’t want to remember.

Unfortunately, remembering starts happening anyway.

The argument.

The crying.

The confession.

Everything.

“Can I come in?”

Robin lets out a long breath.

Then slowly pushes herself upright.

The movement makes her wince.

Her headache immediately protests.

She rubs at her eyes.

They’re still swollen.

She doesn’t need a mirror to know that.

“Yeah.”

Her voice comes out rough.

Sleepy.

“Yeah, come in.”

The door opens slowly.

Nancy steps inside.

Robin notices immediately that Nancy looks awake.

Not just awake.

Put together.

Her hair is brushed.

Her face is washed.

She’s still wearing pajamas, but somehow even her pajamas look organized.

Like she’s been awake for hours trying to keep herself busy.

Robin suddenly wonders if Nancy slept at all.

Nancy stays near the doorway.

Not close enough to feel intrusive.

Not far enough to seem cold.

Just standing there awkwardly.

Like she isn’t sure where she’s supposed to be anymore.

“Hey.”

Robin rubs her face again.

“Hey.”

Nancy glances toward the clock on Robin’s nightstand.

Then back at her.

“It’s almost three.”

Robin’s eyebrows immediately shoot upward.

“What?”

Her voice cracks.

Nancy gives a tiny laugh.

“It’s two fifty something.”

Robin looks toward the clock.

Sure enough.

Almost three.

Jesus.

She must’ve completely crashed.

Nancy shifts her weight.

Looking anywhere except directly at Robin for more than a second.

Then says,

“I was wondering if you wanted to eat something.”

Robin immediately looks down at the blanket gathered around her lap.

Nancy keeps talking before the silence can get weird.

“I didn’t really make breakfast.”

A small shrug.

“I wasn’t hungry.”

She offers a faint smile.

“We could go somewhere though.”

Another pause.

“The cafe.”

Robin notices the way Nancy’s voice sounds.

Careful.

Every sentence feels carefully chosen.

Like she’s trying not to step on broken glass.

“Or somewhere else,” Nancy adds quickly. “Whatever you want.”

Robin stares at the wrinkles in her blanket.

The truth is she hasn’t even thought about food.

Not once.

Her stomach has been tied in knots since last night.

“I don’t…”

She stops.

Swallows.

“I don’t really have an appetite right now.”

Her voice is quieter than she intends.

“I’m actually not hungry.”

Something flickers across Nancy’s face.

Disappointment.

Concern.

Maybe both.

It’s gone almost immediately.

Replaced by a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Yeah.”

Nancy nods slowly.

“No.”

A small laugh escapes her.

“I didn’t think you’d be.”

The room falls quiet.

Not uncomfortable.

Fragile.

Like both of them are trying very hard not to break whatever temporary peace they’ve managed to create.

Nancy glances toward the window.

Then back at Robin.

“I know you didn’t really sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Robin lets out a breath.

Neither did you, she almost says.

But doesn’t.

Instead she shrugs.

“No, you didn’t wake me up.”

Her voice softens slightly.

“It’s fine.”

Nancy nods.

Nancy moves awkwardly near the doorway.

Her fingers fidget against the sleeve of her pajama shirt.

She opens her mouth.

Closes it again.

Then clears her throat softly.

“Well…”

The word hangs there.

Nancy immediately looks down.

Suddenly very interested in a loose thread on her sleeve.

“Um.”

Robin watches her for the first time since she walked into the room.

Nancy is nervous. Actually nervous.

Robin can tell.

The way she’s standing. The way she keeps glancing around the room. The way every sentence seems to need a running start before it leaves her mouth.

Nancy lets out a small breath.

Then tries again.

“Okay.”

A tiny nod.

“Well, um…”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“If you’re still really tired, I’ll just let you go back to sleep.”

Robin almost smiles at that.

As if either of them are going back to sleep.

Nancy keeps talking.

“When you wake up… Just let me know.”

She glances toward the hallway.

Then back at Robin.

“I honestly have no idea what we’re supposed to do today.”

That earns the smallest huff of amusement from Robin.

Nancy notices immediately.

A faint smile appearing.

“I feel like we’ve done everything.”

Robin nods.

Fair point.

The vacation has been going on long enough that most of the obvious activities have already been exhausted.

Nancy shrugs.

“So.”

A pause.

“I guess just…”

She gestures vaguely.

“Come find me when you’re awake.”

Then, after a second “I’ll probably be in my room.”

“Yeah.”

Her voice is still tired.

Still rough from sleep.

But gentler.

“Yeah.”

She rubs her eyes again.

“I’m gonna get up. Get my stuff together.”

Nancy nods immediately.

Like she’s relieved to hear that.

Like she’s relieved Robin is planning on leaving the bed at all.

“Yeah.”

A small smile. A real one this time.

Tiny.

But real.

“Okay.”

Then Nancy takes a step backward.

Toward the hallway.

“Okay,” she says again, quieter this time.

Robin nods.

Nancy reaches for the doorknob.

Then pauses.

Like she wants to say something else.

Something important.

Something she can’t quite figure out how to put into words.

Whatever it is never comes.

Instead she just offers Robin one last small smile.

Then slips out into the hallway.

The door closes behind her.

And suddenly the room feels quiet again.

Robin stares at the closed door for a long moment.

Then lets out a slow breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

The shower runs long after Robin finishes washing her hair.

At some point, it stops being about getting clean.

It becomes an excuse.

A place to stand where nobody can talk to her.

A place where she doesn’t have to look at Nancy.

Or worse look at Nancy and pretend everything is normal.

Steam gathers against the glass walls and curls toward the ceiling, softening the edges of the room until everything looks hazy and distant. Outside the small bathroom window, the lake stretches endlessly beneath the afternoon sun, flashes of silver light dancing across the water whenever the wind disturbs the surface.

Robin catches glimpses of it through the fogged glass.

The lake.

The dock.

The trees.

The vacation.

A vacation that, four days ago, had seemed perfect.

Now it feels like a completely different place.

The water pounds steadily against her shoulders.

Robin leans forward and braces her hands against the tiled wall.

The heat should be relaxing.

Instead it just gives her more room to think.

And unfortunately, every thought seems to lead back to Nancy.

Nancy standing in her doorway twenty minutes ago.

Nancy trying to smile.

Nancy asking her to breakfast like nothing had happened.

Nancy looking so careful.

Like one wrong word might shatter whatever peace they were balancing on.

Robin closes her eyes.

Because that for some reason hurt more than the argument.

The argument made sense.

The screaming made sense.

The crying made sense.

This?

This weird politeness.

This awkward distance.

This pretending.

It feels unbearable.

The worst part is that Robin knows Nancy isn’t pretending because she doesn’t care.

She’s pretending because she cares too much.

And that’s even more frustrating.

Robin drags a hand through her wet hair.

Water drips from her fingertips.

The thing that keeps replaying isn’t even the fight anymore.

It’s everything before the fight.

Nancy dancing with her.

Nancy laying her head against her chest. Nancy getting closer.

Closer.

Closer.

Robin can still remember exactly how it felt.

The warmth of her. The weight of her. The way Nancy had looked at her like she wanted something she was terrified to ask for.

God.

Robin lets out a sharp breath.

Because she knows what happened.

No matter how many times Nancy denies it.

No matter how many times Nancy tries to rewrite it.

Robin knows.

Nancy had wanted to kiss her.

For one brief second she’d forgotten to stop herself.

And that should make Robin happy.

It should.

For weeks she’d wanted proof.

A sign.

Anything.

Instead it just makes her angry.

Because wanting her isn’t the problem anymore.

Nancy wants her.

Nancy loves her.

Nancy admitted both.

And somehow they’re still standing in completely different places.

Robin presses her forehead against the cool tile.

The temperature difference sends a shiver through her skin.

It has been quiet all day.

Not because nobody is here.

Because it’s only ever been the two of them.

Just Nancy.

Just Robin.

Maybe that’s why everything exploded.

Maybe if there had been other people around, they could’ve kept pretending.

Robin laughs softly to herself.

A sad sound.

Because if Steve were here, he’d probably tell her she’s being dramatic.

And if anyone else were here, they’d probably tell her Nancy obviously loves her.

And maybe both things would be true.

But neither of those people are here.

Only Nancy is.

Nancy, who is probably sitting in her room right now thinking herself in circles.

Nancy, who spent half the morning working up the courage just to knock on Robin’s door.

Nancy, who looked genuinely disappointed when Robin said she wasn’t hungry.

Robin squeezes her eyes shut.

There it is again.

That stupid feeling.

The one she hates.

Because no matter how hurt she is.

No matter how angry she is.

No matter how badly she wants to stop caring, she still finds herself worrying about Nancy.

Wondering if she’s eaten. Wondering if she’s okay. Wondering if she’s crying.

Wondering if she’s sitting alone in that room feeling just as miserable.

The realization makes Robin groan and tilt her head back beneath the spray.

Her voice disappears beneath the sound of running water.

Because honestly?

Nancy Wheeler has somehow managed to break her heart.

Confess her love.

Start an identity crisis.

And still remain the person Robin wants to check on first.

And that is, without question, the most annoying thing Robin has ever experienced in her entire life.

Robin takes her time getting ready.

Not because she has anywhere important to be.

Mostly because she doesn’t want to think.

The shower helps for a little while.

Getting dressed helps for a little while.

Brushing her hair helps for a little while.

But eventually there are no more small tasks left to hide inside.

Eventually she’s standing in front of the bedroom door with one hand resting on the knob, staring at the wood and taking a breath she doesn’t need.

Then she opens it.

Robin moves downstairs slowly.

The afternoon sunlight spills through the massive windows facing the water, painting long golden rectangles across the floor.

The lake outside is calm.

Gentle.

The exact opposite of how either of them feel.

Robin doesn’t see Nancy immediately.

Then she looks toward the dock.

Of course.

Nancy is sitting at the very end of it.

Alone.

Her knees pulled up slightly.

One arm draped over them.

Just staring out across the water.

Not reading.

Not writing.

Not doing anything.

Which is somehow the strangest part.

Nancy Wheeler is always doing something.

Planning.

Thinking.

Organizing.

Worrying.

But right now she’s just sitting there.

Like she forgot what to do with herself.

Robin hesitates for a second.

Then walks toward the dock.

The old wood creaks softly beneath her shoes as she steps onto it.

Nancy hears her immediately.

She turns.

Their eyes meet.

Neither of them smile.

Not really.

“Hey.”

Nancy’s voice is quiet.

Robin stops a few feet away.

She doesn’t sit.

Doesn’t move closer.

Just stands there with her hands shoved into her pockets.

“Hey.”

Water laps gently against the dock.

Nancy turns her attention back toward the lake.

Robin looks out at it too.

Anything except looking at Nancy for too long.

After a minute, she clears her throat.

“I’m gonna go for a walk.”

Nancy glances back at her.

Robin shrugs lightly.

“I just wanted to let you know.”

A pause.

“So when you came back inside you wouldn’t think I just…”

She gestures vaguely.

“I don’t know.”

Another shrug.

“Left.”

Nancy nods slowly.

Robin keeps her eyes fixed on the water.

“I kinda just wanna walk around for a little bit.”

The words come out softer than she means them to.

“I’ll be back later.”

For a moment Nancy doesn’t say anything.

Then.. “Do you want me to come with you?”

The question is so immediate it almost catches Robin off guard.

Like Nancy asks before she can stop herself.

Robin looks down.

Then shakes her head.

“No.”

She says it gently.

Carefully.

Trying not to make it sound cruel.

Trying not to make it sound like what it actually is.

Which is I don’t think I can be around you right now.

Nancy understands anyway.

Robin can see it in her face.

The brief flicker of disappointment.

The tiny nod.

“Okay.”

Her voice stays calm.

“Okay.”

Then she adds “Well.”

A small shrug.

“I’ll be here.”

Robin nods once.

She starts to turn.

Starts walking back toward shore.

Then pauses.

Something occurs to her.

She glances over her shoulder.

“Nancy?”

Nancy immediately looks up.

Like she’s been hoping Robin would say something else.

“Yeah?”

Robin shifts awkwardly.

“Do you need me to grab anything?”

Nancy blinks.

“What?”

“I’m probably gonna walk past the little store.”

Robin gestures toward the road.

“I could grab snacks or something.”

A pause.

“Drinks.”

Another pause.

“Whatever.”

Nancy’s expression softens.

For a second she just looks at her.

Then she shakes her head.

“No.”

A small smile appears.

Tired.

Sad.

“No.”

She looks back toward the lake.

“I don’t really have an appetite.”

Robin freezes.

Only for a second.

But long enough.

Because those are her words.

Exactly.

The same words she’d used upstairs.

The same words Nancy had looked disappointed hearing.

Now she’s saying them too.

Robin doesn’t know what to do with that.

So she just nods.

“Alright.”

Nancy nods back.

Another silence.

Then..

“I’ll be back.”

Nancy looks up again.

And this time she manages a smile.

A real one.

Small.

Fragile.

But real.

“Have fun on your walk.”

Robin almost laughs at that.

Almost.

Instead she just stuffs her hands into her pockets again.

“Yeah.”

A beat.

“Thanks.”

And with that she turns and starts walking away.

Nancy watches her go until she disappears from view.

Then keeps staring at the spot where she was standing long after she’s gone.

Robin thinks I care more about what people think than I care about her.

I think that’s what hurts the most.

Not because she yelled at me.

Not because she was angry.

Not because she called me selfish or accused me of wanting power over her.

Because she genuinely believed it.

She looked me in the eye and believed it.

And maybe that’s my fault.

Maybe somewhere along the way I’ve become the kind of person who is impossible to read when she’s scared.

Because that’s what this is.

Fear.

Not power.

Not control.

Fear.

I don’t sit awake at night wondering how to manipulate people.

I don’t plan conversations so I can have some kind of advantage.

And I certainly don’t spend months hurting Robin on purpose.

If anything, I’ve spent months trying desperately not to hurt her.

Clearly I’ve done a terrible job.

But that isn’t the same thing.

The truth is that Robin thinks I know exactly what I’m doing.

I don’t.

That’s the horrible part.

I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.

Usually I do.

Usually there’s a plan.

Usually there’s a next step.

When something goes wrong, I figure it out.

When something falls apart, I fix it.

When somebody needs help, I know what to do.

And when I don’t know what to do, I pretend I do until I figure it out.

That’s how I’ve always been.

It’s how I’ve survived most of my life.

But this

Robin

Whatever this is

I don’t know how to fix it.

I don’t know what the right answer is.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.

And I think maybe that’s what she was seeing.

Not somebody who wants control.

Somebody who is terrified because she doesn’t have any.

Because every time I think I’ve figured something out, everything changes again.

Every time I think I’ve found solid ground, something underneath me shifts.

I don’t know who I’m supposed to be right now.

I don’t know what my future is supposed to look like anymore.

I don’t know why every conversation with Robin feels like it changes something fundamental inside me.

And I definitely don’t know why the thought of losing her feels worse than every other possibility combined.

I wish I could explain that to her.

I wish she understood that none of this is happening because I think I’m better than her.

Or because I’m embarrassed by her.

Or because I care more about strangers than I care about her.

God, if only she knew how impossible that thought is.

The problem isn’t that I care too much about what everyone else thinks.

The problem is that for the first time in my life, I care so much about one person that it feels like it might change everything.

And I don’t know what to do with that.

I don’t know what to do with her.

I don’t know what to do with me.

And maybe that’s the most honest thing I’ve written in this journal all week.

I didn’t mean it like that.

God, I didn’t mean it like that.

I know what I said.

I know exactly what I said.

I heard it the second it came out of my mouth and I still couldn’t stop talking.

But I didn’t mean that being gay is embarrassing.

I didn’t mean that Robin is embarrassing.

I didn’t mean that her life is ruined.

I didn’t mean any of those things.

The second she looked at me, I knew she’d heard it that way.

And honestly?

I don’t blame her.

Because if somebody said those things to me, I probably would’ve heard it the same way.

But that’s not what I was trying to say.

I was just…

God.

I don’t even know.

I was trying to explain something that I don’t fully understand myself.

I was trying to explain why I’m scared.

And somehow it came out sounding like I was talking about her.

Like I was talking about every gay person in the world.

Like I was judging them.

And I wasn’t.

I wasn’t.

When I think about Robin being gay, I don’t think she’s embarrassing.

I don’t think she’s ruined.

I don’t think she’s less than anybody else.

I’ve never thought that.

Not once.

Robin is one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.

She walks into rooms knowing people are going to judge her and she does it anyway.

She says what she thinks.

She is unapologetically herself.

I don’t think that’s embarrassing.

I think it’s terrifying.

Not because she’s doing something wrong.

Because I don’t know if I could do it.

I think that’s what I was trying to say.

Or maybe part of it.

I don’t know.

Maybe when I said it would ruin everything, I wasn’t talking about being gay.

Maybe I was talking about losing the version of my life I’ve been imagining for years.

The version everybody expects from me.

The version I’ve always expected from myself.

And those aren’t the same thing, no matter how much Robin thinks they are.

Or maybe they are.

Maybe that’s the problem.

Maybe I don’t know where my expectations end and everybody else’s begin anymore.

Because if I’m being honest, I can’t even remember whether I wanted that life first or whether I was told I wanted it so many times that eventually I started believing it.

College.

A career.

A husband.

A house.

Children.

I’ve pictured it for so long that it feels real.

Like a memory that hasn’t happened yet.

And every time I look at Robin lately, it feels like somebody is reaching into that picture and moving things around.

Not ruining it.

Not destroying it.

Just changing it.

And somehow that’s scarier.

Because what if I don’t know what I want anymore?

What if the thing I’m fighting so hard to protect isn’t even what I want?

What if I’m angry because Robin keeps asking questions I don’t have answers to?

What if she’s forcing me to look at things I’ve spent years avoiding?

God.

Maybe that’s why I got so angry.

Because every time she asks me what I’m scared of, I realize I don’t actually know.

And every time she asks me why we can’t be together, I don’t know how to answer her.

Not in a way that sounds convincing.

Not even to myself.

And it’s even worse because Robin already had a hard time telling me.

God.

I don’t think I’ve let myself think about that part enough.

Robin didn’t just wake up one day and casually tell me she was gay.

It wasn’t easy for her.

I remember that now.

I remember how nervous she was.

How hard she tried to act like she wasn’t nervous.

How she kept joking because that’s what she does when she’s scared.

And I remember realizing afterward that she’d been terrified to tell me.

Terrified.

Not because she thought I would stop being her friend.

Because she didn’t know how I would react.

Because she wasn’t sure.

And somehow, after all this time, after everything we’ve been through together, after all the trust we’ve built, I think I just confirmed every fear she had.

That’s what makes me feel sick.

Not the argument.

Not even the things I said.

The fact that Robin trusted me.

And now she probably regrets it.

She probably thinks she was right to be scared.

She probably thinks she should’ve kept it to herself.

And honestly?

If I were her, I don’t know what I’d think right now.

Because from her perspective, she spent years loving somebody who just stood there and called the thing she is embarrassing.

I know that’s not what I meant.

I know it.

But she doesn’t live inside my head.

She only heard the words.

And the words were awful.

The worst part is that Robin has spent years being patient with me.

More patient than I deserved.

She gave me space.

She waited.

She backed away when she realized I wasn’t ready.

She tried to move on.

And every single time I pulled her back.

Every time.

The fireworks.

The dancing.

The almost kiss.

Every time she started putting distance between us, I found some way to close it again.

And now she probably thinks I did all of that knowing exactly how she felt.

Like I was playing with her.

Like I enjoyed it.

God.

The thought of her believing that makes me feel horrible.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve never wanted to do, it’s hurt Robin.

And somehow she’s the person I’ve hurt the most.

I keep thinking about the way she looked at me last night.

Not angry.

Not at the end.

Just heartbroken.

Like something inside her finally gave up.

And I don’t know how to stop thinking about that.

I don’t know how to stop wondering if she looks at me differently now.

Or worse.

If she doesn’t want to look at me at all.

Robin leaves the house without any real destination in mind.

She just walks.

The screen door closes behind her, and for a moment she can still feel Nancy watching from somewhere inside the house. Maybe from the dock. Maybe from the window. Maybe from her bedroom.

Robin doesn’t turn around to find out.

The afternoon air is warm, carrying the scent of lake water and pine trees. Somewhere nearby, she can hear the distant hum of a boat moving across the water, followed by the faint laughter of people she doesn’t know.

Normally she would’ve liked it.

Normally she would’ve pointed something out to Nancy.

Made a joke.

Started a conversation about absolutely nothing.

Now she just keeps walking.

Her hands stay shoved deep in her pockets.

Her eyes remain fixed on the road in front of her.

The anger is still there.

Last night it had been explosive.

Now it’s exhausted.

The fire has burned itself out, leaving behind something….

Something sadder.

Robin keeps replaying the argument anyway.

Like pressing on a bruise just to see if it still hurts.

I’m not gay.

Robin swallows.

Keeps walking.

We can’t be together.

Another blow.

Another crack running through something that already feels broken.

It’s not how it’s supposed to go.

That one makes her jaw tighten.

Because what does that even mean?

Not how it’s supposed to go.

Not how who says it’s supposed to go?

Nancy?

Her parents?

The world?

Robin doesn’t know.

And honestly, she isn’t sure Nancy knows either.

A frustrated laugh escapes her.

She kicks a loose pebble off the side of the road.

It skips across the pavement before disappearing into the grass.

The worst part isn’t that Nancy rejected her.

Robin thinks she could’ve survived that.

Eventually.

If Nancy had looked her in the eye and said I don’t love you.

That would’ve hurt.

God, it would’ve hurt.

But at least it would’ve made sense.

At least there would’ve been an answer.

Instead, Nancy looked her in the eye and said the exact opposite.

I love you too.

Robin closes her eyes for a second.

Immediately wishing she hadn’t.

Because she remembers the way Nancy said it.

The way her voice shook.

The way her hand was still resting against her face.

The way she looked terrified.

Nancy loves her.

Robin knows she does.

She’s known it since the fireworks.

Maybe even before that.

The problem isn’t love anymore.

The problem is everything that comes after it.

The problem is that Nancy loves her and still can’t choose her.

The road curves ahead.

Trees cast long shadows across the pavement.

Robin slows her pace.

Robin keeps walking.

For a while she focuses on nothing except the sound of her shoes hitting the pavement.

One step.

Then another.

Then another.

Anything to keep her mind quiet.

It doesn’t work.

Because eventually her thoughts drift back to the fight.

The things she said.

The things she threw at Nancy when she was angry.

Robin lets out a long breath.

God.

Some of that was cruel.

Some of it had been true.

At least partly.

But some of it had just been anger.

And she knows the difference.

The memory makes her wince.

Because she can still see Nancy’s face when she said it.

You like power.

You care too much about what people think.

You’ve always been like this.

Robin rubs the back of her neck.

The anger that had fueled those words is gone now.

Because the truth is, she hadn’t meant it the way it came out.

At least not completely.

She doesn’t actually think Nancy sits around trying to control people.

She doesn’t think Nancy wakes up every morning looking for ways to have power over somebody.

That’s ridiculous.

That’s never been Nancy.

Nancy isn’t cruel.

Nancy isn’t manipulative.

Nancy isn’t some cartoon villain trying to control everyone’s life.

The problem is more complicated than that.

Robin sighs.

Because everything involving Nancy is complicated.

She thinks what she was trying to say—Or what she had been trying to say before the argument turned into a disaster was that Nancy is scared.

Scared enough that she tries to hold onto things.

Scared enough that she tries to keep her life moving in a direction she understands.

Scared enough that she’d rather follow a map somebody else drew than risk getting lost.

And maybe that’s unfair.

Because honestly?

Robin gets it.

She really does.

If she’d grown up like Nancy Wheeler, maybe she’d be terrified too.

If her whole life people had looked at her and said

This is who you’re supposed to be.

This is how your life is supposed to go.

This is what success looks like.

Maybe she’d have a hard time letting go of that picture too.

Robin kicks another pebble.

Watches it bounce across the road.

The thing she regrets most is that she knows Nancy heard the worst version of what she was trying to say.

Nancy heard

You’re selfish.

You’re fake.

You’re manipulative.

And that isn’t what Robin meant.

What Robin meant was

Why are you so afraid of being yourself?

What Robin meant was

Why are you trying so hard to fit into a life that doesn’t seem to make you happy?

What Robin meant was

Why do you care more about what everybody else wants than what you want?

But she never got that far.

Because by then they were both yelling.

And crying.

And hurting.

And suddenly nothing was coming out right anymore.

Robin groans and drags both hands through her hair.

Because now she feels guilty.

Not for being angry.

She had every right to be angry.

Nancy admitted she loved her and then immediately pulled away.

Anybody would be angry.

But Nancy had been crying too.

Nancy had looked terrified too.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, Robin had stopped seeing Nancy as scared and started seeing her as the enemy.

The realization leaves an uncomfortable feeling in her chest.

Because Nancy isn’t the enemy.

She’s just…

Nancy.

Stubborn.

Confused.

Terrified.

Frustrating.

And still the person Robin loves more than anyone else in the world.

Which, unfortunately, makes all of this hurt even more.

Robin slows her pace.

The road ahead blurs slightly as her thoughts drift somewhere else entirely.

Backward.

Years backward.

To when she’d first met Nancy Wheeler.

Back when Nancy had been nothing more than a name attached to a reputation.

The pretty girl.

The popular girl.

The girl who always seemed to know exactly what she was doing.

Robin had absolutely thought she was manipulative back then.

She’d thought Nancy liked attention.

Thought she liked being the center of everything.

Thought she liked having people follow her around and listen to what she had to say.

Robin almost laughs now.

Because she remembers how much she’d disliked her.

How easy it had been.

How simple.

Nancy Wheeler had fit neatly into a box back then.

A person Robin could understand from a distance.

The problem is that distance makes everything look smaller.

Simpler.

Cleaner.

You don’t see the complicated parts until you get close.

And Robin got close.

Closer than almost anyone.

She learned Nancy’s habits.

Her fears.

The way she overthinks things.

The way she takes responsibility for things that aren’t her fault.

The way she carries guilt.

The way one careless comment can stay with her for weeks even when everybody else has forgotten it.

Robin knows all of that.

Which is exactly why guilt starts settling uncomfortably in her stomach.

Because she said those things anyway.

Not three years ago.

Not when they barely knew each other.

Not when she was some random girl making assumptions.

Last night.

Now.

After everything.

After becoming best friends.

After becoming the person Nancy calls when something goes wrong.

After becoming the person Nancy trusts.

Robin drags a hand across her face.

God.

That’s what makes it feel awful.

Not that she’d thought those things once.

Everybody judges people before they know them.

Everybody gets things wrong.

The problem is that she threw those old assumptions directly at Nancy during the worst moment possible.

Like they were facts.

Like they were still true.

And she knows Nancy heard them.

Really heard them.

Because Nancy always hears things.

Especially the bad ones.

Especially the things she wishes weren’t true.

Robin can practically picture it.

Nancy sitting somewhere with that look on her face.

That quiet look.

The one she gets when something hurts her feelings but she’s trying not to show it.

The one Robin knows better than almost anyone.

And suddenly Robin feels sick.

Because Nancy had been crying too.

She’d been terrified too.

And instead of recognizing that, Robin had taken the thing she knew would hurt her and used it anyway.

Not intentionally.

Not maliciously.

But she did it.

And now she can’t take it back.

A breeze moves through the trees.

Robin shoves her hands deeper into her pockets.

Nancy deserves an apology.

The thought arrives immediately.

Nancy deserves one.

Whether she wants to hear it or not.

Whether she forgives her or not.

Whether they’re speaking tomorrow or not.

Because some of the things Robin said weren’t fair.

And she knows it.

She knows Nancy isn’t some power hungry person trying to control everybody around her.

She knows Nancy is scared.

And maybe that’s the real tragedy of the entire fight.

They’d both been scared.

Robin looks up at the sky.

Lets out a long breath.

The apology doesn’t solve anything.

It doesn’t fix the argument.

It doesn’t fix Nancy.

It definitely doesn’t fix whatever impossible situation they’re stuck in.

But it’s a start.

And right now, a start feels better than nothing.

Robin doesn’t realize she’s stopped walking until she’s standing at the edge of the lake.

The road has disappeared behind her.

The trees have thinned.

And now it’s just water stretching endlessly in front of her, sunlight glittering across the surface like scattered pieces of glass.

A small wooden dock extends into the lake.

Empty.

Quiet.

Robin walks to the end of it and sits down.

For a while she doesn’t do anything.

She just stares.

Lets the wind move through her hair. Lets herself be tired. Because that’s what she is now.

Tired of crying.

Tired of arguing.

Tired of hoping.

Tired of loving somebody who loves her back and somehow still feels impossibly far away.

Robin drops her gaze.

And that’s when she notices the ring.

It catches the sunlight for a brief second.

A tiny flash of silver against her hand.

Of course.

The ring.

The stupid ring.

The ring they’d argued about more than once.

The ring Nancy had given her.

The ring Robin had pretended wasn’t important.

The ring Nancy had pretended wasn’t important.

The ring that somehow always became important whenever either of them tried talking about it.

Robin turns it slowly around her finger.

Once.

Then again.

The metal feels familiar beneath her skin.

Comforting.

Dangerously comforting.

Because she remembers every conversation they’d ever had about it.

Every argument.

Every awkward moment.

Every time Nancy had noticed she was still wearing it.

Every time Robin had caught Nancy noticing.

Before she can stop herself, she laughs.

A sad little sound.

Because honestly?

This thing has become ridiculous.

It’s just a ring.

A tiny piece of metal.

And yet it feels heavier than anything else she’s carrying.

Robin stares at it for a long moment.

Then closes her eyes.

Because she already knows what she needs to do.

Slowly, she slides the ring off her finger.

The movement feels wrong immediately.

The absence of it feels wrong too.

A pale line remains where it’s been resting against her skin for so long.

Robin stares at the empty spot.

And suddenly she feels stupid.

Stupid for being emotional over a ring. Stupid for caring this much. Stupid for acting like removing it changes anything.

Because it doesn’t.

She’s still in love with Nancy.

She’s probably going to be in love with Nancy tomorrow.

And next week. And next month.

The ring was never the problem. Nancy was never even the problem. The problem is that Robin doesn’t know how to keep loving somebody without losing pieces of herself in the process.

She opens her hand.

The ring rests in her palm.

Small and harmless.

For a second she almost puts it back on.

Almost.

Instead, she curls her fingers around it.

Then slips it carefully into her jacket pocket.

Not leaving it behind.

Not getting rid of it.

Just…

Putting it somewhere she can’t constantly see it. Somewhere she doesn’t have to keep touching it. Somewhere she doesn’t have to keep reminding herself.

Robin exhales slowly.

The pocket suddenly feels heavier. Like she can still feel the outline of the ring sitting there.

And as she stares out across the lake, she realizes this is the first real thing she’s done to create distance.

The first real thing she’s done to stop waiting.

It’s small.

Painfully small.

But it’s a start.

And somehow that hurts more than she expected it to.

Robin sits at the end of the dock for a few more minutes after putting the ring away.

She doesn’t move.

Doesn’t reach for it again.

Doesn’t take it back out.

She just sits there, staring across the water while the afternoon sun slowly shifts overhead.

The pocket of her jacket feels heavier now.

Not because of the ring.

Because of what it means.

Eventually she pushes herself to her feet.

The dock creaks beneath her weight.

The lake ripples softly against the wood.

And then she starts walking back.

The return trip is quieter than the walk there.

No angry pacing.

No kicking rocks.

No spiraling arguments playing on repeat.

Just silence.

Her eyes stay on the road.

She walks.

And walks.

And walks.

Thinking.

Not about the fight anymore.

Not really.

About what happens next.

Because eventually this vacation ends.

Eventually they go home.

Eventually they stop being trapped in the same house together.

And then what?

Robin doesn’t know.

The realization is unsettling.

Because for so long she’s been living with this tiny piece of hope tucked away inside her.

Not hope that Nancy would magically wake up one morning and confess everything.

Just hope that eventually. Eventually.

One day. Maybe. Nancy would figure it out.

Robin has built years around that word.

Eventually.

Eventually Nancy would stop dating boys she didn’t love.

Eventually Nancy would stop running from herself.

Eventually Nancy would stop being scared.

Eventually Nancy would look at Robin and choose her.

The problem is that eventually isn’t a real place.

It’s not a destination.

It’s not a promise.

It’s just waiting.

And Robin suddenly realizes she’s been waiting for a very long time.

The thought makes her chest ache.

Because she loves Nancy.

God.

She loves her so much.

Enough to wait.

Enough to forgive.

Enough to stay.

Enough to keep getting hurt.

But maybe… Maybe loving somebody isn’t supposed to mean sacrificing yourself forever.

Robin swallows hard.

The lake house is getting closer now.

She can see the roof through the trees.

The dock.

The shoreline.

Home base.

And somewhere inside that house is Nancy.

Probably sitting exactly where Robin left her.

Probably overthinking.

Probably crying.

The thought hurts.

But not enough to change what Robin knows.

If Nancy figures herself out?

Great.

Robin means that.

Truly.

If Nancy wakes up one day and finally stops being afraid, Robin will be there.

She always has been.

But if she doesn’t…

Robin can’t keep doing this forever.

She can’t.

She can’t spend the next ‘five years’ waiting for Nancy to become ready.

She can’t keep building her entire life around a possibility.

She can’t keep loving somebody harder than she’s willing to love herself.

She means it.

Actually means it.

Not the way she meant it after previous arguments.

Not the way she meant it when she tried to move on before.

This time feels different.

More real.

More permanent.

Because Robin isn’t falling out of love with Nancy.

Not even close.

If anything, she loves her just as much as she did yesterday.

Maybe more.

The difference is that she’s finally starting to understand that love alone isn’t enough.

As the lake house comes fully into view, Robin slows slightly.

The wind shifts.

The familiar dock stretches out across the water.

And somewhere inside the house, completely unaware of the promise Robin has just made herself, Nancy Wheeler is slowly realizing the exact opposite.

Robin is learning how to let go.

Nancy is beginning to realize she doesn’t want to.

Nancy sits  on the floor in front of her vanity, slowly sorting through the mess that’s accumulated over the past few days.

Normally she’d never let it get this bad.

Hair products are scattered everywhere.

Makeup brushes are mixed in with jewelry.

There are half empty water bottles sitting beside perfume bottles.

Clothes are draped over the back of her chair.

It’s the kind of mess that only happens when she’s busy enough to keep saying she’ll clean it later.

And for the last few days, later never came.

So she cleans.

Not because she particularly cares about the vanity right now.

Because she needs something to do.

Something simple. Something that doesn’t require thinking.

A brush goes back into a drawer. A necklace gets untangled. A bottle gets pushed into place.

Small tasks.

Easy tasks.

Tasks that should be enough to keep her occupied.

They aren’t.

Because every few minutes her attention drifts.

And every time it drifts, it lands in the exact same place.

Robin.

Nancy sighs quietly and places another lipstick into a container.

The room feels strange without her.

The entire house does.

It’s ridiculous.

Robin has only been gone for a little while.

An hour.

Maybe a little more.

She’s not gone gone.

She’s literally walking around somewhere nearby.

Probably less than a mile away.

And yet Nancy can’t shake the feeling that something is missing.

The realization makes her pause.

Her hand rests against the edge of the vanity.

The room suddenly feels too quiet.

She glances toward the doorway.

Then toward the hall beyond it.

Before she can stop herself, a thought slips into her head.

I miss her.

The admission arrives so naturally it almost startles her.

Nancy immediately looks down.

As if somehow somebody might have heard it.

“Jesus Christ.”

She laughs softly to herself.

Robin isn’t even here and Nancy is still acting ridiculous.

She reaches for another makeup brush.

Stops.

Puts it back down.

The vanity suddenly doesn’t seem very important anymore.

Nancy leans back on her hands.

Thinking.

Then, before she can overthink it, she stands.

Not the front door.

The front door is loud.

The old hinges practically announce whenever somebody leaves.

Instead she crosses her room toward the smaller door at the back.

The one that leads onto the connecting hallway.

Nancy opens it quietly.

The hallway beyond is empty.

She steps out.

Closes the door behind her.

And immediately feels a little stupid.

Because what exactly is she doing?

Robin isn’t here.

Probably trying not to think about her.

The thought stings.

Nancy ignores it.

She crosses the hallway anyway.

Robin’s bedroom door stands slightly open.

Nancy hesitates for a second.

Just a second.

Then she pushes it open.

The room is exactly how Robin left it.

The bed is unmade.

A sweatshirt is hanging off the side of a chair.

Robin.

Everything about the room feels like Robin.

Nancy doesn’t know how else to explain it.

It’s just her.

Her presence.

Her energy.

The little traces she leaves behind everywhere she goes.

For a moment Nancy just stands there.

Taking it in.

Then she walks over to the bed.

The mattress dips beneath her weight as she sits.

Nancy sits on the edge of the bed for a while with her eyes closed.

The room smells faintly like Robin’s shampoo.

Like lake water. Like sunscreen. Like the hoodie she’d stolen from Nancy two days ago and never given back.

Nancy tries not to think about it.

l Tries not to think about Robin at all. Because every time she does, her chest starts hurting again.

So she closes her eyes. Takes a slow breath. Then another. And another. Just trying to calm down. Trying to stop overthinking. Trying to stop missing somebody who isn’t even that far away.

Eventually she opens her eyes.

And that’s when she notices it.

At first it’s just a feeling.

Something looks… off.

Nancy frowns.

She glances around the room again.

The bed.

The nightstand.

The chair in the corner.

The floor.

Everything looks strangely neat.

Not spotless.

Not perfect.

Organized.

More organized than Robin usually is.

Robin isn’t messy.

Not really.

But she isn’t tidy either.

Robin has always lived in a kind of controlled chaos.

Things scattered around.

Half finished projects. Clothes draped over chairs. Books left open. Random objects abandoned wherever she’d last used them.

The room had looked exactly like that yesterday.

Now it doesn’t.

Nancy slowly stands.

A strange feeling creeping into her stomach.

Her eyes move across the room again.

Then land on the suitcase.

The suitcase sitting near the wall.

Half packed.

Nancy freezes.

For a second she just stares.

Not understanding what she’s looking at.

Then she walks closer.

Slowly.

The feeling in her stomach gets worse.

The suitcase is open. Clothes folded inside. Chargers stuffed into one corner. Toiletries shoved into another. Half her belongings are sitting inside it.

Like somebody started packing and never finished.

Nancy’s pulse immediately spikes.

“No.”

The word leaves her mouth before she can stop it.

She drops to her knees beside the suitcase.

Starts looking through it.

Not carefully.

Frantically.

A sweatshirt.

Three shirts.

A phone charger.

Socks.

Makeup.

More clothes.

More things.

Nancy’s heart begins hammering against her ribs.

Because suddenly all she can see is Robin’s face from yesterday.

I can’t keep doing this.

You can’t keep doing this to me.

The thought crashes into her all at once.

Robin is leaving.

The possibility feels so real that Nancy almost can’t breathe.

“No, no, no…”

Her voice shakes.

She starts looking around the room.

At the drawers.

The desk.

The closet.

The empty spaces.

The evidence.

Everywhere she looks she sees confirmation of the story her brain is already telling her.

Robin is leaving.

Robin is actually leaving.

And she didn’t tell her.

The realization hits like a punch to the chest.

“What the fuck?”

Nancy whispers it under her breath.

Then louder.

“What the fuck?”

Anger starts mixing with panic.

Because after everything.

After the fight.

After the crying.

After the confession.

Robin’s just going to leave?

Without saying anything? Without talking to her? Without giving her a chance? Nancy stands so quickly she nearly knocks the suitcase over.

Her hands are shaking.

And that’s when she hears it.

The front door.

Opening.

Then immediately shutting again.

Nancy’s head snaps toward the hallway.

Robin.

Robin’s home.

Relief floods through her for half a second.

Then the anger comes back twice as strong.

“Robin?”

She steps into the hallway.

“Robin?”

Nothing.

No answer.

Nancy’s frown deepens.

She moves faster.

Still nothing.

The silence makes her stomach drop all over again.

Because now she’s standing in the hallway with Robin’s packed suitcase burned into her mind.

And for the first time all day, Nancy Wheeler is genuinely scared.

Nancy moves down the stairs quickly.

Not running.

Not quite.

But fast enough that if anybody saw her, they’d know something was wrong.

Her pulse is still pounding.

Her thoughts are racing.

Every step downstairs makes her more irritated.

More confused.

More hurt.

Because if Robin is planning to leave, then why didn’t she say anything?

Why didn’t she tell her?

Why didn’t she—

Nancy cuts the thought off.

She reaches the bottom of the stairs.

Her gaze immediately shifts toward the front window.

And that’s when she sees her.

Robin.

Standing outside.

A little ways down the driveway.

Just standing there.

One hand shoved into her pocket.

The other holding her phone to her ear.

Nancy immediately stops.

Relief hits first.

Then the relief fades.

And the irritation returns.

Because now Nancy has even more questions.

She watches Robin for a second through the glass.

Robin isn’t pacing.

Isn’t crying.

Isn’t yelling.

She’s just standing there, listening to whoever is on the other end of the call.

The sight should calm Nancy down.

It doesn’t.

If anything, it makes her more restless.

Without really thinking about it, Nancy reaches for the front door.

Slowly.

Carefully.

The old door gives a quiet creak as she opens it.

Nancy winces.

Then freezes.

Robin doesn’t react.

Doesn’t turn around.

Doesn’t notice.

She’s too focused on the conversation.

Nancy opens the door a little wider.

Just enough.

Just enough to hear.

Robin shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

Then finally speaks.

Her voice is tired.

The kind of tired that doesn’t come from lack of sleep.

The kind that comes from feeling too much for too long.

“Hey, Casey.”

Nancy’s stomach drops.

Casey.

Of course.

Robin’s talking to Casey.

Robin lets out a small breath.

Rubs the back of her neck.

And says,

“Sorry. I haven’t really been on my phone.”

Robin stands near the edge of the driveway, while Casey’s voice crackles through her phone.

“Hey,” Casey says. “I saw your text. I just didn’t answer. I’ve been asleep all day.”

Robin lets out a quiet breath.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I stayed up all night with some friends. I got home at like six in the morning.”

Robin hums.

“Sounds about right.”

There’s a pause.

Then Casey’s voice softens immediately.

“Are you okay?”

Robin closes her eyes.

Of course that’s the first thing Casey asks.

Not how’s vacation.

Not what are you doing.

Are you okay?

Because Casey already knows the answer.

Robin laughs quietly.

Not because anything is funny.

Because she doesn’t know what else to do.

“No.”

Casey sighs.

“Oh, God.”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

Robin drags a hand through her hair.

Where is she even supposed to start?

“I don’t even know.”

“Robin.”

“I don’t.”

Casey waits.

Patient.

Robin hates how patient she is sometimes.

Because eventually it forces her to keep talking.

“She said she loves me.”

The silence on the other end is immediate.

“What?”

Robin laughs again.

The sound comes out exhausted.

“Yeah.”

“She said she loves you?”

“Yep.”

“Like actually said it?”

“Actually said it.”

Casey is silent for a few seconds.

Robin can practically hear her trying to process that information.

“Okay. Then why do you sound miserable?”

Robin’s eyes sting.

Because that’s the problem, isn’t it?

If Nancy had said she didn’t love her, at least there would’ve been an answer.

“Because she loves me and she still won’t be with me.”

Casey goes quiet again.

Robin stares down at the dirt beneath her shoes.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that.”

She kicks a rock.

Watches it disappear into the grass.

“She says she loves me.”

Another kick.

“She says she wants me.”

Another.

“She says she thinks about me.”

Her voice cracks slightly.

“But then she turns around and says we can’t be together.”

Casey doesn’t interrupt.

Robin keeps going.

Because now that she’s started talking, she can’t stop.

“I can’t do this anymore, Case.”

The words come out before she can think about them.

And once they’re out, she realizes she means them.

“I can’t keep doing this.”

Casey’s voice is careful.

“What do you mean?”

Robin swallows.

“I mean I can’t keep loving somebody who’s never going to choose me.”

The words hurt.

Even saying them.

Especially saying them.

Because she loves Nancy.

God.

She loves Nancy so much it physically hurts.

But that’s exactly the problem.

Robin looks out across the water.

Beautiful.

“I keep telling myself she’ll figure it out.”

A bitter laugh escapes her.

“Eventually.”

Casey says nothing.

Robin keeps talking.

“Everything is eventually.”

Eventually Nancy will stop being scared. Eventually Nancy will figure herself out. Eventually Nancy will be ready.

Eventually.

Eventually.

Eventually.

“I’m tired of eventually.”

Casey sighs softly.

And Robin immediately knows Casey has been waiting for her to say this for a long time.

“Robin.”

“No. I’m serious. I can’t build my entire life around waiting for her. I can’t keep loving her more than I love myself.”

Robin looks up toward the sky.

Blinking hard.

“I don’t know how to stop loving her.”

Her voice is barely above a whisper now.

“I don’t think I can. But I think I need to stop waiting.”

The silence that follows is heavy.

Not because Casey disagrees.

Because she doesn’t.

Robin knows she doesn’t.

And somehow that’s worse.

Because if Casey were arguing with her, Robin could argue back.

Instead Casey just lets the truth sit there between them.

And Robin hates how right it sounds.

Robin rubs her forehead and starts walking again, slower now, her shoes scraping against the pavement as she listens to the silence on the other end of the line.

“I think you were right about her, Casey. So right.”

Casey doesn’t immediately answer.

Robin laughs under her breath.

A sad laugh.

“She has this whole life planned out. She literally told me. A husband. Kids. A wedding. The house. Everything. It’s like she’s already decided what her life is supposed to look like before she’s even lived it.”

Robin shakes her head.

“And the thing is, I don’t even think she’s doing it because she wants it.”

That part hurts the most.

Because Robin can still hear Nancy crying.

Can still hear her voice shaking.

Can still see the panic in her eyes.

“She acts like she’s making these choices because that’s what she wants, but I don’t think it is. I think she’s terrified. I think she’s terrified of disappointing people. I think she’s terrified of being different. I think she’s terrified of being judged.”

Robin pauses.

“It’s like she already knows what everybody expects from her, so she just decided that’s who she’s going to be.”

Casey sighs.

“She loves me. They’re real feelings. I know they are. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. But somehow that doesn’t matter. Because every time it comes down to choosing between what she feels and what everybody expects from her…”

Robin looks down at the road.

“…she chooses everybody else.”

“Robin, I need you to listen to me for a second.”

Robin closes her eyes.

Because she already knows she’s not going to like whatever comes next.

“I don’t think Nancy doesn’t love you. I don’t think she’s lying. I don’t think she’s playing games. I don’t think she’s using you.”

Robin stops walking.

“I think she’s scared.”

“Yeah.”

“But Robin, somebody being scared doesn’t make what they’re doing okay.”

Casey continues before Robin can argue.

“You’re acting like there are only two options. Either Nancy is a bad person or everything she’s doing is okay because she’s scared.”

Robin looks away.

“There’s a third option.”

“What?”

“She’s hurting you.”

Robin immediately opens her mouth.

Ready to defend Nancy.

Casey cuts her off.

“No. Don’t do that. Don’t defend her for two seconds. Just listen.”

Robin goes quiet. Because she knows exactly what Casey means.

“Robin, I know she’s scared. I know she’s confused. I know she’s struggling. But she’s still hurting you. Those things can both be true.”

Casey sighs.

“I feel awful for Nancy.”

Robin nods.

Even though Casey can’t see it.

“So do I.”

“But I feel awful for you too.”

That one almost makes Robin cry.

Because nobody ever says that part, nobody ever talks about what it’s like standing on the other side of it.

Being the person waiting.

The person hoping.

The person getting their heart broken over and over again.

Casey’s voice becomes gentler.

“You don’t have to keep setting yourself on fire just because somebody else is cold.”

Robin closes her eyes.

The words hit somewhere deep.

Painfully deep.

Robin’s eyes start burning again.

She hadn’t cried during most of the walk.

Hadn’t cried while she was packing.

Hadn’t cried when she took the ring off.

But now, standing alone on the side of the road with Casey’s voice coming through the phone, she feels everything starting to crack open again.

Casey notices immediately.

She always does.

“Robin?”

Robin presses her lips together.

For a second she can’t answer.

She just stares at the ground.

At the cracks in the pavement.

At anything except the tears gathering in her eyes.

“Robin.”

This time Casey sounds worried.

Genuinely worried.

Robin lets out a shaky breath.

“She told me being gay is embarrassing. Not exactly like that. I mean… she didn’t say those exact words. But that’s what she meant.”

Casey doesn’t say anything.

Robin keeps going.

“She said she doesn’t want to be the gay girl. She said she doesn’t want that to be her life.”

A breath.

Another failed attempt to keep herself together.

“She said she doesn’t want people looking at her differently.”

“Oh, Robin.”

Robin wipes at her eyes.

Immediately annoyed that she’s crying again.

“I got mad.”

“Of course you did.”

“I did.”

Robin laughs weakly.

“I got really mad. Because all I could hear was that she thinks people like me are embarrassing.”

Casey doesn’t interrupt.

Robin appreciates that.

Because she isn’t sure she’d be able to keep talking if somebody interrupted her.

“I know that’s not exactly what she was saying.”

Her voice drops.

“But that’s how it felt. She kept saying it would ruin everything.”

The tears finally start slipping down her face.

“Her life.”

She swallows.

“Her future.”

Another tear.

“Her reputation.”

Robin closes her eyes.

“And all I could think was…”

Her voice cracks completely.

“…what does that mean about me?”

Nancy didn’t mean to insult her.

Robin knows that.

Deep down she does.

But intent doesn’t magically erase the hurt.

“Robin, do you think Nancy thinks you’re embarrassing?”

Robin answers immediately.

“No.”

“Do you think Nancy thinks your life is ruined?”

“No.”

“Do you think Nancy looks at you and thinks less of you because you’re gay?”

Robin’s response comes just as quickly.

“No.”

“Then what do you think is actually happening?”

Robin hates the question.

“I think she’s scared.”

“Yeah.”

Robin laughs sadly.

“I think she’s terrified.”

Casey hums.

“I think so too.”

Robin rubs at her eyes.

“But that doesn’t make it hurt less.”

“No. It doesn’t.”

Robin shakes her head.

“Because she kept saying I couldn’t be mad at her. She kept saying I couldn’t be mad because I’m basically closeted too.”

Casey sighs.

“And?”

“And that’s not the same thing. That’s not even close to the same thing. I don’t just  tell random people I’m gay. I don’t know.”

She wipes at her face again.

“Because part of me gets it. She’s acting like I don’t understand what she’s talking about. But I do. I remember being scared too. I still am scared.”

Casey’s expression softens, even through the phone.

“I remember being terrified, actually.”

She laughs weakly.

“Like genuinely terrified.”

The memory makes her stomach twist.

“Every time somebody would ask if I liked a guy. Every time people would talk about relationships. Every time somebody made some stupid comment about gay people.”

Robin swallows.

“I was always scared somebody was going to figure it out.”

Her voice drops.

“And I hated it. I hated being gay for a while.”

Casey doesn’t interrupt.

Robin continues.

“I used to wish I wasn’t. I still do sometimes..”

The words feel strange to say out loud.

Like she’s opening a door she normally keeps shut.

“I used to lay awake thinking how much easier everything would be if I could just like a guy. I would’ve taken it in a second.”

Robin blinks.

“I didn’t want people looking at me differently. I didn’t want people talking about me. I didn’t want it to become the thing everybody knew me for. I still don’t.”

Another pause.

“So when she says she doesn’t want her whole life to become that…”

Robin sighs.

“…I understand.”

Because she does.

More than she’d like to admit.

“It’s not like I woke up one day completely comfortable with it.”

She shakes her head.

“That took years.”

Years of fear.

Years of overthinking.

Years of slowly realizing the world didn’t end.

Years of realizing that being gay wasn’t the most important thing about her.

Just one thing.

One part.

Not the whole picture.

“It’s gotten better.”

Robin says it almost to herself.

“Way better.”

Her eyes start watering again.

“I’m not planning an entire future around pretending to be somebody else.”

“Robin.”

Robin sniffles.

“What?”

“I think Nancy wishes she could be you.”

Robin blinks.

“What?”

Casey sighs.

“I think she’s looking at you and seeing somebody who’s comfortable being themselves.”

Robin immediately shakes her head.

“Case, I’m not comfortable.”

“No.”

Casey agrees.

“You’re not. But you are honest.”

Robin goes quiet.

Casey continues.

“And Nancy isn’t there yet.”

After a moment she laughs weakly.

“Great.”

Casey laughs too.

A sad little laugh.

“Yeah.”

“I just…”

Her voice softens.

“I wish she could see herself the way I see her.”

The confession comes out before she can stop it.

Casey goes quiet.

Robin immediately feels stupid.

But she keeps talking anyway.

“Because she keeps talking like being with me would ruin her life.”

Her voice breaks again.

“And all I can think is that if she was with me, I’d spend every day trying to make her happy.”

The words hit hard.

Even to her.

Casey is silent for several seconds.

Then finally says,

“I know.”

Robin wipes at her eyes again, frustrated that she keeps crying. At this point she feels like she’s done nothing but cry for the last twenty four hours.

“I just keep thinking that I need to stop loving her.”

The words come out quietly.

Like she’s saying them more to herself than to Casey.

“I have to. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep loving somebody this much when they’re never actually mine. Every time I think maybe we’re finally getting somewhere… Something happens. And then I spend weeks trying to convince myself I’m over her.”

Her eyes burn again.

“Then she smiles at me.”

A weak laugh escapes her.

“Or she touches my shoulder.”

Another laugh.

More broken this time.

“Or she looks at me a certain way.”

Her voice cracks.

“And suddenly I’m right back where I started.”

Casey’s heart breaks listening to her.

Robin rarely talks like this.

Not really.

Not when she’s hurting.

Robin usually jokes.

Deflects.

Changes the subject.

Makes everybody laugh until nobody notices she’s struggling.

Not today.

Today she’s exhausted.

And exhaustion has stripped away every defense she normally uses.

“I don’t think I can survive another few months of this.”

The words leave her before she can stop them.

“I know that sounds dramatic.”

“It doesn’t.”

Casey’s answer is immediate.

Robin closes her eyes.

Because that’s almost worse.

“I just…”

She struggles for the right words.

“I feel like I’m constantly grieving something that never even happened. I keep pretending everything’s okay.”

Her voice drops.

“So she doesn’t feel guilty. So I don’t ruin everything.But it’s not okay.”

No matter how many times she says it is.

No matter how many jokes she makes.

No matter how many times she acts normal.

It’s not.

And it hasn’t been for a long time.

“I am so tired, Casey.”

…

“I love her.”

Robin’s voice breaks completely now.

“And I don’t know how to stop.”

A tear slips down her cheek.

Then another.

“I don’t even know if I want to stop.”

She laughs through the tears.

Because that’s the most pathetic part.

After everything.

After the crying.

After the fighting.

After Nancy telling her they can’t be together.

Part of Robin still wants Nancy.

Still loves Nancy.

Still hopes.

And that’s exactly why she’s scared.

Because hope is starting to hurt more than giving up ever could.

Robin lets out a long breath and wipes her face again.

The crying has mostly stopped now.

The exhaustion.

The headache.

The ache behind her eyes.

For a few seconds she just listens to Casey breathing on the other end of the phone.

“Maybe that’s my answer.”

Casey hums.

“What is?”

Robin shoves a hand into her pocket.

The same pocket where the ring is sitting.

She can feel it there.

Even now.

“I’ve got, what?”

She laughs weakly.

“A month and a half?”

“Something like that.”

“A month and a half of school.”

She kicks at the dirt.

“Summer.”

Another pause.

“And then we’re gone.”

The words sound strange out loud.

Like she’s talking about somebody else’s future.

Not hers. Not Nancy’s. Not theirs. College. Different cities. Different lives. Different people.

Robin has known it was coming for months.

Everybody has.

But suddenly it feels real.

Painfully real.

“If I’m not over her by then…”

Casey doesn’t force her to finish.

She doesn’t need to.

Robin finishes anyway.

“Then that’s it.”

The words hurt.

A lot, but they also feel true.

Not because she’ll stop loving Nancy overnight.

Not because she’ll magically wake up and move on.

Because eventually life keeps moving whether you’re ready or not.

College happens. Distance happens. People change.

And Robin can’t spend the rest of her life waiting for somebody to become ready.

Even if that somebody is Nancy.

Especially if that somebody is Nancy.

Robin looks back toward the house again.

Because the second she walks through that door, all of this gets harder.

Because Nancy will be there. Nancy with her stupid smile. Nancy with her stupid eyes.

Nancy who somehow manages to make Robin forget every decision she’s made the second she walks into a room.

Robin groans.

Casey laughs softly.

“That bad?”

“Shut up.”

Casey’s laugh gets louder.

Robin smiles.

A real smile.

“Seriously.”

Robin shakes her head.

“I should probably go.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been gone for like…”

She checks the time.

Her stomach drops.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“I’ve been gone for almost an hour and a half.”

Casey laughs again.

Robin immediately starts turning toward the house.

“She’s alone.”

Casey snorts.

“Robin.”

“No, seriously.”

Robin starts walking.

“She’s been sitting in that house by herself for an hour and a half.”

“She’s survived before.”

“I know.”

Robin sighs.

“But still.”

Casey is smiling.

Robin can hear it.

Robin’s smiling too.

“Call me later?”

Casey asks.

Robin nods automatically before realizing Casey can’t see her.

“Yeah.”

“And Robin?”

Robin slows slightly.

“What?”

Casey’s voice softens.

“Take care of yourself too.”

Robin looks toward the house again.

Toward the place where Nancy is waiting without even realizing she’s waiting.

And quietly says,

“I’m trying.”

Nancy doesn’t even realize she’s holding her breath until Robin hangs up.

The second the silence changes, no more voice, no more movement from outside, just air again, Nancy quietly shuts the front door.

Carefully.

Like if she makes it too loud, something inside her will finally break in a way she can’t fix.

The click of the latch sounds way too final in the empty house.

And that’s what does it.

Nancy stands there for half a second, staring at the wood grain of the door like it’s supposed to explain what she just heard.

Her face doesn’t really change at first.

It takes a moment.

Like her brain is still trying to pretend it didn’t happen.

Then it hits.

Robin’s been packing.

Robin thinks she might leave.

Robin is out there talking about a month and a half like it’s some countdown timer to an ending she’s already accepted.

And worse Robin is trying to let go.

Nancy exhales sharply, almost a laugh, but there’s nothing funny in it.

“Are you kidding me?”

Her voice comes out low.

Shaky.

Angry in a way that doesn’t feel clean.

She presses a hand to her mouth for a second, like she can physically hold everything in.

It doesn’t work.

Because underneath the anger is something worse.

Panic.

Nancy turns away from the door too fast, pacing into the living room, her bare feet hitting the floor harder than she means them to.

An hour and a half.

Robin has been gone an hour and a half and Nancy has spent it spiraling through every possible version of reality she could imagine.

She stops in the middle of the room.

Her eyes sting.

She hates that they sting.

She hates that she’s crying.

But most of all

She hates what she just heard.

Robin out there, talking like she’s already halfway gone.

Like Nancy is something she’s trying to recover from.

Like loving her is something that needs to be outgrown.

Nancy shakes her head once, sharp.

“No. No, no, no.”

Because that’s not fair.

That’s not what this is supposed to be.

And now Robin’s voice outside the house plays again in her head.

If I’m not over her by then…

Her hands curl into fists.

Pissed doesn’t even cover it.

Because she hears it now in a different way.

Not just Robin trying to protect herself.

Not just Robin being hurt.

But Robin deciding something about them without even talking to her.

Like Nancy doesn’t get a say.

She wipes at her face immediately, angry at herself for it.

Angry at Robin.

Angry at everything.

Because Robin is acting like she’s already decided the ending.

Nancy doesn’t know what the ending is.

But she knows one thing.

She hates this version.

She hates hearing Robin talk like she’s already halfway out the door emotionally.

Even if she’s still physically here.

Especially if she’s still physically here.

Nancy turns again, pacing harder now, her breath uneven.

“Unbelievable,” she whispers.

Because Robin doesn’t get to just—

Doesn’t get to love her like that and then start preparing to stop.

Doesn’t get to say all of that and then act like Nancy is just supposed to accept it.

“Nancy?” Robin calls, setting her phone down on the counter.

No answer.

The house feels… tense.

Different.

She follows the feeling into the living room.

And that’s when she sees her.

Nancy is standing near the far wall, turned away from her, shoulders tight, posture stiff in a way that immediately sets off alarm bells in Robin’s head.

Something about it feels wrong.

“Hey,” Robin says softly, stepping further in. “Nancy, what are you doing?”

Nancy doesn’t turn at first.

Doesn’t move.

And then slowly, too slowly, she turns around.

Robin stops walking instantly.

Because Nancy’s face is a mess.

Her eyes are red and swollen, her lashes still wet, cheeks flushed like she’s been trying very hard not to cry and failing for a while now.

Robin’s expression changes immediately, all the tension dropping into concern as she crosses the room quickly.

“Hey—hey,” she says, voice softening without her meaning it to. “Are you okay? What happened? Did something happen while I was gone?”

Nancy takes a step back instantly.

That small movement is enough to make Robin pause.

Confused now.

Genuinely confused.

“Why are you acting like that?” Robin asks carefully, slowing her approach. “What’s going on?”

Nancy lets out a shaky breath that sounds like it’s been held in for too long.

Then her voice comes out sharp.

“So what, you were just gonna leave?”

Robin blinks.

Her entire body stills.

“What?” she says, immediately shaking her head. “Leave? What are you talking about?”

Nancy laughs once, but there’s nothing in it except disbelief and hurt.

“I went to your room,” she says, voice breaking at the edges, “and everything is basically packed up, Robin. So what was that? We have one argument and you’re just—what—gonna go home? Like that’s it?”

Robin stares at her for a second, trying to process it.

Then she exhales sharply and steps forward again, slower this time, hands slightly raised like she’s trying to calm something down that’s already spiraling.

“Okay, no,” she says firmly, but not angrily. “No, Nancy, I’m not going anywhere.”

Nancy doesn’t look convinced.

“Then why is your suitcase packed?” she snaps immediately, voice rising just enough to crack.

Robin closes her eyes for a second, like she’s trying to gather patience from somewhere deep inside her chest.

Then she looks back at her.

“Because I was trying to keep my hands busy,” she says. “That’s it. That’s literally it. I wasn’t packing to leave. I wasn’t planning to leave. I wasn’t even thinking that far ahead. I was trying not to spiral. I was trying not to sit still and think about everything that just happened between us.”

Nancy’s breathing is uneven, but she doesn’t interrupt.

Robin continues, stepping a little closer again, more careful now.

“I didn’t pack because I’m leaving you, Nancy,” she says, more clearly now. “I packed because I didn’t know what else to do with myself. That’s what I do when I get overwhelmed. I clean. I organize. I move things around. I don’t sit still. That doesn’t mean I was walking out of here.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, voice breaking again. “Why would you just—let me think that?”

Robin flinches slightly at that.

“I didn’t think you’d go into my room,” she says quietly. “I didn’t think you’d see it like that. I didn’t think..  Nancy, I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“That’s not the point,” Nancy says immediately, stepping forward now too, anger finally pushing through the tears. “Do you understand how that looks? Do you understand what I just heard you say out there? You’re talking about a month and a half like you’re already done. Like you’re already halfway gone.”

“I’m not gone,” she says, firmer now. “I’m right here.”

“That’s not what it sounded like,” Nancy fires back.

Robin exhales through her nose, shaking her head.

“Then you didn’t listen to the whole thing,” she says, voice still controlled but sharper now. “Because I wasn’t saying I was leaving you. I was saying I can’t keep hurting myself waiting for something that might never happen. That’s not the same thing.”

Nancy goes quiet for half a second.

Then “So I’m something you’re waiting for?”

Robin freezes.

Because that’s not what she meant either.

But she hears how it sounds.

“No,” Robin says quickly. “No, Nancy, that’s not what I said. I’m not waiting for you like you’re some prize I’m trying to win. I’m saying I don’t know how to keep doing this—us—when it feels like every time we get close to something real, you pull away again.”

Nancy’s eyes flash immediately.

“That’s not fair,” she says, voice rising again. “You don’t get to act like I’m doing this to you on purpose.”

“I’m not saying you are,” Robin replies immediately, stepping closer again, trying to ground it, trying not to let it turn into another explosion. “I’m not accusing you of anything, I’m telling you how it feels from my side. That’s it.”

Nancy shakes her head, tears slipping again despite her trying to stop them.

“Well from my side,” she says, voice shaking now, “it feels like you were ready to leave the second things got hard. It feels like I walked into your room and saw proof that I was right.”

“That’s not proof of anything,” she says quietly. “That’s just me being overwhelmed in a room by myself.”

Nancy laughs again, broken.

“Overwhelmed enough to pack a suitcase?” she snaps.

Robin’s shoulders drop slightly, frustration creeping in now, not at Nancy, but at the situation.

“Yes,” she says, a little sharper. “Yes, Nancy, because I didn’t know what to do with myself after everything that happened between us. I didn’t know how to sit still. That’s what I do when I’m stressed. That’s it.”

Nancy stares at her for a long moment.

Robin looks… tired.

“So you’re telling me,” Nancy says slowly, “you weren’t leaving?”

Robin shakes her head immediately.

“No. I wasn’t.”

Nancy swallows hard, her voice quieter now but still shaking.

“Then why did it look like you were?”

Robin lets out a breath, slower this time.

“Because I didn’t think anyone would look close enough to see the difference,” she says.

She straightens slightly, like she’s trying to understand what she’s just been accused of.

“Why were you eavesdropping on my conversation?” she asks, voice low but edged. “Nancy, that wasn’t your business.”

Nancy laughs once, but it’s sharp and hurt more than amused.

Her eyes are still wet, but her posture is defensive now, like she’s refusing to back down even while she’s shaking.

“What is your business?” she snaps back immediately. “What is my business, Robin, when I’m standing in a house thinking you’re about to leave it because you got upset? What is my business when I walk into your room and it looks like you’re halfway out the door? What is my business when I hear you out there saying you can’t keep doing this with me?”

Robin exhales through her nose, “That’s not what I said,” she replies immediately. “You’re twisting it.”

“I’m not twisting anything,” Nancy shoots back, stepping forward again now, her feelings spilling over the edges. “I heard you. I literally stood in this house and heard you talk about a month and a half like it’s a countdown. I heard you say you can’t keep loving me like this. I heard you say you need to stop.”

Robin flinches at that, because that part is true enough that she can’t even argue it cleanly.

But she still tries.

“I didn’t say I’m stopping loving you,” she says, voice rising just slightly now. “I said I don’t know how to keep doing this in a way that doesn’t hurt me. That’s different.”

Nancy shakes her head immediately, tears spilling again.

“It doesn’t feel different,” she says, voice breaking. “It feels like you’re preparing to leave me.”

Robin steps closer, hands slightly raised again in that same grounding gesture she keeps defaulting to when things start slipping.

“I’m not leaving you,” she says firmly. “I’m right here.”

“But you’re already halfway gone,” Nancy fires back instantly. “You’re already planning your exit. You’re already telling yourself you need to move on.“

Robin pauses at that, breathing harder now.

Because this is exactly what she was afraid of.

Misunderstandings stacking on top of misunderstandings until neither of them can tell what’s real anymore.

“That is not what I meant,” Robin says again, slower this time, trying to force control back into her voice. “I wasn’t planning an exit. I wasn’t packing because I’m leaving you. I already told you why I was packing.”

“And I already told you what it looked like from my side,” Nancy snaps.

“So what,” she says quietly, more tired now than angry, “you just decided to listen to half a conversation through a wall and fill in the rest yourself?”

“I didn’t decide anything,” she says, voice rising again. “I walked into your room and saw a suitcase full of clothes and chargers and half your life packed into a bag. What was I supposed to think?”

Robin’s frustration finally cracks through a little.

“That I was overwhelmed,” she says sharply. “That I was trying to cope. That I wasn’t secretly plotting to leave without saying anything.”

Nancy shakes her head, stepping closer again now, voice trembling but intense.

“You don’t get to say that and expect me not to panic,” she says. “You don’t get to sit there talking about not being able to keep loving me, and then act surprised when I think you’re leaving. You think I’m just going to hear that and be calm?” she asks. “You think I’m just supposed to stand there and go, oh okay, Robin’s emotionally preparing to detach from me but it’s fine because she was just stressed?”

Robin shakes her head slightly, voice quieter again.

“I wasn’t detaching from you.”

“But it sounded like you were,” Nancy interrupts immediately.

“I don’t know how to say it in a way that doesn’t scare you,” Robin admits finally. “But I also don’t know how to pretend I’m okay when I’m not.”

“You’re the one who said it,” she continues, words coming faster now, messy with emotion. “You said I’ve got months. You said I’ve got time until summer, until we go off to different places and ‘get over each other’ like it’s some kind of plan you can just schedule out. You talked about it like you were preparing for it,” she says, voice cracking now. “Like you were already halfway out the door.”

She swallows hard, eyes glassy but furious.

“Do you know how that makes me feel?”

Robin doesn’t answer right away.

Nancy steps closer anyway, because she’s past the point of backing down.

“It makes me feel like you’ve already decided I’m not worth staying for,” she says. “Like you’re standing there trying to gently let go of me while I’m still—still right here trying to figure out what the hell is happening between us. While i’m still trying to figure out what’s wrong with me.”

Robin exhales sharply, but Nancy pushes through it.

“You think I don’t hear what I’m saying?” she continues, frustration spilling over. “You think I don’t know I said we can’t be together? That I said I don’t want to be seen like that? That I don’t want my whole life to be that?”

Nancy laughs once, but there’s no humor in it.

“So yeah,” she says, voice breaking again, softer but still intense. “Maybe I don’t want to be gay. Maybe I’m scared. Maybe I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Her eyes flick up to Robin’s.

“But you don’t get to use that as a reason to start leaving me while still standing here like nothing’s happening.”

Robin’s frustration finally breaks through fully.

She steps forward, voice rising as she tries to force Nancy to actually hear her point instead of reacting emotionally to it.

“Let me ask you something,” Robin says sharply, shaking her head. “Just—listen to me for one second. Why do you care so much?”

Nancy freezes, but Robin doesn’t stop.

“You don’t want to be with me,” she continues, words coming faster now. “You don’t want to be gay. You don’t want to be that gay girl at school. You don’t want your whole life to be that.”

Robin pushes through it.

“You want the normal thing,” she says, voice cracking slightly but still intense. “You want the husband, the house, the kids, the wedding, all of it. That’s what you’ve said. That’s what you want.”

A beat.

“So why do you care if I stop loving you?” Robin asks, louder now. “Why do you care? It doesn’t make sense.”

Nancy’s breathing gets sharper.

Robin gestures between them, frustration spilling over.

“You don’t want me,” she says again, like she’s trying to make it logical. “So I’m trying to get over you, and now you’re mad at me for that? Why do I have to keep beating myself up because you’re scared?”

The second it leaves her mouth Nancy snaps.

“Stop,” Nancy says, voice suddenly loud, cutting through everything.

Robin pauses.

Nancy steps forward, eyes blazing now, tears still there but pushed aside by anger.

“No,” she says, shaking her head hard. “No, don’t you do that.”

Robin frowns, confused.

“You don’t get to simplify me like that,” she says. “You don’t get to stand there and act like I’m just choosing between ‘you’ and some imaginary perfect life you’ve decided on.”

Robin opens her mouth but Nancy talks over her.

“And you don’t get to turn this into me not caring about you,” she snaps. “Because that’s not what this is.”

Her voice breaks, but she doesn’t stop.

“I do care,” she says, louder now. “That’s the problem. I care too much, and I don’t know what to do with it, and I’m scared, and I’m confused, and I am trying—trying—to figure out what I’m even supposed to do with my life right now.”

Robin goes still.

“So don’t stand there and tell me I don’t want you,” she says. “Don’t tell me I don’t care. And don’t tell me this is simple enough for you to just ‘get over me’ like it’s a switch you flip. Because if it was that simple,” she says, “none of this would hurt this much.”

Robin exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair like she’s trying to hold herself together and failing at it.

“And this—this is exactly what I mean,” she says, voice tight, frustrated now more than hurt. “You keep acting like I’m saying things to attack you, but I’m not.”

Nancy’s eyes narrow immediately, she gestures slightly between them, pacing one step and stopping again.

“You said I was trying to have power over you earlier,” Nancy says. “You said I was doing this because I found out you were gay. That’s such a messed up thing to say about me,” she snaps, voice rising. “Because that’s not who I am, Robin. That’s not even close to who I am. You don’t know how that made me feel,” she says. “You don’t know what it sounds like when you say that about me.”

“And you don’t know how it felt for me to hear you say I’m embarrassing,” she fires back. “You don’t know how it felt to hear you talk like being gay is something humiliating.”

Nancy flinches at that word.

Robin doesn’t stop.

“And come on,” she says, voice sharpening again, frustration spilling over. “Nancy, you’ve made jokes. You’ve said things before. You’ve laughed at stuff. You’ve literally told me you don’t want to be the gay girl at school. It made it really hard for me to come out to you,” Robin admits, quieter for a second, but still intense. “Even though you were my best friend. Even though I trusted you. Because I didn’t know what you were going to think of me.”

Nancy swallows hard. “I know that.”

“I know you know that.”

“Okay,” she says quickly, voice shaking, “and you know that. So then why would you think I’d suddenly just be—what—manipulating you or something because you’re gay?”

Robin’s frustration spikes again, but it’s more pointed now, less confusion, more insistence that Nancy is missing what she means.

“Because ever since I told you I was gay,” Robin says, voice tight, “you’ve been… different with me.”

Nancy’s head jerks slightly.

Robin keeps going, faster now, trying to explain it the way it feels in her head.

“Like, you started doing more stuff. You’d sit closer, like closer closer. You’d grab my hand more when we’re walking. You’d lean into me when we’re sitting on the couch like it didn’t mean anything. You’d look at me differently when we were alone—like you were trying to figure something out.”

Nancy’s face changes immediately.

“Robin—”

“No, listen,” Robin cuts in, shaking her head. “I’m not saying it’s bad. I’m not saying it’s wrong. I’m just saying it felt different after I came out to you.”

Nancy exhales sharply, stepping forward.

“That’s not true,” she says immediately. “That’s not—Robin, I’ve always been close and touchy with you. I’ve always been like that. Ever since we started actually becoming friends.”

Nancy’s voice rises,

“You’re acting like I suddenly changed after you told me something about yourself. I didn’t.”

Robin shakes her head.

“Yes, but after I came out to you,” she says, voice sharper now, “it got worse. It felt like you were trying to— I don’t know—like you wanted the power to lead me on or something.”

Nancy goes still.

Robin presses on, because once it’s out she can’t stop it.

“Like you  knew I liked you,” she says, “and you wanted to make sure I did. Or keep me there. Or keep me… close in a way that wasn’t fair.”

Nancy stares at her like she can’t believe what she’s hearing.

“Why do you think that?” Nancy says, voice breaking slightly. “That’s not true at all.”

Robin exhales, frustrated, stepping back a fraction like she’s trying to make sense of it too.

“Because that’s what it felt like,” she admits. “Because I was already vulnerable and then suddenly everything felt closer and I couldn’t tell if it was real.”

Nancy shakes her head immediately, eyes glassy now but sharper with emotion.

“No,” she says firmly. “No, Robin. That’s not what I was doing.”

Robin doesn’t back down.

“I’m telling you how it felt,” she says, frustrated now, pacing a step. “You don’t get to just erase how it felt for me.”

Nancy laughs once, sharp and disbelieving.

“Then why didn’t you ever say anything?” she shoots back. “Why are you bringing this up now? After everything? If you thought I was doing that, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you stop it? Why did you just let it happen and then suddenly decide it was suspicious a week later?”

Robin opens her mouth.

Nancy doesn’t let her.

“No, seriously,” Nancy continues, voice shaking but louder now, anger finally breaking through fully. “You never said a word. Not once. You never told me to back off. You never told me I was doing anything wrong. You just.. what, sat on it? And now you’re throwing it at me?”

Robin exhales.

“I didn’t know how to say it,” she says, but it comes out defensive now. “I didn’t know what it meant yet. I didn’t—”

“That’s bullshit,” Nancy cuts in immediately.

“That’s not bullshit,” she says immediately, voice sharp again. “It’s not bullshit, Nancy.”

Nancy’s eyes flash.

“Yes, it is,” she fires back instantly, stepping forward. “Yes, it is. Don’t just throw this at me like you’re building some case against me so you can win this argument. I’m not even trying to argue with you.”

Her voice shakes, but she doesn’t stop.

“And you’ve never brought this up before,” she continues, faster now. “Not once. Not ever. And now suddenly you’re acting like I’ve been doing something calculated or manipulative this whole time? Like I’m some fucked up person? I’m not. That’s bullshit, Robin.”

“You started acting differently,” she says, voice rising. “After I came out to you. You got closer, you leaned in more, you—”

“That’s not true!” Nancy interrupts immediately. “That is not true. I’ve always been like that with you.”

Robin cuts in, louder now.

“No, it changed,” she insists. “And I didn’t understand why. I still don’t understand why. But it felt like you took advantage of me being vulnerable with you.”

Nancy goes still for half a second.

Then her face twists in confusion.

“Robin—what are you talking about?” she says, voice breaking slightly. “Took advantage of you? What are you even saying right now?”

Robin exhales, pacing once, then turning back.

Nancy swallows hard.

“I’ve known you were gay for months, Robin.”

Silence.

It hits the room like something physically dropping.

Robin just stares at her.

Nancy keeps going, because now she’s committed.

“I’ve known for months,” she says again, quieter but sharper. “Because I read your journal.”

That does it.

Robin’s entire face changes.

“What?” she says immediately, voice low and dangerous. “You did what?”

Nancy freezes for half a second, like she only just realized how that sounds out loud, but she pushes through anyway, panic and anger mixing now.

“I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to—” she starts, then stops, then forces it out. “I saw it. I saw what you wrote.

Robin takes a step forward instantly.

“Oh my God,” she says, disbelief turning into anger fast. “Nancy, are you serious right now?”

Nancy flinches slightly.

Robin’s voice rises.

“You read my journal?” she snaps. “You went through my stuff? Are you actually kidding me?”

Nancy tries to defend herself immediately.

“I didn’t go looking for it like that—”

“That doesn’t matter!” Robin cuts her off, fully pissed now. “You invaded my privacy. You read something I never told you you were allowed to read. Do you hear yourself?”

Nancy’s face tightens again, defensive now instead of guilty.

“I’m telling you because you’re acting like I’ve been doing things behind your back too,” she says quickly. “And I’m saying I already knew. I already knew, Robin, and I didn’t say anything.”

“So that makes it okay?” she says. “That makes it fine?”

Nancy shakes her head fast.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“You read my journal,” Robin repeats, louder now, stepping closer again. “Months ago, you knew something this huge about me and you just—sat on it?”

Nancy’s voice rises again, desperate now.

“Because I didn’t know what to do with it!” she snaps. “And I didn’t say anything! I didn’t use it against you!”

Robin stares at her, breathing hard.

“But you kept it,” she says, voice tight. “You kept that information and you didn’t tell me you knew.”

Nancy swallows.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Robin shakes her head slowly.