Robin is hiding under Steve’s bed so she can grab his leg and scare the shit out of him when he comes in. Except, she knows she’s fucked up when she hears voices outside his bedroom. Plural. Her best friend in the whole wide world is, unfortunately for Robin, not alone. She knows why anyone would be seeing the inside of Steve Harrington’s bedroom. And they’re taking their own fucking sweet time as well probably making out on their way— yuck.
The door swings open when Robin is contemplating the least disastrous way she could escape the bedroom and in walks Eddie Munson. Relief floods her chest as she realizes now she doesn’t have to destroy her reputation already hanging by a thread. Then she also realizes she could scare both dumbasses, two birds one stone.
The two are still standing too far from the bed and Robin tunes out of their conversation choosing to use her brain power to mentally will them closer to her. Which is why it takes her completely by surprise when Steve— her straight ass best friend STEVE— leans in and kisses Eddie right on the mouth.
Robin claps a hand over her mouth to stop her from screaming. Her best friend a boy kisser? Her Steve?
Robin is nothing if not committed to the bit. Eddie would be proud. She waits till they get close enough even though it pains her to exist in the same room two boys are making out in. They’re play fighting, then Eddie shoves Steve into the bed and it’s now or never.
Robin reaches out at grabs one black jean clad shin and Eddie goes yowling and jumping up in surprise like he’s in some cartoon.
4K notes
·
View notes
Grian had taken her aside quietly. He'd awkwardly talked around the idea of her remembering now; apparently, he didn't know if her victory counted. She'd rubbed the back of her head and hadn't quite realized what he was talking about and said something about the games and, ah. Apparently she does remember now. Apparently the victory counts. Apparently this means he needs to say sorry.
Cleo considers not accepting the apology. Grian would get the wrong idea then. If she said: you don't need to apologize for shit, or maybe, there's nothing to apologize for, he'd take that as: you are exactly as bad as you're convinced you are. Honestly, Cleo's not sure whether that means Grian would decide he'd done nothing wrong or everything, but that's besides the point.
She'd never not remembered, is the point.
Frankly, Cleo hadn't realized people were meant to be not remembering. She's honestly a bit embarrassed not to have figured it out. Surely that can't be right. Cleo has held every single slight and every single ally and every single person she has ever connected to right in her ribcage, next to where her carved-out, unbeating, torn-up heart lies, the entire time these games have gone on. Each game, a new fact carved into the bone that makes them up.
Names ribbon around her memories. Bdubs and the Crastle and Scott and soulmates and Pearl and friend-turned-foe and Etho and survivor and Bigb and traitor and Scar and son and everything else. She wouldn't be the same at all if she didn't remember. Everything she is, it's built on top of everyone that was.
Maybe it's a zombie thing. The undead are said to be memories that can't fade as much as anything else, after all.
But she can't really explain this to Grian, of course. If nothing else, that would require explaining the place he's taken next to her heart, too, and frankly, that's way too mushy for the both of them. What ends up coming out her mouth is: "Oh. Does that really change anything?"
Grian stares at her a moment.
"You know, I guess not?" he says.
"Right then," Cleo says. "Cool. Good to know my victory means nothing then."
Grian squawks. "You can't just say it like that! That's depressing!"
Good enough.
She buries 'not-supposed-to-remember' 'not-sure-if-it-counts' 'laughing-as-scott-dies' and 'I-have-always remembered' in the same place in her ribcage, so she won't forget it, and then she does the thing that sets her apart from the common zombie:
She moves on.
959 notes
·
View notes