#amy writes

Murray had looked at you with wide eyes, and the grin on his face was almost Cheshire cat-like. But perhaps he noticed the anxious look in your eyes, because his face had softened just a little at your request.

‘Ah… Interesting. Expecting a bun in the oven with a Mr. Steve Harrington?’

That sentence made your stomach flip awfully, and your head had whipped around so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash. No one had noticed yet. 

‘Shut up- I don't know! That's why I need the test- shit. Sorry, just-’

‘Relax, I'll see what I can do.’

‘Please keep it… Discreet.’

A couple of weeks later, and here he was again. Things were smuggled in the back of the giant transport produce machine; various things covered up by cabbages, carrots, tomatoes, and an array of things. 

Anxiously, you stood with Robin by the truck, Steve, Jonathan and Nancy were there too. Everyone usually requested something or another. 

“Did he…?” Robin whispers in your ear through her teeth, “y'know- get it?”

Aside from Murray, who knew out of necessity, Robin also knew of your current predicament. 

You'd been so nervous. So upset at the idea you could be pregnant, and Robin had noticed quickly- she paid more attention than people gave her credit for. It didn't take much for you to tell her.

‘I think I might be pregnant-’

‘What?! Sorry, I meant, what…? Is it… Steve's?’

‘If I am pregnant, then of course it is, who else would it be?’

‘Right. Dumb question-’

And then after that, she was your confidant. She knew, and you told her you asked Murray to bring a test next time he smuggled more supplies inside to everyone.

Robin buzzed with energy beside you. It made one wonder if you were the one possibly pregnant, or her.

“I don't know,” you hiss quietly, smiling a little at Steve when he looks at you and Robin, his eyebrow raised, a smile breaks out on his face when you look at him and smile, “I hope so.”

Murray dramatically hands things out and shows off things he brought- grenades, a whole load of bullets- is that barbed wire?

“And lookie here,” he sings, pulling out a box of Peanut Butter Boppers, shaking them at Steve.

“Peanut butter boppers! God, I missed these things,” Steve's joy is almost contagious as he catches the box of peanut butter snacks from Murray.

Almost.

If the stupid snack hadn't become your most recent enemy. The smell of peanut butter made your nose scrunch up. 

Once he gives something to Nancy, he turns to you, “and a special delivery for the lady. Or, one of the ladies.”

He hands you- hair dye? 

The colour doesn't matter, but you do note it's a colour a few shades lighter than your own hair currently.

Blinking owlishly, you take the box.

“I cannot wait to see the results.”

Your eyes dart away, and Robin looks over your shoulder at the box; you'd both easily figured out that this was not hair colouring, at least not just that. The test you asked for must be inside, too.

Thank god for discretion.

Before you can properly thank Murray, Steve comes over, already with a Peanut Butter Bopper in his hands, “hair dye?”

You jump, then narrow your eyes as he talks with his mouth full. The smell of the snack in his hand is somehow so much stronger to you than to anyone else.

“Ew, Steve,” you shudder, holding the box a little closer. 

“What? It's just peanut butter-” he swallows, holding it out a little, the box tucked under his arm, “you want some, baby?”

You glare at him weakly, “I'm fine.”

“Gross, dingus; I think even Neanderthals swallow their food before they speak,” Robin snorts, rolling her eyes, blessedly turning the attention away from you subtly.

“Did Neanderthals even speak?”

You groan, rubbing your eyes, “They had to communicate somehow. Maybe it didn't sound like how we sound, but-”

“I'm not a Neanderthal. Did Neanderthals have hair like this?” Steve huffs, then turns his attention back to you, “hair dye. Huh… I like your hair how it is, but if that's what you wanna do, anything would look good on you. You are beautiful after all.”

“You're trying to flatter me,” and it's working. It always does. He always makes you feel beautiful.

“Me, flatter my girlfriend? No, never.”

That makes your heart soften.

“This is fun and all, but we really need to go do this- uh- hair dye, thing,” Robin laughs awkwardly as she almost slips up, putting her hands on your shoulders, “no boys allowed. Sorry, Stevie.”

He bristled at the nickname, “Wha- you’re doing it here?” He balls up the wrapper of his snack, looking at the WSQK building.

“Why not? No time like the present; tell Nancy if she wants to use the bathroom for the next 20 minutes, it's occupied- we're… Making art.”

“Nancy's a girl too, though-”

Robin doesn't give him the chance to continue, pulling you away, “Sorry Steve, can't hear you! A lot of radio interference. Talk later!”

Steve scoffs at Robin, rolling his eyes so hard, it's a wonder they don't just fall out of his head.

You reach your hand out to Steve, taking the wrapper of his snack from him to throw out since you were going inside anyway, and he'd probably forget it in his pocket for the rest of the day. He takes the moment you're close enough to kiss you quickly.

“Don't stain the sink. Or, you can. But I'm not explaining the weird stains inside the women's  bathroom.”

You smile wearily, nodding. You felt bad for lying. But this was just something you needed to do first. You needed to know before you did anything else. 

Why worry him after all if it ends up being negative, right?”

》♡《

“What's it say?”

You love Robin. She's been a great friend for so long now, but god, you wish she would just be quiet for five minutes right now.

The pregnancy test sits on the bathroom counter, Robin standing at the bathroom door as you open it for her. She looks more anxious than you feel; rocking on the balls of her feet, eyes wide, a nervous tilt to her lips. 

“Because if it's positive-”

“I don't know yet,” you stop her, trying not to sound annoyed, but your nerves are frayed, “I need to wait five minutes before it'll give me the results.”

“...oh,” she breathes out, shifting her weight on her feet, “how do you feel?”

“Really fucking nervous,” you laugh, but it's not a sound of humour, “also really hoping Murray somehow forgets to bring Peanut Butter Boppers next time he comes; I can’t-”

Even the thought of the aforementioned snack made your stomach churn uncomfortably. 

Of all things, Steve had to love those peanut butter snacks. But you'd found in recent weeks that even the sight of the packaging had you feeling unwell. Outside earlier, it wasn't so bad, in open space, but…

Just the anticipation of the smell-

“Okay, no more thinking about Peanut Butter Boppers,” Robin says quickly, grabbing your arms and forcing you to sit on the lid of your toilet, “or talking about them. Or imagining them- y'know what? They don't even exist-”

Your face must look pale. Or a little green. All you know is you don't feel good. Is it because you're pregnant? Or is it nerves? You hoped it was just nerves.

“Why'd it have to be Peanut Butter Boppers?” Your voice comes out as a croak, pitiful, rubbing your hands into your eye sockets till you see stars. 

“Because he's the type to eat peanut butter from a jar. Probably. Maybe. And this is just the more efficient childproof version of it,” Robin, bless her heart, tries to make you laugh, her hands squeezing your shoulders, “at least it's not something like… Like… Those red hots you like. Can you eat red hots if you're pregnant- god-”

“Robin.”

“Right. Shutting up. Just relax. I'll get you a drink. Don't move.”

With that, Robin exits the bathroom, leaving you sitting on the closed toilet. It was a single-person bathroom, so not much room inside. The four walls felt almost suffocating as you placed your hands between your knees and leaned forward.

Relax. It could be negative, and you're probably just stressed out. Who wouldn't be, right? With the Crawls, the military in Hawkins- Max is still in a coma. Totally normal. Totally, completely, normal. A normal reaction.

The words you say in your head to try to comfort yourself fall flat; even as you're saying them in your head, you don't really believe that.

Knees bouncing, breathing out deeply through your nose-

What if it's positive?Then what? What would Steve say? What would you even do? He wants kids someday, but when he said someday, he hadn't meant now, during such a dangerous and unknown time-

“Hey, I got a water bottle, oh and these saltines. Those are like, good when you feel sick, right?”

Thank god for Robin. Now more than ever, you realize you actually need her to talk. Need her to be there. Because it actually distracted you from spiralling despite everything.

“Thank you, Rob,” the way you thank her as you take the cool water bottle from her, probably from the break room of the WSQK radio building, speaks volumes. 

It's not just thank you for the water. Or saltines. It's thank you for being here. Thank you for talking even when it seems like you're annoyed; you're just on edge. Scared.  Thank you for being my friend, especially right now.

“Don't mention it. What are friends for? I mean, aside from making them squeeze a rubber chicken for your radio station show.”

If you didn't feel half as bad as you did right now, a ball of anxiety and nausea, you would have laughed. Thinking about Steve, serious as he squeezes that rubber chicken into the microphone while Robin uses her fun personality to talk between songs on the radio.

As it stands, however, the best you can do is give her a shaky smile that you're almost sure makes you look pathetic. Like you might burst into tears. Especially based on the way Robin smiles at you like she feels bad. The best way to describe it is some form of pity.

After taking a few sips of the blessedly cool water, condensation on the sides, saltines in your lap, you tense up. You should look at it. The test; it had been more than five minutes at this point.

Robin seems to understand what you're thinking, “Do you want me to uh- look at it? Or uh-”

“No, it's-” you sigh like someone just stepped on your diaphragm to push all of the air from you at once.

Instead of finishing your sentence, because honestly, you don't know what you were even planning to say, you stand up, setting the half-empty water onto the counter along with the saltines and just bite the bullet.

You'd shoved the test as far on the counter as you could so that whenever you looked over in that general direction, your eye wouldn't somehow catch the results. A silly notion, considering the whole point of the test was to look at it and have an answer. 

With fingers far too shaky given the task at hand (thank god you're not being asked to defuse a bomb, though that might feel easier than this,) you pick up the test, which you purposely turn away from you, and stand there. 

“...uh, count of three?” Robin suggests, giving you an awkward but comforting smile.

Honestly, it wasn’t a bad idea. Just count down and look. 

“Yeah. Sure, count of three.”

“One… two… Wait- are you gonna look on three or on go?”

“Three.”

“Right. Okay, one… two… Three!”

You flip it over like ripping off a bandaid. 

Two lines.

And not just any two lines; two distinct, clear lines. You don't need to question it or squint to see if there's a faint line, because it's opaque as can be. Distinctly blue. 

It's like someone just drew it on. 

Your stomach drops. 

“What is it? Let me see,” Robin peaks over your shoulder and pauses, “uh- does that mean what I think it means. Because if it's what I think it means then-”

Throat suddenly dry as the desert, you swear you can hear the sound of your own blood rushing through your veins and your heart beating. You can hear it in your ears; you can feel it. 

Like a rug's been pulled out from beneath you, you stumble forward a little, face paler than when you thought about those stupid Peanut Butter Boppers.

Robin's quick on the draw, grabbing your shoulders, steadying you, “Whoa- hey, are you gonna pass out? Please don't pass out, I don't know good first aid- and if you fall and hit your head it’s gonna look like I murdered you or-”

She may as well be talking to you through a tube. 

“Okay, um- sit,” she takes the test and sets it aside before pushing your shoulders down to once more sit you on the toilet lid, “I'm going to get Steve-”

That pulls you out of your shock instantly, head shooting up, eyes frantic, “no-no! No, don't… You don't need to get Steve, I'm okay- Robin.”

Steve had always been good at making you feel better. Whether it was through silly jokes and acting ridiculous at times, or through holding your hands, asking what's wrong, listening, making you focus on him, Steve just knew what to do, usually when you were distressed. 

So Robin's knee-jerk reaction to search for him and bring him to you was normal. But not what you wanted. Not right now. 

“What? But-” she stops, frowning.

“I- just… I need a minute, Rob- fuck, how am I gonna tell him? What do I say- I'm pregnant-”

“You have to tell him, though,” Robin crouches by you, “...you are going to tell him, right? You have to.”

“I know. I will. I will tell him. I'm just overwhelmed. I just, god, this feels like a dream, tell me I'm dreaming.”

“I could pinch you?” She squeezes the flesh near your knee, making you jump, “...holy shit. You're pregnant. You're gonna have a baby- Steve’s gonna be a dad-”

With a quickness you didn't know you had in you, you cover her mouth and whisper, “Robin, don't- quiet!”

“Oh, right, sorry,” she says after pulling your hand away, “I'm just… Wow.”

Taking note of your distress, which only seems to have amplified, her hands grab your arms, “Hey- it's gonna be fine, right? Steve won't be mad, you know him. I mean, he might panic a little, he's prone to acting kinda… Clown-like sometimes. But it'll be fine.”

“I'm not worried about him being mad,” your voice sounds weak even to your own ears, “I'm worried about… I don't know. I can't- this is the worst possible time for this to happen, and we're not married or living together right now, not that that matters to me, but- this is just bad. A bad time. With Vecna, with Max in a coma, Dustin's having a hard time, the goddamn military everywhere we can't even breathe wrong-- it's just more stress that we don't need. Especially on Steve. Not when he's-”

“Yeah, okay, it's a bad time, I'll give you that. But you can't avoid it, you know? And sometimes things just… Happen, and we gotta deal with it as it comes. Like when those Russians interrogated Steve and I that one time-- wait, maybe that's a bad example, because like, baby is not the same as being tortured by Russians-”

“Robin, I'm scared.”

Her rambling stops as she looks at you, then wraps her arms around you. 

“I can't tell you what's going to happen, but you have to tell Steve. Then you guys can uh… Be scared together…?”

“I know…”

》♡《

“Right, so, then Steve and Dustin do the usual tracking Hopper in the van. This time, it's going to be in-”

Nancy talks and you try to listen, but it's futile. It had been a few days since you found out, and you hadn't told Steve. 

You did awkwardly tell him you decided you ‘didn't actually like the dye colour Murray got,’ which was why you eventually popped out of the bathroom, hair not changed at all. 

Another lie. It made you feel gross.

And Robin looked at you incredulously, brow raised, expecting you to tell him then, but she played along. It was up to you to tell him, and though Robin knew, it wouldn't be right for her to tell Steve; it wasn’t her news to share.

It hasn't stopped her from looking at you and doing ridiculous gestures when Steve wasn't looking.

You bounced your leg up and down anxiously as Nancy continued to go over the plan for tonight's Crawl. 

“--and she can help spy on the military base with Mike and Lucas,” Nancy looks at you, and you jump a little, coming back to yourself, blinking owlishly.

“Oh, um. Yeah, of course-” you stutter, embarrassed; you can feel the way Steve is looking at you- confused and concerned.

“Um, actually, Nance, I was thinking she stays with Joyce, Will and me here. Y'know, communicating with Hopper and all that.”

Nancy frowns, a little confused, and in turn, you look up, your brows furrowed at Robin, silently asking, "What are you doing?"

Robin raises her brows at you, her head moving along with the exaggerated movement; you'd be surprised if not one noticed it despite the fact that she's done it with the intention of being discreet somehow, communicating with you without words. 

“Actually, I don't-” Robin cuts you off.

“She's like, really good at… Listening to… Radio signals-” 

You glower at Robin. This time, it’s your turn to look at her with exaggerated looks, teeth clenched together as your lips silently form, What the hell does that even mean, toward her.

She shrugs a little. 

Nancy looks even more confused. As does everyone else around you in the downstairs hidden room of WSQK. Steve in particular is looking at Robin, and then you, as if she'd grown another head. 

His eyes silently ask you what the hell Robin was going on about. The best you can do is shrug, as if you don't know why she's acting how she is. Just Robin being Robin? Maybe? He stands near where you're sitting on a chair, his presence behind you is usually comforting, and it is, but it also has your stomach flipping with guilt.

“...Okay,” Nancy slowly responds, “that’s fine. So--”

Everything from there on out goes through one ear and out the other. Your hands pressed between your knees, something you've found yourself doing a lot more recently. An anxious response, maybe. Subtly protecting yourself? From what? You've no idea. You feel Steve's hand on your bicep at some point during the discussion, not looking at you, just subconsciously touching you. Thumb moving over your sweater in one spot.

It's like he can feel the tension without even being told; it's like it's a subconscious reaction from him to soothe or comfort, even if he's not aware.

There's the guilt again.

When everyone starts to get up and move, you shoot up and say something to Steve about talking to Robin before you grab Robin's arm, pulling her aside.

“Robin, what the hell?” You whisper-yell, “What was that?”

“That was me coming up with a way to keep you from sitting right outside the military base,” she whispers back, “you can't do that!”

“What? Robin, I'm not a glass doll-” you hiss, “it looked so suspicious- I mean, *she's good at listening to radio signals*’? Robin, what?”

“Okay, yeah, that wasn't a good excuse, but also to be fair, I panicked! And you need to tell Steve,” she hisses back, eyes narrowed, “and if you won't, then I'm gonna be the one making sure you don't go out and do anything dangerous, and are in the least dangerous position. You shouldn't be going out in your condition.”

You can't be truly mad at Robin. Not when the reason she's doing this is to protect you, keep you safe, keep the baby inside you safe. The thought still makes you feel ill. And she's frustrated you haven't told Steve yet. You know you need to. But it's like your brain freezes when you try to.

“What are we telling Steve, and what condition are you in?” His voice feels like a giant boom of Thunder, startling you and Robin both as you whip around to look at him.

Steve stands there, trying to be humorous, but it's plain as day to anyone that he's concerned. That's what he's overheard has him on edge, and he's about 10 seconds away from taking you to a doctor or some sort because all he heard was condition, and it would be dangerous for you out there. 

“Um- nothing, just…” You come up empty. Brain short-circuiting as your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, struggling to find air. But in your case, struggling to find an excuse.

“You're scaring me. What is it?” Steve's voice takes a more serious edge as he steps closer, his eyes darting from you to Robin, then back to you, “You two've been acting weird lately. Robin is weirder than usual, which is saying something.”

“Hey!” Robin indignantly frowns, but Steve hardly pays her any mind as he focuses his attention solely on you. His girlfriend, the person he loves more than he's ever loved before.

Who also looks extremely pale. And like she might be sick. 

Which wouldn't be far off; your stomach is in knots. And the nausea that never just happens in the mornings takes that as a cue to rear its ugly head. 

At least he's not eating a Peanut Butter Bopper. However, right now you don't think that would make a difference.

“Are you sick?” He asks then, and you shake your head.

“No- I just, I'll be right back,” the way you skirt around him to the bathroom doesn't help your case in the slightest.

You barely make it to the WSQK bathroom before your body almost betrays you. Not actually throwing up -- the only positive today -- but that awful feeling in your throat, the way you salivate, the way you feel a cold sweat form at the base of your neck, and a shiver runs down your spine. 

A sudden wooziness washes over you, fingers shaking a little, a gag that doesn’t make you throw up, but it makes you think you will. The anxiety forms as your breathing becomes a little uneven. You grip the edges of the sink and squeeze your eyes shut as they water, shallow breathing as you will yourself not to be sick. Begging your stomach, your nerves, everything to throw you a bone right now and give you a break. 

The moment you think you’ve managed to fight it back, your stomach is not rolling so much, and someone knocks on the door.

“Hey, can I come in?” Steve's voice, muffled through the door, is anxious; troubled. It's soft, but there's an edge of panic to it. 

“Uh-- no. No, no -- I'm okay. Just give me a second…” 

“You are not okay,” his voice becomes stern; there's a strain to his voice now that makes your throat close up more than before, “you've been acting weird. You've been zoning out for days now, and you just run off, looking about ready to throw up. Baby, come on, please, just… talk to me.”

Why does he have to sound so concerned? It's understandable, but it's gut-wrenching to hear him sound so upset. So worried about you. 

Your eyes squeeze shut, stinging with unshed tears, throat feeling much too tight. This was just perfect. This was just what you wanted-- for Steve to put the pieces together over time; to notice that something wasn't right and that you were being dishonest.

Steve wasn't dumb; he was smarter and more observant than people gave him credit for, and you knew it was only a matter of time before he put things together, at least partially. And called you out on it.

“I'm not sick,” you croak, voice cracking as you try to just breathe, you repeat, “I'm not sick.”

The silence thereafter is deafening. For a second, you wonder if he's even still there; it's that quiet. But the sound of him letting out a puff of air tells you he is. 

You can picture it. The way his brows are probably furrowed right now. His mouth is slightly downturned. His hands are either crossed or one of his hands has run through his hair more than needed, while the other rests on his hip. 

“Then what is it?” He finally speaks again, voice quiet, “because you're seriously scaring me right now.”

He's already said that before; scared. You're scaring him. But hearing it again, through a bathroom door, so quiet, makes it feel even worse. Makes it so much more real and raw and you can't keep pushing this away.

You should've listened to Robin, told him days ago. Maybe even told him when you started to suspect something.

Everything inside you feels gross. The nausea, anxiety, and that draining exhaustion that comes with keeping such a deep secret away from the other person who should know about it most, for days now, feels like it's crashing down on you all at once.

You can feel Robin pushing you, giving you that look, the one that tells you to do it.

Her voice is like an echo in the back of your mind; you have to tell him.

With a feeling so heavy, you feel like you're being dragged down, you let go of the sink, fingers numb from how tightly you had been holding it. Hesitantly, your fingers meet the cold metal of the door handle before you twist it, opening the door to see Steve.

Steve Harrington, standing there, looking exactly as you imagined him to be. Brows furrowed, the slightest of frowns on his lips, hands crossed over his chest. 

When he sees you, he looks at you immediately, eyes scanning you like he's making sure you're okay. As if he's expecting to find you missing a limb or something. 

He looks like he wants to wrap you up in his arms, but he stops himself, looking at you like any sudden movement might just have you closing the bathroom door again. 

“Hey,” he says carefully, as though you're a skittish deer, “what's going on?”

“I- don't freak out, okay?” After you say it, you realize that's just going to make him freak out more.

“...I'm already freaking out,” he lets out a nervous laugh, watching you, “you ran into the bathroom about to be sick. I'm freaking out, baby.”

Your lip trembles. 

Standing out there in front of the bathroom feels too open even if no one is around, so you step back and he takes the hint, stepping into the bathroom with you, the door shutting with a click.

“So, am I gonna get in trouble for being in the women's bathroom, or..?”

He tries to make you laugh, because of course he does. And while it makes your lips upturn slightly, the tremble doesn't disappear, and as fast as it came, the tilt turns downwards again. Your hands wring in front of you.

“I- god. Please don't be mad,” you swallow.

You don't think he's going to be mad. Not about you being pregnant, but maybe for the fact that you haven't just told him before now. 

“Mad? Why would I be mad? I'm not mad,” he stresses, his brows unfurrowing and raising in further concern, “why would I be mad about anything that has you this upset?”

He's going to make you fully cry. How lucky were you to have someone like Steve?

“I didn't know how to tell you- just- everything is so hectic right now in Hawkins with all this shit going on, and everyone is on edge, and we're looking for Vecna, and then Robin found out because I was getting nauseous and those Peanut Butter Boppers-”

“Okay, whoa, hey-  slow down,” Steve reaches out finally, holding your biceps and squeezing, thumbs moving across the fabric of the sweater you're wearing, an attempt to soothe you, “whatever it is, just tell me. I promise, I'm not mad. It's okay.”

“I'm pregnant.”

It comes out in a single breath; barely audible. Even saying it now feels weird. You haven't said it since you got the confirmation a few days ago. 

And Steve? Steve just stares at you. Not angry, not upset looking, but almost like he's not sure if he heard you right. When you don't correct yourself or say it again, he knows he heard you right.

“You're pregnant,” he repeats. 

You nod once, looking at him with shining eyes. A few beats pass.

“Oh. Holy shit,” he breathes out, “we made a baby.”

Well, that was one way to say it. A very Steve Harrington way to say it. 

Not you, we.

He isn't really looking at you anymore, processing your words. His thumbs still continue to move in smooth circles on your arms, however. 

The silence is too much, “I'm sorry,” you croak, breath hitching, “I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, I should've told you- I didn't want to make things harder, and- and- I'm just scared. I'm scared, Steve-”

“Hey,” he stops you before you can ramble again and put yourself into another state of panic. Your panic pulls him from his own shock, “I'm not mad, I told you I wouldn't be mad, baby. I'm not- I'm just…”

His mouth closes, then opens, closes- then, “...surprised. Uh- amazed?” 

One hand leaves your arm to cradle the back of your head, his thumb moving along your scalp now, “and, yeah, scared too maybe. But not mad. And harder? You aren't making things harder for me. Just- wow.”

“Steve…” your voice breaks, and he's pulling you closer to him, pressing his lips to the crown of your head.

Eventually, after holding you there, soothing you, he pulls himself away just enough so he can look into your eyes, hands moving to cradle your face like you're something precious. 

To him, you are.

“You're not making things harder for me,” he repeats himself more firmly, “sure, is the timing not the best? Yeah. But that's not a big deal. We've always made it through tough times, together, right?”

You nod, lower lip jutted out as it trembles, eyes focused on him. His beautiful brown eyes, so reassuring, so loving, despite his own internal shock and feeling of being overwhelmed.

“You're giving me, us, something good,” he whispers, “just… Sooner than we thought.”

Part of the fear you'd been feeling fades away. Not completely, but it's soothed by Steve's words, his presence. Everything about him. Suddenly, things feel a little less horrifying and a little more hopeful. 

“So- you aren't mad?” You can't help but ask, despite knowing he isn't. 

“No,” he laughs shakily, like the air being ripped from him in one fell swoop, “not mad. Nervous? Yeah. Possibly about to pass out? That too. But not mad.”

It makes you laugh too, choked and watery, fingers finding their way to his sides, curling into his sweater. 

His lips find yours in a kiss that's so gentle and soft that it makes you want to melt. It speaks a promise through physical touch over words that he isn't quite sure how to say right now, just that he knows he's here and it's okay.

When he pulls back, he barely moves away, his lips close to yours, so close you can feel his breath mingling with your own. His thumbs move across your cheeks, wiping away stray tears. 

“We always figure things out,” he breathes, “we're gonna figure this out too.”

A beat. 

“...so, that's why you keep looking at my Peanut Butter Boppers like they're the grossest thing you've ever seen.”

A snort escapes you, and he presses his lips to yours again.

And finally, you feel like it's going to be okay. 

And like you should've listened to Robin and told him from the start. You wouldn't hear the end of that anytime soon.

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