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Robin slots the tape into the VHS player, waiting for the tv to turn on, the static from the screen prickling across her skin as she sits before it.
Behind her, Steve sets down their movie snacks— caramel corn for her, tortilla chips for him— before sighing as his back pops.
“This had better be good,” he mutters, rolling his eyes when she glances back to look at him. “I don’t want to waste my one free afternoon this weekend.”
She smirks at him, twisting back to face the tv and nodding to herself as the beginning of the tape starts— she was not looking forward to rewinding it herself, be kind and rewind still haunting her all these years after she’s left Family Video. “That’s what you get for scheduling practices twice a week, and hosting GSA once a week, and going to the Byers’ once a week too,” she points out, pushing up from the floor and making a beeline for the couch. “No one said you had to do that.”
Steve splutters from the doorway, their drinks in his hand from where he’d grabbed them from the kitchen. “Have you seen them play?” he asks, ignoring her other points as if she isn’t his assistant coach for the girl’s basketball team. “They’re so close to perfection.”
She rolls her eyes, holding her hand out for the ice-cold coke. “They’re middle schoolers,” she says dryly. “I don’t think they’re perfect.”
“Well I do,” he says earnestly, slapping her drink into her palm and settling onto the couch next to her. “And they think we’re perfect too .”
“They think we’re strange as hell,” she says, grinning at him. “They literally told me last week that they thought that you were an alien sent to destroy the sanctity of the school and that they thought you were doing a really good job.”
Steve squints at her, clearly gauging her sincerity, and groans when she waggles her eyebrows at him. “Is this because of the—”
“Because you and Eddie got caught in the parking lot by Susan Poole’s mother?” Robin says, waggling her eyebrows even harder. “Yeah.”
Steve groans, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “We were literally just holding hands,” he bemoans, as if she doesn’t know. “It wasn’t like we were fucking — I wouldn’t— I wouldn’t do that in the school parking lot.”
“Good to know you have standards,” she says archly, sticking her tongue out at him when he swats half-heartedly at her. “Not in the school parking lot, I hear you.”
“I hate you,” Steve mutters, peeking at her through his fingers.
“No, you don’t,” Robin says smugly, and Steve sighs.
“No, I don’t,” he agrees.
They fall silent for a moment, studying the upcoming features spilling across the screen, Pocahontas’ sneak preview, Robin squinting at the screen in muted disbelief, because that’s not the story she’s studied, before Steve sighs.
“Did they really use the word sanctity? ” he asks, sounding exhausted. “Because I don’t think I can keep up with them at this point if they did.”
Robin snorts, throwing her legs over his lap and letting herself fall back against the armrest. “Yeah,” she says, proud as hell. “We’d gone over it in relation to the Hagia Sophia last week, and I guess they were just itching to use it.”
Steve pinches at the bridge of his nose, sighing again. “Who let the kids get so smart these days? I always thought that the Party was a bunch of nerdy outliers.”
“I think they were but also, like, they weren’t ever really,” she says, before frowning. “That didn’t really come out the way I meant it to— I just think that their version of nerd is now the cool assumption a little bit.”
“Even the dragons and dungeoning bit?” Steve asks, smirking as his face is illuminated by Cinderella’s magical dress transformation, the white sending his hair silver, and for a moment, Robin can’t breathe because— this is it, she knows. When Steve’s silver and grey, and her face is wrinkled with laugh lines, and their hands hurt when they cradle them together— they’re still gonna be here, piled together on a couch, still sinking into each other.
“Robs?” Steve says, his smirk dipping a little bit, and she smiles at him as he reaches out and cups her cheek, leaning into his warm calloused palm. “You okay babe?”
She hums, pressing a kiss to his hand. “Yeah,” she says, watching as he smiles, echoes of the teenage boy she loves still etched into his face. “Yeah, of course, I am— M’ here with you, aren’t I?”
He blinks at her for a beat before he flushes slightly, somehow still a little unused to her love— or at least her verbalization of it. “You’re too much,” he says carefully, and she can hear the weight of it in his voice, the quiet return of her love. He watches her for another beat before he smooths his thumb over her cheekbone and blinks slowly as he pulls his hand away. “Love you.”
“Love you,” she says, quick on the draw, her gun of adoration for Steve Harrington always locked and loaded to shoot. “Can you believe this is our life now?”
He snorts, shaking his head. “Imagine telling seventeen and sixteen-year-old us that this is where we’d end up,” he says. “We’d have had a conniption.”
She grins at him, lets her mouth get big and wide like she always does when Eddie gets a little too into a meandering tale and gets stuck in the clouds and she has to drag him back to earth— has to prove that she’s just as dangerous as those thoughts of his. “You’d have a conniption,” she says. “I’d be fucking baffled— convinced I somehow unlocked the secret to heterosexuality.” She laughs, loud and bright. “I’d never even think that I’d have infected you too.”
“Don’t call it an infection,” Steve mutters, a ghost of his counselor tone in his voice. “You start making those kinds of jokes and then—”
“They can become thought patterns,” she finishes, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. “I know babe. I do think that I’ve infected you— just a little bit.”
He scowls at her, his brows furrowing. “Only if I get to infect you too,” he says, giving up any attempt to corral her into better word choices. “It’s not fair if only one of us is infected with the other.”
She laughs, delighted as always by the direction Steve’s brain takes them. “Fair enough,” she says before the beginning strains of the music from the movie interrupt her.
“This is a musical?” Steve mutters, as the sun rises. “I thought it was a movie?”
“It can be both,” she offers, cocking her head and trying to nail down the language. “Like it can be a kid's movie and also supposedly the most impressive bit of movie that we’ve ever seen,” she says, quoting Lucas’ surprisingly impassioned speech. “It can have depths, Stevie.”
“Humph,” he mutters, crossing his arms petulantly, as if she’s the one who has the stash of old musicals that appear during the rainy season in October and April, before disappearing the rest of the year. “I thought it was just a movie.”
“It’s not just anything,” she says, making her voice lofty. “Is anything just anything?”
Steve groans. “It’s times like these, that I wonder why you majored in history and not like psych or some shit like—”
“Shhhh,” she says, worming her hand across his mouth. “I’m trying to pay attention.”
Steve subsides with a muffled groan, and she settles in against his side more firmly, absentmindedly popping a few pieces of caramel corn into her mouth and crunching as she takes in the beautiful art spilling across the screen.
For a few long moments, neither of them speak, both enraptured by the scenes playing out, before Robin snorts.
“This is like watching you and Dustin,” she says, pointing at Mufasa and Simba, Simba crouched down and wiggling as he attempts to pounce. “And I’m like Zazu, always trying to keep you on track, and always tackled for my efforts. She sighs, shaking her head. “If only my liege would stop tackling me down for the glory of his son.”
Steve huffs, reaching out to cuff her on the shoulder in a move eerily reminiscent of the way he used to corral the kids. “If anyone’s leading me into trouble it’s you,” he says, grinning as she gasps faux-affrontedly.
They quiet down when Scar reappears, Simba chasing after him, all gleeful enthusiasm as Steve stiffens slightly next to her.
She worms her hand into his as Simba proudly talks about he’s going to become the next pride leader, as Scar clearly sets him up for a trap.
Steve lets out a sharp exhale when she squeezes, glancing down at her and meeting her steady gaze.
“Reminds me of how sharp the kids can be sometimes,” he mutters. “How cruel those who get overlooked can become, how sad and hurt and— and lonely.”
Robin sighs, smiling up at him, warm fondness filling her. “Only you’d look at the villain and feel empathy,” she says, watching as he wrinkles his nose.
“Yeah, well, when he hurts Simba— all bets are off,” Steve murmurs, glancing back at the screen, before he snorts. “The elephant graveyard sure sounds like something all the kids would want to get into though.”
“Course it does,” she says. “It sounds dangerous and spooky and also fun, so all kids are gonna want to go.” She peeks up at him. “Even the lion kids .”
Steve wrinkles his nose as he looks down at her. “Are— was that a weird pun,” he asks flatly, rolling his eyes when she waggles her eyebrows at him. “Or like a play on words or something?”
She shrugs, shoving a handful of caramel corn into her mouth to avoid answering— she doesn’t know what the hell it is, she just knows she said it— before refocusing on the movie.
She can feel herself and Steve growing tenser throughout the exploration and fleeing of the elephant graveyard— the hyenas in particular set a strange look on Steve’s face before they both relax slightly, as Mufasa explains about the great kings in the sky.
Steve sighs, taking a sip of his drink, and Robin wiggles in closer to him on the couch, resting her cheek on his shoulder.
“They don’t pull punches with these songs, do they?” she asks idly, as Scar plans the murder of Mufasa via singing. “This one’s really good too.”
“I think the one about becoming king was better,” Steve says, even as he taps his fingers to the beat. “I liked all the colors— this one’s just the evil green color.”
She snorts. “It’s about the song, Stevie, not about the view.”
“Well, I like the songs that are a little less blatantly murder-y, then,” Steve mutters. “The king one was all about wonder and absolutely no sense and little kids being happy.” He shrugs, clearly still careful not to jostle her too much. “I liked that.”
She hums. “I liked it too,” she admits, like it’s some shameful secret, and smirks at him when he huffs.
They fall silent again, enraptured by the story that’s unfolding before them, and Robin keeps her fingers linked with Steve’s, squeezing his hand tighter and tighter as the tension builds— the setup, Scar’s evil laid bare for the two of them to watch, as he hooks his claws into Mufasa’s and declares long live the King.
She sniffles, her eyes tracking over Simba’s tiny face, the way he burrows under his dad’s paw, and glances up, swallowing as she watches a tear slip down Steve’s face.
It hits close to home— too close, if she’s being real. They’ve both felt the sting of loss over the past decade, friends slipping away, people dying in the final surge against the Upside Down, and then— before all that— on the first night, when Steve and her had become the Steve-and-Robin duo that they were known for— Hopper had died, or almost died, but, regardless— she knows that Steve had carried that weight of guilt around for years, even after he’d returned from Russia.
They both had— even though she didn’t know anything about anything at that point. But they’d been high, and hurting, and off their game, and both had believed that if they’d been a little bit quicker, a little bit more with it, that maybe Hopper never would’ve even seen Russia.
As Scar appears on screen, stalking his way through the canyon, she glances over at Steve, watching as his lips press together, tiny flickers of rage appearing on his face as they listen to Scar sow seeds of doubt.
No one...ever means for these things to happen... But the king is dead. And if it weren't for you, he'd still be alive.
Steve makes a tiny, punched-out noise and curls into her, slumping down and over her like he’s a kid seeking shelter. She doesn’t even pause, grabbing him and shifting them backwards, sending the two of them sprawling out across their threadbare couch, her cheeks pressed against his chest as they stare at the television in muted sorrow.
“He’s just— he’s a baby,” Steve whispers as they watch Simba get up and scramble away, the hyenas chasing after him, the malice in their voices as they scream about killing him if he returns. “And I— I know this isn’t anything but— he’s just a baby.”
She hums, sniffling slightly, and rubs her cheek more firmly into his chest. They breathe together, watching as Simba gets prodded awake, saved, and welcomed into the oasis in the desert.
“You know,” Steve says after a beat, mischief in his voice even through the thickness in his throat, still sniffling slightly as he breathes. “You’d be Timon, I think.”
She stares at the screen, takes in the immediate way that Timon directs the two of them, and narrows her eyes. “That means you’d be Pumbaa,” she says, grinning up at him as he immediately pauses, his eyes flaring with something like surprise. “Look at you,” she coos. “Asking to keep the kid.”
“I can’t be Pumbaa,” Steve splutters, reaching out to gently shove at her. “He’s— he’s stinky.”
Robin’s mouth drops open and Steve shakes his head, flushing a bright red Robin hasn’t seen in months, not since that time she stumbled in on him pirouetting in his office to the delight of a bunch of no-longer-sad sixth graders.
“That’s not— that’s not the only reason,” Steve says desperately as she begins to laugh, loud and shocked, tears spilling from her eyes as she doubles over with the force of it. She registers the movie pausing, the whine in Steve’s voice as he tries to convince her that it isn’t just the smell that prevents him from being Pumbaa, and lets herself collapse fully against him, wiping her wet eyes on his shoulder.
“Stinky,” she gasps out as he threads a hand through her hair and tugs once in gentle admonishment. “Can’t be a warthog because he’s stinky, oh jesus christ.”
“It was instinct,” Steve whines, flushed and embarrassed and happy when she peeks up at him through her lashes. “I don’t— I don’t smell , okay? It’s like my number one thing, aside from you know, being generally just like— put together, but I don’t— do I smell? Have I been smelly this whole time? I don't want to be smelly. Have I—" He takes an exaggerated sniff of himself and Robin bursts back into laughter, swatting at him half-heartedly.
“You’re— you’re a fool,” she gets out, the words hissing through her teeth, her fingers knotting in Steve’s soft gray sweater. “You’re so ridiculous .”
When she finally composes herself, her cheeks hurt from smiling so wide and her stomach hurts from laughing, and Steve looks the most pleased she’s seen in a while, pink-faced and rumpled.
“You doin’ okay babe?”
She snorts, biting at her lip, and shakes her head. “Don’t babe me after that,” she says, thumping him lightly on the shoulder. “Not after you almost made me throw up from laughter.”
He grins at her, before forcing his attention back to the tv. “Onwards then?”
She hiccups over a laugh again, nodding, and he turns the movie back on, the two of them falling into quiet contemplation as they watch Timon, Pumbaa, and Simba grow together, both of them humming along to hakuna matata.
She grins at Pumbaa’s predicament as Nala stalks onto the scene, glancing up at Steve only to find him already half-heartedly glaring down.
Not a word, he mouths, and she nods solemnly, turning back to screen, unsurprised as she watches Simba and Nala fall in love.
“Oh my god,” Steve says, breaking them from their self-imposed silence, his eyes rounding as she looks up at him. “Simba and Nala are in love? ” He glances down at her. “Did you know about this?”
She blinks at him, chewing on her lip. “Stevie,” she says carefully. “They’ve kinda made it clear the whole movie since, you know, she was the only lion cub introduced aside from Simba.”
“I just— I thought they were gonna be best friends,” he mutters, his cheeks flushing slightly, as he looks back at the screen again before glancing down at her. “I didn’t— I thought they were gonna be just like us.”
She softens into him even more, shaking her head slowly. “Not everyone can be us,” she murmurs. “Sometimes there’s gonna be characters in love instead.” She shrugs. “People think that’s the strongest love there is.”
Steve looks at her, both of them half-heartedly paying attention to the movie from the corners of their eyes. “Well, that’s stupid,” he says with finality. “We’re not in love, I mean, we kinda are but only because I think we both live inside each other, and that’s technically in you know?”
She nods, a tiny smile playing around her mouth. “I know,” she says as sincerely as she can manage without bursting into tears. “I know.”
“Oh,” Steve says, like he’s somehow surprised by her answer. “Right.”
She pushes her cheek more firmly into his chest and smiles as his arms curl around her, relaxing fully against him.
They fall quiet for nearly the rest of the movie, only occasionally murmuring observations about what they’d do differently if they were there, about how fucking shitty Scar is, before settling into a tense silence as Simba gets pinned, before flipping Scar away.
“Hell yeah,” Steve whoops, the sounds of his excitement lighting Robin up from the inside. “Get his ass , Simba.”
Robin snickers, all the heaviness of their talk before flying away as Simba does as Steve commands, and kicks Scar's ass.
They remain entangled and happy for the rest of the movie, Steve not even tensing up as Scar lunges back up, murmuring cheerfully in her ear about happily ever afters, and they both find themselves bobbing their heads along to the beat as Nala and Simba welcome a new cub to the pride.
"Damn," Steve breathes out as the drums fade out. "Can we watch that every week?"
She laughs, shaking her head, slipping off the couch, and crouching down to rewind the tape. “Don’t you think you’ll get sick of it?”
“No,” Steve says, looking back at her, but she can read between the lines, just like she knows he’s reading between hers. “I could never.”
She hums, reaching out and he’s already reaching back, and they hold hands for a long moment, until her shoulder aches at the angle she’s holding it over the coffee table, but she holds on a little longer, because, well, Steve’s no, I could never , feels a lot like love you, and she wants to linger in this moment forever.
“I could never,” Steve repeats, and she mouths the words back, grinning bright and happy as he scrunches his face up with delight.
“Love you,” she whispers, squeezing his hand tight. “Love you always.”