Chapter Text
Okay, okay, maybe Steve did need glasses now.
After getting concussion after concussion every year since the first time he fought a Demogorgon in the Byers' house, Steve should've known that it'll come back to bite his ass.
It's also very important to remember that Steve is as stubborn as a bull, so he will ignore the problem until he can't anymore.
The problem becomes unignorable on a quiet Wednesday evening.
It's just Steve and Robin waiting for closing time and— thank God— the job at Family Video has been easier than slinging ice creams. It's only been a few months since the Starcourt Mall burned down and his migraines are getting worse each day. When it's not being able to get up from bed from auras or head-splitting headaches that makes him wish the first Demogorgon just finished him, it's just constant pounding in his head.
"—ingus?" Steve presses a finger on his temple. He wishes he could dip his finger into his brain to massage it. He squints down at the invoice of new VHS tapes that he should’ve finished an hour ago if only his head isn’t trying to kill him.
"Steve?!" Steve feels a hand shake his shoulder, making him yelp from the sudden contact. He turns around to see Robin standing behind him, arms crossed, watching him with pity.
"Robin! God, you're gonna give me a heart attack!" Steve clutches as his chest.
Robin squints at him, and her nose does this little crinkle that Steve's learn to love over the few months. It shows her confusion, her worry.
"I've been calling you for a few minutes now!" Steve flinches from the volume. It was already too damn bright, and Keith won't allow him to wear sunglasses in the store.
Steve hushes her before looking at the invoice again and digging through the box.
Robin appears by his side, looking softer than before, "Are you okay? Are you having another migraine?"
Steve nods as he checks off The Goonies from the list and places it in the pile he's created.
Robin takes off his hands from his temple, replacing them with her cold hands. Steve audibly sighs at how nice her cold hands are against his temple.
"This is like your third headache this week, Steve. Have you had a full episode? Like with auras and stuff?" Robin asks, still drawing circles against his temple.
Steve shakes his head, checking and adding Clue to the pile. God, when will this be over?
Robin continues, "Have you been sleeping well? You said you haven't had nightmares lately."
Steve looks back at her, the crinkle on her nose is still prominent and Steve wants to smooth it out with his fingers, "Rob, I haven't slept well since 1983. The migraines are just a new addition to the combo."
Robin’s lips twist into a thin smile, "Okay, alright, we'll do something about it, okay?"
Steve nods at her, and if she wasn't Robin Buckley, Steve might've declined the help. But Robin is Robin. It's so unbelievable that in the pile of inter-dimensional monsters, government cover-ups and tragedies, Steve would meet his platonic soulmate.
Robin's face lights up with a smile when she got him to accept the help before backing away, "Go finish the invoice."
Steve frowns, upset by the loss of contact. But still looks down at the invoice. He tries to finish it as best as he can. He only has 5 tapes left to be checked and it's 20 minutes until they close.
"Here." Robin hands him a coke. It's cold and nice and Steve immediately drops what he's doing to put it on his forehead, his eyes dropping from relief from the contact almost immediately.
Robin laughs quietly, "Aw, babe, I know it feels good, but I bought it for you to drink."
Steve looks up at her, tilting his head in curiosity as he rolls the can against his forehead.
"I read this article, a few days ago. I went to the library at school and looked for things that can help migraines— because you know, you won't let me bring you to the doctor— but that's over now. We are calling tomorrow, and we are getting an appointment. Anyway, I read this article that caffeine will help, and I thought hmmm," Robin taps her chin to show she's thinking, "Coffee won't work because you'll probably stay up all night, but coke is good! So I thought we might try it again when you have another headache! I've been keeping them in the employee fridge and my bag!"
Steve smiles as she rants about coke and migraines and articles and thinks of his best friend having a can of coke in her bag for him. Some might've found the ranting annoying, but he finds it endearing, even soothing.
"You did the research for me?" Steve asks, biting back a small smile as he opens the coke and gulps a few of it down before putting it back against his temple.
"Yeah, of course..." Robin's smiling at him now, "I know you'd do the same for me, right, dingus?"
Steve nods, taking another sip of the cold drink. Robin pats his back gently, "Well then, get back to work, mister! We're closing in a few minutes!"
Steve looks back at the invoice and doesn’t even try to hide the smile on his face as he sees the next tape, checking and adding a new copy of Back to the Future in the pile.
He smiles at it.
Yeah, Steve would do it for Robin too.
They do go to a local neurologist the following week. They both asked for a day off from Keith, and Robin is skipping a day of school to accompany him, even though he's assured her he can do it alone. She’s been stubborn about the whole thing, but hey, maybe that’s why they’re friends.
They do tests, after tests, after tests, after tests. It ends with him getting an MRI and almost having a panic attack at how claustrophobic it made him feel. He only calms down when the guy controlling it says, "Your girlfriend can come with you." So Robin stands on the end of the cave-ish contraption, talking animatedly about their last band practice and how it was delayed because they can hear Chrissy Cunningham and Jason Carver fighting from the lockers.
In the end, he gets diagnosed with chronic migraines. He’s given a prescription to take every day to help slow it down and some other medication to take when he has attacks and can’t handle it anymore. Steve happily takes everything, just happy they’re finally going to have a solution for his headaches.
Steve’s smile drops when the doctor recommends that he should also visit an optometrist to check his eyes because it will 100% help manage and minimize his migraines.
He’s not even out of the clinic yet, and he’s already protesting and shaking his head. But all Robin does is glare at him and firmly say, “No. Shut up.” and books an appointment for the eye doctor.
“I don’t want to wear glasses.” Steve sulks in one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs as he and Robin watch a child play with building blocks.
“I know, but you can always get contacts instead.” Robin sighs.
They’ve had this conversation so many times in the past three days that Robin’s just exhausted.
“But I don’t want to stick my hands on my eyes.” Robin watches as her best friend, Steve Harrington— a full-grown man who’s killed monsters from another dimension— pout as he picks on his jacket.
Robin would never say it out loud, but she knows why Steve doesn’t want glasses. For Steve’s whole life, people have minimized his value to just his looks, and at some point he started believing it. Robin knows because she was also one of them— before ice creams and monsters and signed NDAs— so yeah, she knows that some people see Steve Harrington for just his looks. Robin doesn’t deny the fact that Steve was confident and charming, but when it all comes down to it, she knows that Steve thinks that without the looks, the hair, the golden boy persona, that he is nothing.
And maybe, ten months ago, Robin might’ve done this out of guilt, but now, she’s just doing it for pure love. Steve isn’t just his attractiveness, money or hair. Steve is Robin’s best friend who never admitted and still denies that he stalled the Russians as long as possible so Robin won’t get hurt.
So if Steve needs glasses or contacts to help with his headaches and vision, yeah, Robin will push him until he can see clearer than an owl at night and fight anyone who says anything weird when he starts wearing them.
“It’ll be fine, okay? I’ll help you put it in the morning, even teach you how to clean it and remind you to put it in the saline.” She reaches over to pat the hand that’s been picking on the loose thread for a few minutes now, “It’ll be okay, dingus. Better than you squinting around like you’re fifty years old.”
“Hey!” Steve yelps and swats her hand away. He’s acting as if it annoys him, but a smile is finally on his face.
“Harrington?” A lady calls out, making both of them jump up from their seats. Steve looks at her once more, a spark of worry in his eyes.
“It’ll be okay,” Robin says before grabbing her bag to come with him.
It will be okay.
If that means Robin has to stick her fingers in Steve’s eyes every morning to put his contacts on, to bring an extra solution with her everywhere just in case he feels like his eyes are too dried out, and if she needs to be the one to book the appointments to pick up newer ones because his concussions have also made him so forgetful, yes, Robin will do it for the rest of her life and it will be okay because it’s the two of them.
It's always going to be the two of them.