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"Goodnight," Robin says, slumping hopelessly onto the couch. She tugs the blanket you'd had around your shoulders over herself, snuggling down into it until she's a fuzzy blonde and blue burrito.
"It's three o'clock in the afternoon," you feel compelled to point out. Robin arches a brow at you, which isn't nearly as scathing as usual when it's coming from a bundle of fleece. You arch one right back. Judgement can go both ways in this friendship.
Robin breaks the stare-off with a huff and flops onto her side. "It's goodnight o'clock in the afternoon," she retorts. It is not.
You go back to your book, because arguing with Robin is like arguing with a deaf rock. The protagonist is an idiot. It's sort of funny, though. You never used to read for fun; you've always tended towards action movies, or rollerblading, or, like, skinny dipping. You know, interesting things. But Robin likes to read, and you like Robin, and seven months into some sort of friendship, you've started picking up novels now and again. The ones she reads to you, mostly, because you always get distracted by her voice when she's talking and it's too hard to focus on the story.
Seven months of friendship. Wow. You sneak a glance over to her, feeling yourself smile before you can help it. Robin is… she's amazing. You haven't read enough books to know the words to describe her yet. But she's captivating, fascinating, enchanting. She's endearing. She's amazing. She's always been in your class, but the two of you hadn't crossed paths. You had different social circles. Her with her nerds, and you with… you with… weirdos, mostly. Robin is a weirdo too, but in a different way. She's funny in the head, but she's… she's funny in the head, yeah. God, Robin is such a freak.
It's important that she knows that. "You're a freak."
A bedraggled blonde head pops up from under the blankets. Her face is twisted into a pout. "What'd I do?" You shrug. "Bully." She kicks out at your thigh, but she's all tangled up in the blanket, so it's just her whole body kind of vaguely flailing in your direction. "You're bullying me. This is why I like Steve more than you."
"Steve's a bully!" You protest. How dare she compare you to him? "He stole my cookie!"
"In second grade!"
"He was in fourth! He should have known better!"
Robin just rolls her eyes at your (incredibly justified) irritation and wiggles again. She hits you with her toes. A moment later, your book hits her toes. She yelps. "Y/N!"
You blink at her with a sweet smile. "What? I dropped it." You did not. She scowls at you again, but you can see laughter twitching underneath it. You settle back against the couch and find your spot again.
Seven months have passed easily like this. You may not have been close friends with Robin all your life, but it feels like it. There's something beautiful about it, these lazy afternoons with cheap fantasy novels and the muted television playing whatever movie she'd insisted on when she got here. The sunlight pools on her hair, turning it into gold. She's like Medusa, sort of. When you see her, you turn to stone for a moment; your whole body freezes for a moment to take her in. Robin is too much to take in at just a glance. She's overwhelming. She's intoxicating. She's this bright sunlight of her own, one that washes over you whenever you think of her, keeping you warm. She keeps you warm.
Yes, it's easy to be Robin's friend. Seven months have passed easily, and you think seven decades will pass just the same. It would be easy to spend the rest of your life with her.
It should be scary how easily that thought comes to you, but it's never scary with Robin.
You set your book down, quite suddenly seized with the urge to give your best friend the affection she deserves. She yelps as you lay down on top of her. You ignore it. She wiggles, kicking at you through the blanket, but her little grin is poking up at you, and you don't budge. Her nose is crinkled with her happiness. It's the cutest damn thing you've ever seen. "I love you."
Robin's cheeks flush pink. She burrows down further into the blanket. "I love you too," she mumbles, her voice muffled. You can't help but laugh at her. "Shut up. Get off me, bully."
You rearrange yourself, getting comfortable. "I bullied you once."
"You bully me all the time," she argues. "Now get off me. Meanie. Oppressor."
You pout at her and earn an eye roll. She does some kind of full-body flop trying to dislodge you, which fails miserably. Her nose crinkles up again. This time, you can't help but lean in and kiss the tip. "I never bully you. I never have, not even once ever."
"Yesterday you called me a watermelon," she retorts, which is unfair. True, but unfair.
"I like watermelon!" you protest. "That's a compliment! Ungrateful brat."
She sticks her tongue out at you, and you have the brief, absurd urge to poke it with your own. "I feel so complimented knowing you want to eat me," she replies drily.
There's a pause while you wait for her to pick up on it.
"Shut up."
You burst out laughing again and let her push you off the couch, tumbling onto the floor. It's only a moment before she's leaning over, her hand fumbling for yours. You grasp it instinctively and squeeze tight. Robin has nice hands. They're soft, but strong. Warm. Her sunlight is even sweeter when you're holding her hand. She tugs at you. "What do you want?"
"Come up here," she whines. "Cuddle me." You remain on the floor, arching a brow at her like she always does at you. It's nothing of a deterrent. She just tugs at your hand harder. "Y/N, I want hugs," she says sternly.
"You pushed me off."
She pauses, clearly trying to come up with an argument. There's a few beats of silence before she scoffs and pulls again. "If you don't cuddle me, I'll die." She's pouting. Shit. The puppy dog eyes. Robin's too cute to hit you with puppy dog eyes.
"Uh-" you try to keep focused on your argument, but she sticks her lip out further, and you want to kiss her, and-
Wait, what?
The sudden wave of confusion that crests over you must weaken your resistance, because Robin hauls you up onto the couch and then situated herself on top of you, draped along your entire body. "There. Now you can't get sneaky and escape," she says, sounding very satisfied with herself.
"I didn't escape. You pushed me off."
She kisses your cheek sweetly. "Shut up, bully."
You can feel yourself turning red. You tell yourself it's just the heat, though, and the tingling feeling flooding your body isn't from the sparkle in her eyes. How could it be? It's Robin. It's your best friend. "Watermelon," you tease.
When she laughs, you want to kiss her.
You don't.