ethereal : it oneshots

stan uris' guide to the hole in your heart

recently stanley had begun to suspect he might be anemic. he'd been dealing with insane bouts of dizziness, brought on by just getting up. it wasn't unusual for stanley to get up, to tell richie something in the living room, only to have to lie down on the living room floor before he passed out without his consent.

richie would just stand there, asking if he was okay politely. it was funny to stan—it was the nicest thing richie ever did. he didn't swarm him, he didn't yell in concern, he just would cock his head, "you okay?"

and stanley would always be okay afterwards, because with richie asking him, how could he not be okay? even if all the blood was in the wrong places.

anyway, this situation was not the same.

oh, stan was lightheaded. he couldn't see quite right, only that richie was cleaning his glasses on his shirt. he knew there were a couple other people in the room, but none of them were particularly in focus to him. 

no, all he could see was richie. always. typical. 

"are you a hearing man right now?" richie said, his voice only registering in stan's heads a couple seconds later. he shook his head and looked into richie's eyes, rubbing his right eye with his knuckle. 

he felt like he could feel the air moving around him, but he answered richie, "yes. i think." he scratched his head, and upon realizing it was the best feeling he'd ever felt, he kept doing it.

"dude, do you have lice?" richie laughed, getting his glasses back on his face. stanley had to actively remove his hand from his head, shoving it in his pocket. his eyes flickered a little from richie's eyes to further down his face, and he swore internally.

it was like someone had glued his eyes. he couldn't take his eyes off of richie's lips. jesus christ, he needed a lobotomy as soon as humanly possible.

"no! no, i'm just—just scratch your head a little," stan couldn't tell if his voice sounded like it normally did. 

richie, squinting his eyes, scratched his head a little, then gasping, "oh my god! IT IS SO GOOD!" he fake moaned, making stan laugh in embarrassment, his cheeks lighting up red.

the two burst into laughter, a combination of giggles and snorts that cleared the hallway of anyone else in it, making their way to the living room to get the sound of richie's chortle out of their ears.

"fuck, this is so not that funny," richie kept snickering, leaning against the wall next to stanley now. stan quieted down, looking over to richie and getting his eyes stuck on richie's stupid lips again.

he memorized the details of richie's cupid's bow. stan brushed his own hair out of his face. richie looked back at him for a moment.

and stanley loved him. and richie had been all stan had ever really wanted. but stanley would speak, and he knew he would regret it when the morning came.

"i know i'm very high and i'm so sorry if this disgusts you but i would really like to kiss you right now." stanley's words came out as a jumbled mess, but based on the way richie was looking at him, he knew what he had said.

"mmhmm?" richie laughed gently, reaching a hand out for stan's face. stan was suddenly aware of how heavily he was breathing through his nose, but he couldn't stop. he had a feeling that if he changed anything he was doing at this exact moment, richie might not kiss him.

richie's hand made contact with stan's cheek, and he leaned forward to connect their lips, ignorant of anyone who could have seen. they panted heavily for a sweet—if not pretty sloppy—kiss, stanley's hands in richie's hair.

all stan could think was i cannot believe i fell in love with you.

derry was the shittiest town, they'd known the shittiest people, stan had near despised richie as a kid, but here they were, narrowly edging twenty and stanley wanted to wake up next to richie every single day of his life. 

"doesn't disgust me, stan," richie breathed out, his face still against stan's, their noses pushed together. richie pulled his glasses off awkwardly, stanley giggling. he didn't have time to think about what he was losing—no, what he was giving away by letting himself get this close to richie.

it wasn't important for now. what was important was pulling richie's lips back against his. 

by the time stanley woke up the next morning—though one pm is hardly the morning—he knew he'd fucked up. richie was lying behind him, his leg hooked into stan's, and his arm around him. stan could remember watching richie change into pajamas when they'd gotten home, telling stan that his bed was bigger, that they should sleep there. like there was no universe in which the two of them slept in separate beds that night.

richie's mouth was slightly ajar, breathing hot air onto stanley's neck, drooling just a little. he was his dog; and dogs were nothing but loyal. the thought should've given him comfort, but it didn't. stan felt worse—this one was going to hurt. 

he lied there, completely still, until richie woke up. when he felt richie slowly detangle himself, getting up on the side of the bed silently, stanley thought about religion. he thought about worship, and how it felt to know the thing you'd worshipped in secret had had a glimpse into what you prayed for. and maybe that he didn't want it.

stanley pretended to wake up when he heard richie's keurig beep, and he put on a show as he rubbed his eyes, wandering into the kitchen. all he could think about was how bad he loved richie, and how long he'd pretended he hadn't. suddenly, his head hurt, and stanley had to kneel on the ground for a second. he held his head in his hands.

when stan gathered the bravery and blood flow to stand up again, richie looked over at him, a couple of crusty bits in his eyelashes, and gave him a weak smile. stanley felt like a one night stand.

still, he leaned forward, his pointer and thumb picking out the crusted skin on richie's eyelids. 

"fuck!" richie exclaimed, jumping away and holding his eye, "what was that for?" he rubbed his eye as much as stanley had a second ago, any leftover skin falling off. stanley frowned.

"you had sleep in your eyes. sorry," stanley yawned, and he wanted to lean against richie's back, wrap his arms around his waist, and fall back asleep in the crook between his shoulder blades. richie would probably recoil from that too.

dejected and upset that he'd ever expected anything else, stanley went to grab a mug. had he ruined everything? had he ruined every memory of richie just to feel him kiss up and down his arms? it had been an experience like no other, letting richie's tenderness surprise him in new ways.

"we—um, hm—we could do that again, some time, if you want." richie moved his own mug, now full, to the side of the counter. he reached out for stan's, and stan gave it to him thoughtlessly. his mind was running circles.

do what? fall in love? hopelessly let yourself indulge in the one good thing hedonism could never guarantee? 

stanley's face must have reflected his confusion. richie cleared his throat as he set another pod into the machine, "hook up, i mean. no, um, no worries or anything."

"oh." stanley paused. every memory of this will hurt, stan thought. "yeah, sure."