he wasn't sure what he was expecting, turning his key in the lock on his front door, the door handle cool to the touch. still, stanley pushed open the door to his parents, sitting at the living room table, still extended from the dinner.
he probably should've expected this. he scolded himself, what did he think was going to happen? still, he took his shoes off, neatly placing them where he always did. his stomach held the roots of an ache, readying to take over his entire body. an ache that had left when he'd seen richie, sure, but it was returning like any virus did.
"what the hell is wrong with you?!" his mother was the first to speak, smacking her hand onto the table hard enough for a candelabra to shake, then putting her head in her hands.
"see what you're doing to your mother?" his father was sitting across from her, a wine glass nearly empty in his hand. stanley blinked, hoping something would clear the sudden and immediate fear sewing his mouth shut.
it was worth it to see richie, he told himself. it would be worth it to see richie. still, he couldn't muster any of the courage he'd previously had. they were giants, and stanley still felt like a kid getting a 80 on a math test.
it was impossible to tell how much time went by in silence, both a second and a decade in one moment, before stanley's father spoke again.
"so are you finished the temper tantrum or what?" he put the glass down.
stanley looked to his mother, head still in her hands miserably. a silver watch lay around her wrist. he remembered being little, saving money from relatives to buy his mother a gift. he'd gotten her a (fake, not that he would've known) gold necklace. he'd learned that day that gold wasn't her colour. he was nine.
he gulped, remembering they expected an answer out of him.
"i-i-i-"
his mother groaned, "i mean, god fucking damn it, stanley! don't you ever think about someone other than yourself?" her voice cracked, and stanley wanted to crumble. still, he stood still. his father pushed his chair out, marching towards stanley.
"i-i-"
donald gripped stanley by the shirt collar, hoisting him until he could feel stanley balancing on his toes. "what is wrong with you!?" he spat, stanley's neurons kicking in and sending tears to his eyes.
"stop-please-i'm s-s-stop it!" stanley cried, and his father let go of him. he tried to breathe steadily—it was worth it to see richie, it was worth it to see richie—but only gasped for air, tears escaping him with vengeance.
"do you know how selfish your little outburst was? oh, me, me, me! is that all you think about? do you think i didn't have to clean up your fucking mess, tell everyone, oh, it's fine, my son just throws fits like he's six years old!" donald continued, stanley backing away until his back hit a wall. "no, i know you wanna run away and bitch about how unfair we're being, but you need to hear this. i don't know how else to get this through your skull."
stanley wiped at his cheeks with the pad of his thumb, wishing things were better.
"how would you feel if your entire life, you spent it working on a masterpiece, something that would impress everyone you knew and make you proud every day, and one day someone just came and ripped it to pieces, hm? would you just be okay with that?" andrea spoke, and stanley found he was gritting his teeth.
"i'm-i'm not your stupid project!" stanley replied.
"i wish you weren't," she murmured.
"i'm sorry." was all stanley could think to say. he bit his lip. his parents wouldn't look at him.
it was silent. it was so quiet and stanley could only think about how glad he was that he'd finished ia prep early. god, at least i have my work done. i have time to cry because at least i have pre-made mind maps. how miserable. richie would make fun of him. everyone would make fun of him. and he'd laugh. it was unthinkable right now, but he'd laugh at it later.
right?
"you're not listening. just go upstairs." his father nearly scoffed. stanley did as he was told. his feet dragged behind him, scratching at his thigh through his pants as he trudged up the stairs.
for once, he'd stopped crying. it was going to be alright, he told himself. sure, his throat hurt and his cheeks were damp and he missed richie and his feet ached, but it was going to be alright. at least he wasn't little, petrified into silence, like he used to be. at least he could reply. he wasn't completely spineless anymore, right?
he wanted to run away again, back to richie's, and stay the night. curl up in richie's bed like the stupid, loyal dog that he was to that damned tozier. grasp his shirt and not let go, not until this was over and they were old enough to have jobs, and get a dog, or something stupid like that.
he loved richie.
he let himself sit with the statement. it wasn't like he didn't know, he'd been grappling with it for months, but the sentence had finally found the doorknob, and now he had to face it. he loved richie tozier so much that he wasn't really sure he'd ever loved anyone before. and it was beautiful, loving richie. it was hilarious, and tragic, and beautiful, and amazing, and it made stanley want to claw his heart out of his chest.
it was still beautiful, even as stanley felt his eyes glaze over staring out the window, the weather completely still. momentarily, he hoped richie would never cease to be himself. ever wise, ever stupid, ever breathtaking richie tozier.
good god, man. he glanced at his phone, letting the screen turn on for a brief moment.
richie: u alive?
richie: ykw i said that as a joke but now i feel like i shouldn't have cuz they're actually cray cray and if something terrible happened to you i think i'd have to die immediately on the spot to meet up to apologize
richie: sorry. i am worrying about u
stanley exhaled through his nose. a part of him forgot he'd ever cried.
stan: hi
richie: HELLO!!!!!!!
stan: i'm ok i miss you
stan: sorry
richie: embarrassing!
richie: just kidding u kno i miss u too staniel
richie: sorry i'm terrible at being serious over text
stan: i know
for some reason, his hand was shaking, and he had absolutely no idea what to say next. his brain felt empty. thank god he'd done his essay prep.
richie: hoow... are you?
stan: i don't know.
i love you, he wanted to type. the thought nearly made him laugh. i don't know how i am, but i know that i love you. is that enough of an answer?
stan: i wish i was better with words to give you something to metaphorically chew on but i'm not
richie: whaat, you mean english ib didn't prepare you for this?
stan: not particularly
richie: were they mad? like, actively? did you talk to them?
richie: sorry if this is too many questions i can stfu
stan: yeah, yeah, yeah, and no it isn't.
richie: i'm sorry
stan: don't be. it's no use.
richie: want me to come over? i'll be supa secret and everything
stanley started biting his nail. he put his phone face down without answering, getting up to find different pants to change into. it happened robotically, like maybe he'd been possessed by the world's most normal ghost. maybe that was better for him.
in different clothes now, ones without wet sleeves and newly wrinkled collars, stanley lied down in his bed. he turned away from his phone, towards the wall, and he closed his eyes. and he prayed.
YOU ARE READING
golden boy : stozier
Fanfictioneddie's independent, mike's a little obsessed with bill, ben's a little obsessed with beverly, beverly's very obsessed with bill, bill's a little cold after the death of his brother, and nobody is obsessed with richie.
