Chapter Text
Stan doesn’t fully understand what this year has in store for him until he’s standing at the school gates at the beginning of his senior year, surrounded by students, completely alone.
He’s always known that this day was coming. He’s had his entire life to prepare for this particular year, but now that it has actually arrived he knows there’s nothing he could have done to make this any better. The only downside to being a year younger than the rest of them is that there will always be this transitionary period of time where they advance and Stan is still stuck in the same place, waiting, doing nothing with his life except moping and feeling lonely.
The Losers are gone– his best friends have gone away to college. Bill is gone, and now Stan is all alone.
Summer was incredible: they’d spent every moment they could together. If it wasn’t him and Bill alone, making the most of the time they had left together, it was all of them, cycling around town or hanging out in Ben’s room playing games with his shitty Xbox. Stan had been distantly aware of the future but he’d pushed it to the back of his mind, not wanting to be conscious of the overwhelming, crushing loneliness that awaited him. He’d been dreading it, so he’d ignored it.
But he can’t ignore it anymore.
“Move, loser.” Someone matters angrily as they shoulderbarge him, and Stan realises he’s been standing still in the entrance for too long. He needs to get to class or he’s going to be late, and he doesn’t want to start his year off on the wrong side of all his new teachers. Sighing, he wraps his fingers around his bag straps anxiously and starts moving.
Class sucks. It always sucks, because he’s never been in the same class as any of his friends, but it sucks even more today because Stan knows they aren’t waiting for him in the cafeteria. He’s not going to come out of his class to find Bill waiting for him or Richie and Eddie bickering. Mike isn’t going to be sat at a table with a book in front of him, Beverly isn’t going to be smoking under the bleachers. Stan is alone.
He eats in the cafeteria with a table all to himself, because as much as he wants to hide himself away and cry, he can’t stand the thought of his food being around all those germs. He unpacks his things carefully, making sure to unfold a napkin over his lap. It’s the kind of thing he felt confident in doing with the Losers around, now, on his own, he realises how stupid it makes him look, how much of a target for mockery he’s making himself.
Stan is just about to bite into a sandwich - lettuce and tomato on rye bread with the crusts cut off - when there’s a loud bang to his left. He jumps, shocked, and looks over to see Henry Bowers sitting at Stan’s table with a couple of jocks from Stan’s grade with him. Of course– the world is not only enough of an asshole to have all of Stan’s friends move thousands of miles away from him, but also to have Bowers be held back a year. Fucking fantastic.
“What’s up, Uris? No frisbee today?” Bowers smirks and lays his palms flat on the table. There’s blood under his fingernails, Stan notices.
Stan had stopped wearing his yarmulke to school years ago; his parents hadn’t been happy about it but they’d understood at least. Being one of the only Jewish students in a place like Derry is an open invitation for bullying, and the Losers were already unpopular enough. He still wears it to Temple or if his grandparents are visiting, but it’s easier if he doesn’t draw any more attention to himself at school.
Stan starts to pack his things away without even taking a bite of his sandwich. Bowers isn’t going to just get bored and leave him alone, and Stan doesn’t want to hang around long enough to provoke him. Henry’s new friends are stood around the table in an intimidating semi circle, two people deep, and Stan has to elbow his way through the group to get past. He hears Henry’s laughter echoing around the room on his way out, and he knows this won’t be his last encounter with them.
He spends the rest of his lunch period in his math teacher’s classroom. It’s not ideal: anyone walking past can look in, see him all alone and know how much of a loser he is. This time, being a loser doesn’t feel like a badge of honour. It feels like something to be ashamed of. Stan wonders how much of his confidence came from his friends.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket at the end of the period and ends up texting Bill, even though he swore he wouldn’t do that. Bill had been pretty adamant about them having a long distance relationship and Stan had agreed because he was too pathetic and selfish to say no. If he was a better boyfriend he’d have let Bill experience college the way you’re meant to experience it, but instead he’s going to have one loose end connecting him to the shithole that is Derry, Maine.
Hey, he texts, ignoring his previous message that had gone unanswered. Hope everything is going okay! Hope you’re not too hungover lol.
He sends it, fingernails tapping a nervous rhythm against the tabletop. The Losers have only been gone for a week– long enough to get settled into their dorms and get the hang of college life, right? Stan knows Bill would never deliberately ignore him unless for a really good reason, but it still stings.
You’ll never guess who got held back a year… (Bowers) so yay me I guess, Stan continues typing, wishing he could pinpoint where the panic slowly creeping up his throat is coming from. Why does he suddenly want to burst into tears? I’m hiding out in a classroom for lunch. You better be cooler than me at college! <3
He turns his phone off before he can send another message and do any more damage. Bill had wanted a long distance relationship, not a desperate, clingy boyfriend with too much baggage. Still, he can’t stop himself from checking his phone every two minutes to see if he’s had a response yet.
He hasn’t.
He spends the rest of the hour in the classroom, eating slowly and reminiscing on their last summer together. When it’s time to leave, Stan feels a little bit like he’s going to throw up.
***
Home isn’t much better, but at least Stan doesn’t have to worry about physical violence. His parents have never approved of his sexuality or his relationship with Bill, and they thought the Losers were a bad influence on Stan, but they only ever want what’s best for him.
Still, Stan never really knows what to say to them. Eating dinner is horribly awkward because it’s the only time they really spend as a family anymore, and the disconnect tapes wider every time, silent and uncomfortable. Stan listens to the clink of cutlery against plates as he separates the different food on his plate.
“How was school?” His father asks gruffly, more to fill the silence than out of any actual curiosity.
“It was good, dad.” Stan answers, voice soft. His mother clears her throat uncomfortably, and he wonders if they both know he’s lying. It seems obvious, but then they’ve never been very observant when it comes to Stan.
“You’re going to try and make some new friends this year, aren’t you Stan?” His mother continues, sounding sad and concerned. Stan’s heart aches with regret that he can’t be the son she always wanted.
Before he can reply, his father speaks up. “We tried to warn you about having friends older than you, Stanley. Once they’re gone, you’re on your own.”
It’s a supremely unhelpful comment given the circumstances and Stan wishes he could say exactly that to his father, but he knows that would only upset his mother more. He shrugs, but that won’t be good enough for his father so he has to answer.
“Yeah, mom. I’ll make some new friends.” A smile smoothes over the worry lines on her face. The guilt on Stan’s shoulder gets a little heavier.
Hours later, Stan can’t sleep. He’s been lying on top of his bedsheets for hours now, just staring up at his cracked ceiling with thoughts swirling unstoppably inside his head. The thoughts are getting worse. Stan always thought he had them under control, but maybe they only died down a little when he was with his friends. Maybe now, all alone as he is, they’re going to come back, worse than ever. Stan doesn’t think he can cope with them a second time around. The first time almost killed him.
His phone beeps on his bedside table and Stan hurries to silence it lest his parents should hear and burst in angrily. It’s just gone three in the morning and if he wakes them up now his father will be pissed.
It’s from Bill of course, in response to Stan’s messages hours earlier. He tries to ignore the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach and the spike of bitter jealousy that wants to demand why it took Bill so long to answer.
so hungover but so worth it :p
Bowers sucks, i’m sorry :/ you’re 10x stronger than him
wish you were here, Stan <3
It makes Stan smile fondly, shake his head at the idea of him being stronger than Henry Bowers, but mostly it just makes him sad. He misses Bill so much that it almost seems like something tangible, something all consuming. He’d give anything to be lying in bed with him right now, to be spooned by him, for Bill to stroke his hair and hum under his breath like he used to.
He swipes across to unlock his phone but his fingers pause, hovering over the keyboard. Why does he suddenly feel so shy, so insecure about replying? That’s never how it’s been with the Losers; he’s never felt awkward or like he has to play things cool. They were always confident in their complete lack of coolness, so why now does Stan think he should wait to text Bill back, just so he doesn’t seem like a… like a loser?
He hopes they all know how lucky they are to be all together. Stan knows it’s always been their plan, all of them, to go to college together, Stan too, when it’s time for him to apply. He always saw it as a brilliant plan, a way for them to stay together for even longer, but he never knew how truly awful this part of it would be.
God, what is he thinking? This is Bill, his boyfriend of nearly two years, his friend since childhood. He doesn’t need to play anything cool.
I wish I was there too x
He waits with his phone in his hand, staring at the screen, so bright in the darkness of his room that his eyes start to water. Bill doesn’t reply. Stan spends the rest of the night with his eyes open and his head too busy to fall asleep. When he has to get up the next morning his body feels heavy, his movements lethargic. He wonders if this is what being dead feels like.
***
He texts Richie later that day because if anyone can cheer Stan up it’s him, with his ridiculous jokes and admittedly funny voices. It’s just a cursory message, hi, how are you, hope college doesn’t suck, that kind of thing. He’s known Richie all his life and there’s something unendingly comforting about being able to contact him any time, anywhere. Stan loves Bill, but Richie feels like home too. They all do.
He gets a reply from Richie much faster than Bill, and Stan tries not to look too much into that.
Stan the man!! Lectures sucks but college is awesome it’s better than high school that’s for sure lmao
When will you stop being an infant child and join us??
Stan shakes his head, amused. Of course Richie would be enjoying getting drunk and partying more than what he actually went there to do. In between brushing his teeth for a second time and combing his curls into something more socially acceptable, he types out a reply.
Please don’t get liver damage in your first year, Richie. How is everyone? Has Beverly given up smoking yet?
His mother calls up the stairs for him to hurry up and Stan clenches his jaw instinctively, a nervous tic he hasn’t been able to rid himself of. There are dark bags under his eyes and his face is pale, but he doesn’t think his parents will notice so there’s nothing to worry about. Stan will be fine as long as no one starts prying.
Fat chance, Staniel, Richie’s reply reads. If anything she’s smoking more now that she can get weed literally everywhere. Eddie is still neurotic, Ben started some new wacko diet and Mike is still a nerd so nothing much has changed.
Stan wants to be happy that his friends are still the friends he knows and loves, but there’s a tiny part of his brain niggling at him, reminding him that his friends are being happy and familiar without him. He’s missing out. This part of their lives - when they can party and smoke weed and get drunk - is going to pass them by and Stan is always going to be stuck a year behind, missing out, never quite catching up with them.
He’s starting to feel sick.
“Stanley!” His mother shouts again, irritated now. “You’re going to be late!”
His phone pings with a new message.
Shit sorry Staniel gotta go, have fun at kindergarten!! xoxo
Stan doesn’t have any right to feel upset. He’d been just about to leave himself, and Richie is a college student now, albeit a bad one. He has bigger things to worry about than offending his friend. Stan isn’t even offended, it’s just… nothing. It’s just nothing, Stan decides. He’s being pathetic.
“Coming, mom.” Stan calls back, hurrying down the stairs. He just has time to say a quick goodbye to his parents before he’s hurtling out the door, desperate to, ironically, be on his own.
The walk to school is only about a ten minute cycle from where Stan lives but he can’t be bothered to take his bike today, even though he’s running late. His backpack bumps against with every step he takes and after a few minutes of being outside, of feeling the wind in his face and hearing the slap of his shoes against the concrete, he begins to feel a little better. He can breathe again. Maybe he’s not so pathetic after all–
“Watch where you’re going, faggot.” Bowers speaks, and the next thing Stan knows he’s hurtling towards the floor. The back of his head smacks against the round with a painful thud and nausea builds up in Stan’s stomach instantly. Henry laughs at Stan’s attempt to stand up again and kicks him, his heavy clad boot making contact with Stan’s chest. It hurts and there will definitely be a bruise there tomorrow, but Stan is more worried about his bag. He can hear things breaking as it lays flat underneath him and he prays that his lunch will stay in tact. He can’t imagine how horribly messy it will be if he gets crumbs everywhere.
“Pussy,” Henry spits. He’s on his own this time, Stan notices, but it doesn’t matter. Bill was wrong when he said Stan was stronger than Bowers. Stan couldn’t be stronger than anyone. “You’re just a little bitch without your friends here to protect you, aren’t you Uris?”
Stan gets the ridiculous urge to laugh. Henry isn’t wrong.
“I’m glad they’re gone.” Henry kneels down beside Stan and grips his face harshly, nails digging into Stan’s cheeks. “Your slut friend and your faggot boyfriend– I’m glad they left. Now I just have to get rid of you too.”
He spits in Stan’s face before he leaves. Stan holds back from panicking until after Henry is out of sight, and then he bursts into tears. He’s filthy now; there’s dirt on his clothes and his bag, his hair is messy, there’s saliva on his face and it isn’t even his own. He wants to take a shower, scrub himself raw until his skin is pink and painful but clean.
His fingers fumble with his phone as he retrieved it from his bag, thankfully not broken. He finds Bill’s contact quickly, easy after Bill being the first person he calls for so many years.
The phone rings and Stan waits, rubbing at the mess on his face with his sleeve. Right now he needs Bill to hold him and tell him everything is going to be okay, but he’ll settle for just hearing Bill’s voice.
But Bill doesn’t pick up. The phone rings and rings until an automated voice tells him to leave a message. Stan hangs up before he can even hear the beep. It’s early in the morning– way too early for Bill to be up and about, and he probably has his phone on silent. He wouldn’t just ignore Stan. He wouldn’t do that.
But it doesn’t matter how many times Stan repeats this in his head; the heaviness of insecurity has already set upon him and he knows he won’t be able to relax until he hears Bill’s voice.
He arrives to school late and gets a detention for missing first period. When his parents find out later that day they ground him, but it’s okay. There’s nowhere that Stan would want to go anyway.
***
Bill calls him back during his Spanish lesson and he has to let it go to voicemail, as desperately as he wants to rush out of the classroom and answer it. It feels wrong, getting upset that Bill didn’t answer him and then doing it himself, but he can explain as soon as this hour is over.
He manages to check his phone sneakily when his teacher’s back is turned and sees that Bill has sent him a follow up message; his heart soars at the gesture.
Sorry I missed you! Was asleep when you called. Hope you’re okay <3
It’s three in the afternoon, Stan thinks to himself. Were you asleep until just now? He hates that it’s his first thought.
No worries! He texts back. I’m in class now but are you free to call later tonight??
He gets an affirmative from Bill a few minutes later and, after typing out a quick, ‘can’t wait’ message, sits back in his chair. He feels lighter than he has done in weeks.
He’s on the edge of his seat all day, thrumming with nervous energy. This will be the first time he’s heard Bill’s voice in almost three weeks and he’s almost sick with excitement. He misses Bill like an extension of himself, a painful ache throughout his entire body that just keeps getting worse the longer they’re apart.
Later, when he’s finally alone in his room, he sends Bill a message asking if he’s ready to call. When he doesn’t get a reply in five minutes Stan frowns: it’s only just gone eight in the evening, there’s no way Bill will be asleep right now. Deciding to risk it, Stan calls anyway, growing more and more uneasy the longer it rings. Then, miraculously, Bill picks up.
Except it isn’t Bill.
There’s music playing so loudly in the background that Stan can feel it vibrating around in his skull, but it would take a lot more than that for him not to notice that the voice that says, ‘hello?’ is most definitely not his boyfriend’s.
“Who is this?” Stan asks instantly, digging his nails into the palm of his hand. The person on the other end of the line clears their throat awkwardly.
“Um, I’m Sam. I'm a friend of Bill’s. I just thought I should let you know he’s pretty… yeah, he’s really trashed right now. I don’t think he’s gonna be able to take your call.”
Stan’s heart sinks. The happy, lighthearted feeling that’s been with him all day pops like a bubble of air, leaving no trace of it behind. Bill forgot, or he didn’t care, and neither one is better than the other.
“Oh,” Stan swallows. “Um, okay. Thanks, I guess.”
“Yeah, no problem.” Sam says. “I’ll tell him to call you in the morning.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Stan says, a little louder now, a little more annoyed, he’s so sick of feeling so sad all the time. Anger would be better. Anything would be better. “Tell him his boyfriend called.”
There’s a pause in which Stan can hear the beat of the music and Sam’s heavy breathing, right against the speaker. Then he says, “Shit, dude, I’m sorry. He’s really stressed right now. He’s got, like, papers due and stuff. I’m sure he’s not ignoring–”
“Thanks, man.” Stan interrupts up, hanging up before Sam can finish the sentence, he doesn’t want to know what Bill is or isn’t doing. He doesn’t want to care.
The next morning is a Saturday and Stan wakes up blissfully late. There’s a message waiting for him from Bill.
Stan, shit I’m so sorry about last night. Call me when you see this. I love you x
Stan forces tears back and dials Bill’s number, giving him the benefit of the doubt. In the light of day, with ‘I love you’ right in front of his face, it’s easy to feel forgiving. Bill’s stressed right now, like Sam said. Stan should cut him some slack.
“Stan,” Bill answers after a few rings. It’s the first time Stan has heard Bill’s voice since he left, but he doesn’t exactly sound glad to hear from Stan. He sounds tired and sick and hungover. “I’m so sorry about last night, I completely forgot and then Bev got us invites to this party and I didn’t even think.”
“It’s fine,” Stan says snappishly. “It’s whatever.”
“I didn’t mean to get so drunk.”
“Don’t apologise to me, Bill.” Maybe Stan is not as okay with it as he’d first thought. “You should just take care of yourself, is all.”
“What do you mean?” Bill asks.
“You’re getting trashed now? You’re gonna damage your body, Bill. I’m just saying, take care of yourself.”
“Everybody drinks loads at college, Stanley.” Bill laughs, but Stan recognises it as his fake laugh. Bill is hungover, probably has a terrible headache and now Stan is pissing him off. God, he’s such a terrible boyfriend.
“Jeez, sorry,” Stan says, though his heart isn’t in it anymore. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Bill.”
Bill sighs. “Jesus, Stan.” He says. “I really don’t need a lecture from you of all people, okay?”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Stan bristles. How did this turn into an argument so quickly? Oh yeah, Stan picked a fight.
“Nothing.” Bill says quickly. “Forget I said anything. How’s Derry?”
“Derry fucking sucks.” Stan snaps. “I want to know what you meant.”
“Just drop it, Stan! I feel like shit and you’re really not helping.”
“Well that’s your own fucking fault.” Stan cries, curbing himself so he doesn’t start yelling into the phone. He wouldn’t want to explain that one to his parents. They’d probably just think he was breaking up with Bill and throw a party.
“I mean,” Stan continues. “This is our first phone call since you left and you got drunk for it?”
“I forgot , okay? Will you just give me a fucking break, Stanley.” Bill stresses. Stan snaps his mouth shut, squeezing his eyes closed to stop the tears from falling. Bill is right. Stanley should give him a fucking break.
“Sorry,” He says, voice small and trembling. Then he hangs up.
Bill calls him back straight away but Stan ignores it. He contemplates turning off his phone but in the end he’ll always be a glutton for punishment, and he sits and waits for Bill to stop trying to reach him. A message pings through after the second time Stan doesn’t pick up.
I’m sorry, I’m an asshole. Can we please try that whole thing again?
Stan ignores it.
Stanley?
Stan ignores that too. Bill doesn’t send anymore.
***
The thoughts are back. They keep coming back, plaguing him in broad daylight now as well. You always were the lamest Loser. You’re holding Bill back. Why do you keep trying, they don’t want to talk to you. Give up. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic.
Stan doesn’t think he can ignore them anymore.
***
Time passes. He sorts things out with Bill, kind of, but they never actually address their fight. Stan exchanges a few texts with the other Loses and they even create a group chat, but it dies after a few days because what’s the point when six members are all in the same place? Bowers remains an asshole, and Stan breaks his promise to his mom. He doesn’t make any new friends.
A few weeks later Beverly sends the first message on the group chat in ages. Stan checks his phone in confusion and watches as more messages pour in from the other Losers, spamming Stan’s name and asking him if he’s free to FaceTime. Stan is never busy these days so he pushes his history assignment to the side and tells them he’s okay to call.
He feels weirdly awkward in a way he’s never felt around them before. It’s like he’s meeting a new group of people and he can’t be himself quite yet, but that doesn’t make any else because these are his best friends and he’s known them all for years. He knows he doesn’t have to be cautious or toned down for them, so why does it feel like he should be?
“Stan!” Richie is the first to speak, and the others all pop up on Stan’s laptop screen a few seconds later behind him. The quality is grainy and there’s a delay of maybe two seconds between their lips moving and their voices actually being audible, but they’re the Losers and Stan feels like he could cry. It’s so good to hear their voices again. He wishes he could just melt into the background and watch them interact because he’s too nervous to talk, but he doesn’t want to let go of this opportunity.
“Hey, guys.” He gives a small smile. “How’s college?”
“Oh my god, Stan, you’d love it here!” Beverly exclaims. Her hair is long now, and Stan wonders when she decided to grow it out. “There’s, like, a million nerdy societies you can join and there are parties all the time.”
“I’m pretty sure there’s a Jewish society and a bird watching society, so you’d be in heaven. Or, um, the equivalent.” Ben rubs the back of his neck. He looks good, like his workouts are working for him. He also has facial hair growing in a little bit which shocks Stan, though he doesn’t know why. He guesses he’ll always think of Ben as being young and soft.
“Did you join any?” Stan asks.
“Eddie Spaghetti joined a hypochondriac society!” Richie laughs and ducks when Eddie tries to hit him round the back of the head.
“It’s a disease prevention society, asshole, and you could do with joining it. Who knows how many STDs you’re gonna get.”
“Aw, Eds, your mom can’t help it!” Richie grins his usual Richie Tozier grin. It’s… reassuring and painful to see at the same time.
“I joined a Doctor Who society,” Bill speaks up for the first time. “Mike joined with me, but I’m gonna be in charge by the time you join. I’ll make you my second in command, Stan.” He looks happy, hopeful, like he wants Stan to be happy as well. Stan smiles, tries to laugh, but it comes out sounding strangled and forced.
“Like you’d be in charge of Mike,” Stan scoffs. Bill gasps dramatically. He looks good as well. Stan wants to run his fingers through Bill’s hair, stroke his cheek, kiss his mouth and his eyelids and the tip of his nose. He’s reminded suddenly of the last date they ever went on before Bill left: Bill had taken him to an ice rink, which Stan had said was ridiculous because it was the middle of summer, but Bill hadn’t cared. They’d clung to each other all day, desperate not to fall over, slipping and sliding along the ice. Bill took him out for pizza afterwards and they’d ended up making out in Bill’s bedroom. Stan had felt like crying, back then– something deep inside himself had known it would be the last time he got to kiss Bill.
“How’s Derry?” Mike asks, probably picking up on his unenthusiasm. Stan blinks in surprise, stuck for what to say.
“Um,” he laughs nervously. Bill frowns. “Derry is… Derry, y’know. Same as ever. Quieter without you guys, and I’m sure everyone feels safer without Trashmouth Tozier running around, but pretty much the same.” Bill’s frown deepens.
“What about you– how are you, Stan? Are you sleeping okay?” Bill says, but Stan knows what he’s really asking. He wants to know if Stan’s thoughts are back, if he can stand to look at himself in the mirror, if he can walk past a crooked picture frame without having a panic attack. He can’t possibly tell Bill the truth, not when he knows the answer Bill wants to hear.
“I’m fine,” Stan smiles, trying to be convincing. “It’s boring as fuck without you guys around, but I’ll be there soon. Henry Bowers is still terrorising me and the rest of the eighth grade but what’s new, right?”
“Bowers?” Eddie asks, elbowing Richie out of the way so he can see the screen. “He’s still there?”
Stan swallows, looks to Bill who, he now realises, is looking a tad guilty. “Uh, no. He, um, he got held back. He’s in my grade now, I guess. Lucky me.”
So Bill hasn’t told them. That’s… confusing. It’s not the sort of thing he would need to keep secret, which means he either forgot or it just didn’t cross his mind to mention it. Ouch.
“Shit, Stan, that sucks.” Ben winces in commiseration. “I’m sorry you have to go through that alone. I remember when I was on my own and he was after me– you guys saved me.”
Beverly reaches over to rub his shoulders - which is not new, really, everyone in the Losers Club shows physical affection to each other - and then plants a kiss on the corner of his mouth, which is… less normal.
“We saved each other, babe.” She murmurs, fingers fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Um, am I missing something?” Stan squeaks, confusion and embarrassment mixing together. He’s beginning to notice how intimidating it feels to have them all together on one screen and him alone on the other, how disconnecting it feels from all his closest friends.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe we forgot to tell Stan.” Bev hisses, looking between Bill and Ben like she wants some sort of support. All Stan can do is sit there, cheeks burning red, feeling like he belongs anywhere but here. “Ben and I got together a while ago, Stan. I can’t believe we didn’t tell you. Things have just been so hectic over here, y’know?”
“Yeah, of course!” Stan brushes it off, because what else is he supposed to do? “Don’t worry about it. When did you get together?”
“Um,” Bev pauses to think. “That Halloween party, I think?”
A month. This has been going on for a month and he didn’t even know that two of his best friends were dating. No one told him. That’s awful.
“That’s great, you guys! I’m so happy for you. You make a very attractive couple.” He says.
“Careful, Uris, Big Bill’s gonna get jealous. He’s been jerking off on his own for too long now, I’m surprised he hasn’t creamed his pants at the sight of you.” Richie grins.
“Richie!” So many people complain all at once that Stan can’t discern a single voice. Bill has gone very red and is watching Stan with a fond, amused look in his eye. Stan wants to return it so badly.
“Thanks for that, Rich,” he rolls his eyes. “But don’t worry. Ben and Bev have nothing to worry about from me. Hey, I’m really sorry but I have to get this history assignment done. Can we talk later?”
There’s a silent pause where it feels a little like nobody speaks, as though he's suggested something much worse than he actually has. Then Mike leans over Bill’s shoulder in order to take control of the laptop and smiles at Stan reassuringly.
“Of course, Stanley.” He says. “It was really great talking to you. Let us know when you’re free to call. Good luck with your assignment.”
There’s a chorus of goodbyes but Stan is too busy watching Bill to pay attention to any of them. He’s watching Stan right back, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth with his eyebrows furrowed. Stan wants to run the pad of his thumb over the skin there, smooth it out until Bill is giggling and happy, but he can’t.
‘Let them know when he’s free to call’? Isn’t that all he’s been doing for months now? It isn’t Stanley that’s been too busy to talk.
As soon as he hangs up, he gets a text from Bill, probably to ask if he’s okay or if he wants to talk one on one, but he doesn’t even look at it. If he tries to talk anymore tonight he’s going to burst into tears and that will just be embarrassing for everyone involved.
He needs to clear his head. He needs to feel the wind ruffling his hair and a chill on his skin to know that he’s still alive, that his heart is still beating. He hurries down the stairs without pausing to grab a jacket, heading for the door, but his father stops him before he can leave.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Stan doesn’t see him at first and he startles when the voice comes out of nowhere. His father is sitting at the kitchen table, alone, a drink in front of him. Stan’s gaze flickers between the drink and his father’s face,
“I just wanted to go for a walk, dad.”
“You’re grounded.” His father says, twirling his finger around the rim of the glass again and again. The gesture is almost hypnotic.
“I just wanted to go for a walk.” He says again, but this time it’s barely more than a whisper. He hasn’t been crying but already his throat feels scratchy and sore, his eyes puffy. Will his father be able to tell? The thought that his father might not even care, more than anything, makes him angry.
“Go back to your room.” He says, leaving no room for argument. Stan’s temper flares.
“I just want to go for a walk. What’s wrong with that?” His father looks up in surprise. Stanley Uris never argues back. Stanley Uris never raises his voice. Stanley Uris never does anything except exactly what he’s supposed to do. How long can he keep that act up for?
“What’s wrong with that,” his father stands up suddenly. Stanley stumbles backwards, surprised, heart pounding, a little scared. “Is that I said no.”
At his raised voice, Stan’s mother rushes in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on the front of her shirt. “What’s going on?” She asks, confused, looking between the, hesitantly like she doesn’t know whose side she’s going to have to take.
“Your son is trying to skip out on his punishment.” His father tells her, taking a sip of his drink. Stanley flushes, embarrassed at having been dismissed so thoroughly like he’s still ten years old, desperate for his father’s approval. He’s not.
“I’m almost eighteen years old.” He spits, stepping away from the door. He wants to leave more than ever now but if he runs out of the house after having an argument with him the consequences will be even worse when he gets back. Even angry and upset, Stan knows that much. “You can’t keep acting like I’m going to be under your thumb forever.”
“No, of course not.” His father sneers. “If it was up to you you’d be in New York getting drunk with your loser friends.”
Stan goes still. The remark, though he knows his father has no idea the extent of his insult, hits a little too close to home. Stan's eyes tear up embarrassingly quickly and he hurries upstairs, slamming the door to his room and ignoring his mother calling after him. Is that what everyone thinks of him, even his own parents? That he’s just the odd one out, the one that didn’t get to go to New York? Does everyone else know that he was abandoned too?
Of course they do, the thoughts return, drifting across his mind like whispers of a memory he can’t quite grasp. They left you. You’re a coward. You’re pathetic and everyone knows it.
This is how it’s always going to be. You, alone, scared. Nothing’s going to change. This is as good as it's ever going to get.
***
The next morning Stan can’t get out of bed. He wants to, wants to get up and about and go to school in time to see his friends, but he can’t get himself to move. His mind is blank, vacant. He feels suffocated by the weight of his sadness, his loneliness, his desperation to feel anything other than this.
His father is already at work and, to his surprise, his mother comes in to say that he doesn’t have to go to school today. She must be feeling bad about the fight yesterday, and how she didn’t do anything to stop it. It’s not her fault, he recognises distantly, but he feels so empty that he just doesn’t care anymore.
He stays in bed for a couple of hours, eyes open but unseeing. Life moves on around him the way it always does. Sunlight filters in through his blind and the postman visits, but Stan can’t find the energy to answer the door. He’s not hungry, not tired, not anything anymore. This is good as it’s ever going to get.
Later in the afternoon he breaks up with Bill. He doesn’t know if he feels sad about it or not: all his emotions are too jumbled around for him to pinpoint any one. He will later probably, or maybe he won’t, he just doesn’t know anymore.
He calls Bill around midday with no intention of actually talking to him. The call will go to voicemail, Stan thinks, and then he can leave Bill an apologetic message and can go back to lying down and doing nothing, being no one.
Except that doesn’t happen. The impossible happens. Bill picks up.
“Stan!” He sounds excited to talk to Stan. “What’s up? Are you in school?” When Stan doesn’t - can’t - answer for a few seconds, Bill speaks again, less upbeat now. More concerned. “Stanley?”
“I can’t do this.” Stan whispers, clears his throat, tries again. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Stan?” There's shuffling on the other end like Bill is moving somewhere else. Stan hopes the Losers Club is there with him so he won’t be alone. “Stan, what do you mean? What’s going on?”
“This isn’t working, Bill.” A tremble works its way into Stan’s voice. “Us. I don’t think we’re working anymore.”
“Stan, what are you talking about?” Bill sounds more alert now, more panicked. Stan can hear Bill’s breathing quicken over the speaker.
“I’m sorry, Bill. This was never going to work, long distance.”
“Stan, Stan baby, no.” Bill says, stricken. “Don’t say that, please.”
“I’m sorry Bill.” Stan says again, not sure what else there is to say.
“Hey, wait, listen. Things have been crazy and I– I’ve been an asshole. I know, okay? I know that, but I’ll be better. I’ll call you, okay? Everyday, I’ll call everyday, and we can FaceTime more. I’ll come visit at the weekends. Just– please, let’s just talk about this first. Stan?”
“There’s no point, Bill.” Stan wishes Bill wouldn’t make this so hard. What more is there to say? “We’re not working anymore.”
“ Stan,” Bill sounds even worse, panicky, voice thick with tears. “I love you, please. I’m– I’m coming back in three weeks for Christmas break. Lets just talk about it then, okay? Please? I love you, Stanley.”
Good as it’s ever–
“I’m sorry, Bill.”
–going to get.
Stan hangs up.
***
“Mom,” Stan says. “I’m going to take a bath.”
Stan is alone in the house. His parents are away. His friends are away. His boyfriend - ex boyfriend - is away. This is as good as Stan’s life is ever going to get.
In his mind, Stan’s mother is sitting in an armchair by the fire, watching television with his father. Stan is there too, much smaller and younger and happier. His father loves this version of him.
‘Okay, Stan,’ this version of his mother says. She smiles when she looks at him, and her expression is so warm and open that he knows he could go to her with his problems and that she’d make them all better. ‘We’ll be down here waiting for you, honey. Whenever you’re ready, come and join us.’
Stan starts to cry. Tears run down his face and he doesn’t wipe them away.
“Thanks, mom.” He tells his imagination. “I will. I promise.”
Climbing the stairs feels like it takes years, feels like climbing a mountain. Their bathroom is at the end of the hallway; it’s entirely white tile, the floor and walls and ceiling. The bathroom and sink and toilet are all white. Stan is going to get it dirty.
He’s glad he got to say goodbye to Bill, even if it wasn’t how he wanted. His parents won’t be home for hours. Stan is all alone.
So, alone in his house for the last time, Stanley Uris takes a bath.