Chapter Text
Stan’s mom pressed a hand to his forehead, frowning anxiously. “Oh, sweetie. You’re really burning up.”
“I’ll be fine, honestly,” Stan protested croakily, feeling anything but. His head pounded, his throat burned, and he could no longer breathe through his stuffed nose. He’d been fine yesterday, just sneezing a lot, but he’d spent the night in torment, unable to sleep through the fever and the burning in his throat. As soon as his mother had come in to get him out of bed, she’d demanded he stay home.
“Stan, honey, there’s no way you can go to school like this.”
“I have a Math test, Mom. I can’t stay home.”
“Stanley, do you ever think you might be so sick because you stay up at all hours studying?” His mother raised an eyebrow at him. “Now, I’m not saying you shouldn’t work hard, but just for today...do you think you could take a break? School will still be there when you’re recovered. It’s not going to fall down a hole.”
“That’s what you think,” Stan muttered. It came out more like dath’s doth you dink. His mother sighed.
“I’m sorry Stan. I’m sure you’ll be able to catch up in no time.” She kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything. Just shout.”
He watched her leave dejectedly. A whole day of nothing but sniffling, sweating, coughing and boredom stretched out before him. Meanwhile, the other Losers would probably already be on their way to school, meeting each other on the street corners and racing each other to campus, teasing each other. Richie would be making jokes that by the time Stan saw them again would already be old, and he would refuse to explain them just to be annoying, Stan knew. Truth be told, it was a whole day without Richie that really made him miserable, not that he’d ever admit it. Stan sighed and stared at the ceiling, loneliness crushing him. Faintly, he heard the shrill ring of the phone and tried to sit up a little, hope igniting in his chest. When he heard his mother’s voice answer and, a few seconds later, her footsteps on the stairs, he sat up properly.
“It’s Richie, sweetie,” she said, holding out the phone. The cord was just long enough to stretch up the stairs from the hallway wall. Stan leaned out precariously to take the receiver from her.
“Hey, Richie.” Stan fought a grin, happy to have contact with his boyfriend at least, even if he couldn’t see him in person.
“Hey. I just called to see how you were since you seemed pretty sick yesterday, and your mom told me you were staying home? Are you okay?” Richie had seen he looked ill yesterday, Richie had worried, worried enough to call and check up on him. Suddenly, Stan was smiling widely.
“I feel pretty bad, but it’s okay. I just wish Mom would let me come to school.”
“Are you nuts? For one, no-one sane passes up an opportunity to lay around in bed all day being fussed over and watching TV. Second, you sound like you have the plague. If you came in to school I’d take you home myself.”
“Aw, really, Mommy?”
“I’m serious, Stan. You sound like you smoke twenty a day.”
“Thanks.”
“Is your mom still there?” Stan glanced over to the doorway. His mother smiled at him, and tapped her wrist; start to wrap it up, sweetie. He nodded at her.
“Yeah, why?”
“Listen, don’t react to what I’m about to say.” Stan rolled his eyes. “You just rolled your eyes, didn’t you?”
“Maybe. What am I supposed to be not reacting too?”
“Shh! Don’t give the game away. I’m gonna come round to see you -”
“No, Richie you have -”
“If you say ‘you have a Math test’ I will reach down this phone line and smack you.”
“You do.”
“Who cares? My precious Stanley is sick and needs my utmost attention.” Richie was putting on his brave masculine hero voice.
“My mom’ll be home all day.” Stan snuck a glance at his mother and saw her frown quizzically at him. Uh-oh.
“Then I’ll sneak in the window. I’m ninja-quiet.” Quiet was the last word Stan would have used to describe his boyfriend, but Richie was world-class at getting into places he wasn’t supposed to be. All the same, Stan could see this little escapade turning into a real headache for him, and since at this moment he had an actual, physical headache he wasn’t exactly in the mood for Richie’s antics. Nevertheless, Richie’s presence would at least make the boring, lonely day Stan had planned a tad more fun. Not that he’d ever tell Richie that. His head was big enough already.
“There’s nothing I can say to get you not to do this, right?”
“Correct, as ever, Stanley. I’m practically at your place already.” Stan groaned, hung up, and handed the phone back to his mom.
“What was Richie saying?” His mother scrutinised him carefully.
“Oh, just seeing if I’d be in school today,” Stan lied, feeling a mixture of anticipation and dread. Richie was wonderful, Stan loved him, of course he did, he was a great boyfriend...but whether Stan could handle him in his present condition was another matter entirely. Still, it was better than being without him for a whole day. He guessed.
Richie, meanwhile, was determined to make what was no doubt shaping up to be a crappy day for Stan as good as it possibly could be. Packing some crucial items in his backpack, he cycled recklessly fast to Stan’s house, slaloming through cars and ignoring the shouts and blasts of horn, skipping onto the pavement, cutting down back streets and through parks. He abandoned his bike on Stan’s street corner, padlocking it to a slender sapling on a patch of scrub land, and pondered his next move. Stan’s place was the third one down, his window facing the back garden, so there were three white picket fences in between Richie and his fair maiden, not to mention rose bushes, angry dogs and possibly angrier neighbours. And, of course, Stan’s mom – who, while too sweet to be scary, would definitely send him packing if she spotted him trying to get to Stan.
“Well, if that one-inch-wonder Prince Charming could do it...” Richie muttered under his breath. He took a couple of steps’ run up to the first fence, jumped, and caught the top with the tips of his fingers.
Pulling himself up and over in a scramble, he landed with a huff in the garden, immediately up and alert for any sign of life in the garden or the house. Nothing moved, but Richie had put a scuff in the lush green lawn where he’d landed, which he felt vaguely guilty about. He glanced about shiftily, took a run up to the next fence, and scaled that one too. Two down, one to go. This house clearly had kids – Richie nearly faceplanted into a swing set as he jumped down, there was a tricycle abandoned near the house, and the large tree at the bottom of the garden had a dangerously wonky-looking tree-house perched in its branches. The main branch supporting the tree-house stretched over the opposite fence. An idea sparked in Richie’s brain. He scrambled to the tree, pressing himself against the trunk, and peeked round it to the house at the opposite end of the garden. No movement. No voices. He scaled the ladder of slats nailed to the trunk with ease and poked his head up through the hole in the floor. Two young girls, about five or six, stopped their dolls’ tea party to stare wide-eyed and open-mouthed at Richie.
Shit.
“Hello, ladies,” Richie smiled his most winning smile. “Mind if I cut through your charming home? I’m trying to get to my princess, you see. He – she’s trapped in a tower on the other side of that fence, and I need to kiss her to free her from her curse.”
“Are you a prince, then?” the girl with long blonde hair and bangs asked. Richie nodded, getting into the part.
“Sure am. The bravest and most handsomest in the kingdom.”
“I didn’t know princes could have glasses,” the blonde one replied with childish suspicion.
“Only the really smart ones.”
“Is your princess pretty?” piped up the brown-haired girl.
“The prettiest,” Richie replied, smiling as he thought of Stan. The girl pondered that for a moment.
“I guess you better get going and kiss her then,” she decided finally. Her blonde friend nodded solemnly. Richie gave them as flourishing a bow as he could in the tight space.
“Thank you, my ladies. I will never forget your kindness.” Richie carefully stepped over the plastic tea set and Barbies and put his foot through the window, stepping out onto the wide branch. A quick balancing act later and he was dropping down into Stan’s garden at last.
He spotted Stan’s mom moving about in the kitchen almost immediately and ducked behind the rose bush to hide. She stayed by the refrigerator for a few minutes, putting back a carton of milk, and then moved out of sight of the window again. Richie heaved a sigh of relief and stood up, brushing rose petals out of his hair. On impulse, he pulled a rose from the bush, wincing and sucking his pricked fingers, but pleased with the heavy white bloom. Then he cast about for a stone – big enough to make a noise when it hit Stan’s window, but small enough that it wouldn’t break the glass. Weapon chosen, he wound up and let fly at the bay window. It clattered nicely against the glass and dropped to the ground. Richie waited a few seconds, and just as he was about to grab the stone and try again, the window slid open and Stan’s curly dark head poked out. Richie waved.
Stan stood back as Richie crawled through his window, all long skinny limbs flailing ungainly, and flopped down on the window seat with a sigh. “My princess!” he said brightly, squinting up at Stan, who could see himself reflected upside down in Richie’s glasses. “I’ve found you at last!” He stuck out his hand. Clutched in it was a white rose from the bush in the garden below. Richie's hand was bleeding all over the stem, his hair was messy and full of twigs and flower petals, his knees almost black with soil.
Stan frowned as he gingerly took the rose from Richie's hand. “Princess? What’s that supposed to me – ah – ah -” He sneezed violently. Richie beamed at him like he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“It was tough getting to you Stanley, I don’t mind telling you. Worth it though.”
“Uh-huh.” Stan stumbled back into bed, suddenly feeling dizzy. Richie sat cross-legged on the other end of the bed and unzipped his backpack. “Thanks for coming though. Even though it is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had, probably, and if we get caught we’ll both be in huge trouble.”
Richie had stopped listening at ‘thanks for coming’ and was busy digging in his backpack. “Okay, we got comics from Big Bill...he also sends his sympathies, and says he’ll come over after school with the work you missed. He’s sweet, bless him, but boring. Eddie Spaghetti is, as you can imagine, not coming over for fear of becoming infected with your fatal illness and falling down dead, or, failing that, being quarantined until he’s twenty by the charming Ms. Kaspbrak. He does, however, send a lot of cold remedies. Mike offered books, because like you he is a huge nerd, and Ben sends his mom’s cookies, which I may have to eat for you.” Comic books, bottles of medicine, two paperbacks and a Tupperware box of cookies spilled out onto Stan’s bed. He could feel a grin slowly spread across his face. “Finally, Miss Marsh sends cigarettes. She seemed to think they’d help. I’m less sure, but who am I to refuse a lady?” The pack of cigarettes landed on the top of the pile.
“And what did you bring?” Stan smiled at Richie.
“Why, my winning personality, of course,” Richie grinned back. “And the pleasure of my body, should you require it.”
Stan leaned forward to punch him lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t be gross,” he groaned, but the smile wasn’t slipping.
“Now, where’s the kiss for the brave hero?” Richie waggled his eyebrows at Stan.
“Is the brave hero sure he wants one? I’m kind of toxic at the moment.”
“No illness could dampen the flames of my desire for you, my love,” Richie declared dramatically, throwing his head back with a hand on his heart. Stan smiled as Richie leaned in and pressed his lips to Stan’s, a soft fluttering of birds wings that set Stan’s heart fluttering too.
“There,” Richie said softly. He pulled away, but his face remained close to Stan’s, smiling as he looked into his eyes. “Now we’re all set for a pretty good day off school. Not Ferris Bueller standards, I’ll admit, but pretty good.”
Stan nodded. “Pretty good,” he had to agree.