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“Are you hearing me, Stanley?”
Stan looked up, the white noise fading as he looks away from the portfolio and up into his father’s eyes. That stern voice usually brought him out of his trance.
“Yeah.” He responds quietly, “I hear you.”
Donald Uris sighs, leaning back into the comfy leather seats of the first class airplane. They were currently coming back from a shoot in Southern Italy, and Stan was exhausted, to say the least. It wasn’t even his movie, and yet, he hadn’t had a proper sleep in about a month.
You see, Stan could not act to save his life, something his parents were initially disappointed in. But once he found his passion for business, they were satisfied with him still being a part of their Hollywood centric lives.
Stan was excited to be spending New Years in LA, but what he was most excited about was that he and his parents had been invited to one of the most elite parties in all of the USA. There were rumours the president was going to be there, but that was all it was. Rumours. Stan hated them, just as much as he hated the thought of having to represent his newest client.
Richie Tozier, a known foul-mouthed human, and an overall complete joke to the industry that Stan has revolved his whole life around. And yet, Richie somehow did amazing in all his roles, even if off-camera nobody wanted to be around him, everyone wanted him nonetheless. It helped that he had a nice face, too, and a crazy amount of curly black hair that girls went crazy for. Stan didn’t get it.
So, maybe it was for the best, or so Stan had hoped. He just closed his eyes and leaned back into his own chair, putting his headphones on and looking out the window.
He just really hopes for one night, Richie Tozier can be a decent human being.
Except, he knows the odds are definitely against him, and the proof is in the literal pudding, as last month there was some huge fiasco involving Richie Tozier pranking his cast and pudding was involved and -
Stan lets out a deep and exhausted sigh and looks down at his watch. Five more hours, trapped on this plane, and the only thing he can think and worry about is Richie fucking Tozier.
Stan stared at himself in the mirror. He hadn’t gotten dressed yet, he still had an hour before he had to head up the elevator to the event happening on the highest floor of the Sunset Tower. Of course a Los Angeles New Years Eve wasn’t comparable to a New York NYE, but Stan knew this party was going to determine the future of his career, so he had to be at his best.
His family stylist had ordered him a three-piece dark blue suit, but Stan didn’t want to get in it just yet. He didn’t want to get into Stan Uris, businessman mode, just yet. He just wanted to lounge in his room, drink some soda and relax. He had just gotten out of the shower, so there was one thing checked off his list of relaxation.
But he can’t even begin his other plans, because suddenly there is a knock at his door and he is quickly tying a robe around his waist.
He opens the door, expecting it to be his father, or even mother, coming to ask if he’s close to being ready. What he is met with is not who he expected.
“Holy shit, sorry.” Stan’s nose crinkles in instant disgust. “If I had known it was shower time I would’ve come earlier.”
Richie flashes a smile, and its charming, to say the least. Except it doesn’t hide the fact that behind that smile is the rudest person Stan has yet to meet. And he meets all kinds of people on sets.
“How did you know my room number?” Stan asks, trying to calm the upcoming anger he feels deep inside of him. He feels his hair drip water into his eyes and he shakes a hand through it, tangling slightly in his curls. Richie’s eyes follow this, and then go back to Stan’s.
“I asked at the front desk. I wanted to come meet you before the party. ‘Cause I wanted to make a good first impression on my new agent.” He bumps a fist against Stan’s bare shoulder and Stan frowns disapprovingly.
“Well. It was nice meeting you. I’ll see you soon.” He says formally, and begins to shut his door, but Richie’s foot is suddenly wedged between the doorframe. He hears Richie say ouch as the door hits his foot and he quickly moves the door away. “What?” Stan asks, annoyed.
“It was nice meeting you too.” Richie raises a hand to salute Stan, and Stan’s lips budge into a smile, even when he doesn’t want them to. Richie’s whole face erupts in to one big toothy grin at that, looking as if he accomplished the worlds hardest task: making Stan smile (which, he did).
“Okay.” Stan lets out a small chuckle and then shakes his head, closing the door firmly. He locks it too, just in case Richie had possibly somehow gotten a keycard to his room. Stan wouldn’t put it past him. He’s heard other things about Richie Tozier as well.
Stan stops himself then, cutting that train of thought. Rumours are a dangerous thing, he reminds himself, and he knows he should have his own judgement of Richie. So far, its neutral.
He heads to the washroom and puts some curl creme in his hair, then blow dries it quickly. He realizes he doesn’t have much more time to relax, so he downs the soda as fast as he possibly can, all while getting himself ready. He admires himself and quietly praises his stylist for the close-fitting, seamless, and not to mention fucking stylish as hell suit he’s got on. He feels good. And he knows he looks good too.
He sprays a small bit of cologne on his wrists and pats it behind his ears. He buckles on a Gucci belt and his most expensive watch he has on him at the moment (he got it two years ago on the last day of Hanukkah, and since then it’s been his favourite). He slips on his trusty black loafers and then - he groans, realizing he has to leave then. Leave the comfort of this hotel room that he’s grown fond of in the past few hours since he arrived at LAX.
He takes one final look, and then grabs his keycard, his phone, and a cigar, knowing at some point he’ll be chatting up some old producer in the smoke room and he’ll need to have a cigar to be accepted into that elite posse.
He leaves his hotel room, quietly shutting the door. He struts down the hallway, practicing his posture as he stands and waits silently for the elevator. His parents had agreed to meet him there, and that it would look better if he arrived on his own. He agreed on that too, he didn’t want it to look like he was riding their coattails to victory. After all, Donald Uris and Andrea James Uris were the it couple of Hollywood, ever since their teen years of acting had sparked their careers, and their love, both of which evolved into high-reaching flames that nobody could top. Stan being one of those nobodies.
The elevator door dings open, and he steps inside, pressing for floor 80, and he knows it won’t be too long of a ride since he is on floor 50. As the doors begin to close, a hand suddenly flies in between, getting caught, and somehow, Stan feels a wave of deja vu.
“Ouch, fuck.” The doors open, and in walks Richie. Stan’s jaw drops.
Richie enters the elevator as Stan stares in fear. You see, while Stan has a stylist and an actual sense of what to wear himself, Richie clearly doesn’t. Or, he does, but he decides to do his own thing.
Richie is wearing a golden sparkly shirt, with a god-awful plunging neckline. He’s got a leather jacket tied around his waist, and tight-fitting, ripped black jeans. And lastly, combat boots, that look as though they’ve been through hell and back. Stan gulps.
“Woah woah woah .” Richie says as his eyes look Stan up and down, and then he smirks, “You clean up real good.” He says, nodding his head and letting out a small sigh of approval.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” Stan asks in disbelief. He tries blinking, but he doesn’t wake up. Because this isn’t a dream. He’s about to head into the most important party of his life with his newest client looking like he’s supposed to be stripteasing at a bridesmaid’s party.
“What’da’ya mean, Stan?” Richie asks, then twirls around and clicks his tongue. He gives Stan a wink and it makes Stan feel nauseous. “This shirt cost $3000 dollars.” He says it proudly.
“Return it. Or burn it. I don’t care. You can not be wearing that. Not tonight.” Stan goes around him and presses the elevator button to head back to his floor, he always packs an extra outfit just in case. Unfortunately the elevator isn’t listening to him, and is still going up floors quickly. Stan keeps pressing, faster and harder, trying to get the elevator to understand.
“What? No. Stan, you gotta let me express myself. I know we haven’t made any ‘agreements’ yet,” He air quotes, "but that is going to be one of ‘em.” Richie slaps Stan’s hand away and presses the button so the floor direction goes off.
“Richie, I don’t care what you wear on a day-to-day but please for the love of-“ And then the two of them are in a button-pressing battle, slapping each others hands away in a futile attempt to both get what they want.
Suddenly the elevator comes to a halt. It’s so sudden it makes Richie jump and grab onto the sidebars, and Stan falls on his ass, and groans.
“What the fuck?” Richie mutters.
The elevator button lights flicker, and then they all go off at once, and then, the lights above them flicker as well, and the two men look towards each other in sudden panic.
“Holy fuck. Please-“ Stan rushes to the buttons and tries pressing them. Any of them, but they don’t light up, a few of them even get stuck inward.
“Whats going on?” Richie asks, his voice wavering and tone increasing in anxiety with every syllable.
“I-I don’t know.” Stan says, feeling as though he isn’t breathing. He looks towards his watch. It’s almost 10pm, he should be there by now. They both should be, and he wonders if his parents have texted him yet. Or if they’ve even noticed.
“Let me try.” Richie says but Stan gives him a ferocious look and it makes Richie back off instantly.
“Anything I can do, you can’t do better.” Stan says, breathing hard through his nose. He looks up, seeing a vent on the top of the elevator, and raises a hand to it. He feels air coming in, and one of his fears dissipate.
“Except act.” Richie responds and Stan runs a hand over his face. He gives Richie a stern look, and in response, Richie crosses his arms over his chest.
“We need to make it to this party.”
“Just push the red button thing.” Richie suggests, going to push it himself but Stan stops him.
“Push the red button? Have you ever watched a horror movie where someone who said ‘push the red button’ didn’t die?” He asks, and Richie rolls his eyes.
“It says ‘push for maintenance’ right above it!” He defends, and then Stan gets a good look at it, and realizes he’s right. Stan pushes it, and the elevator makes a new noise. Suddenly there's a crackling noise and a voice comes through some small discreet holes in the panels of the elevator.
“Uh…Maintenance…crew?” Stan asks, confused at how to address the people on the other line.
Theres some more crackling, and in-between it Stan can make out some voices.
“We can’t understand you, there seems to be a loss of connection.” Stan says, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Richie pull out his phone.
“Yeah, no bars.” Richie holds his phone up for Stan to see the little ‘no service’ symbol shining bright in the upper left corner.
“There’s two of us in here. We were on our way to the penthouse party when the elevator stopped.” Stan says, unsure if anyone can even hear them. There’s more crackling, and then finally.
“There seems to be a problem with that elevator-“ It cuts out again, “The two of you just stay calm-“ More cutting, and then, “About 2 hours.” The crackling stops, and it goes silent, save for the buzzing of the vent.
“2 hours?” Stan mumbles, his eyes going wide at the sudden realization.
“We’ll miss the countdown.” Richie says quietly, sadly, and Stan lets in a quick heaving breath.
“My parents are going to fucking murder me.”
“Woah, hey, its ok. Maybe they’ll get it done in one hour and then we’ll take the stairs up.”
“No, you don’t understand.” Stan says as he slides down the elevator wall into a crumpled sitting position. “My parents have been planning this night since the day I finished my degree in business. No, actually since the day I was born . And then an elevator malfunction screws it up?” His eyes are looking around the elevator frantically, and then they land on Richie, and his whole face screws up into one big expression of sadness and anger and he shoves his face into his hands, his curly hair falling around him and masking him even more.
“I’m sure they’ll understand.” Richie says but Stan raises a hand to silence him. Richie sits down then, across from him on the side of the elevator, and frowns, not really sure what else to do except wait.
After about ten minutes of straight silence, Richie begins to scoot a little closer. It's almost as if Stan senses this, as he looks up and gives him a glare.
“Do you wanna talk?” Richie asks, noticing how red Stan’s cheeks are, and how tired and glazed over his eyes are. For some reason, it makes Richie feel like shit, staring at his new agent, watching him get worse by the minute.
“No, I don’t wanna fucking talk. I just.. I want to get off this elevator.”
“Trust me, I do too. But the time will go by faster if you stop being an asshole to me.”
Stan scoffs, but after a moment of breathing, gives Richie an apologetic smile (well, you could call it a smile, but it really wasn’t).
“I’m sorry, I just…I’m under a lot of pressure.”
“Yeah. Me too.” Richie says, and Stan’s shoulder slump. “I know I look like an idiot in this shirt but, it’s a conversation starter. It’ll get people to look at me, camera’s to turn to me, and in the morning, people will be posting pictures of me everywhere dressed in this stupid, but gorgeous, sparkly shirt.”
Stan gives him a curious look, which wills Richie to go on.
“It’s not that I like being the centre of attention - I need to be. I need to…think about my career and ways to get where I want to be. I’m close but - not close enough.” He shakes his head and brings his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.
“That’s actually…really smart.” Stan says, “It sounds like something I’d advise you to do but… you did it in your own way with that abomination of a shirt.”
“Did you just compliment me?” Richie asks, stunned. He smirks, and Stan looks away, up at the vent that blows cool air down onto him.
“Take it, because trust me, you will not hear them often.”
“Wow. Are we bonding?” Richie asks, and whatever kind of moment was beginning to happen, quickly dies out and Stan gushes out a disgusted grunt.
“I wouldn’t call it that.”
Richie clicks his tongue and smiles, his shoulders shimmying with excitement.
“Stop that.” Stan says, but Richie continue to shimmy, his glittery shirt reflecting off the light and no matter where Stan looks, the sparkles glare back at him.
“You know, from what I’ve heard about you,” Richie says after he finally stopped shimmying, “You seem cool. Not cold or posh like the articles online have said.”
“I’m curious,” Stan says, ignoring that he fully well knows what the articles online have to say about him. He reads them almost every day, but sometimes, he takes a break, or else he may have to just collect his early life winnings and head to some island far away and never look back. “Why did you choose me to be your agent? I mean, you’re young, good-looking-“ Stan lists, looking at Richie to find his eyes widen at that, and he quickly adds, “ to some .” But Richie still continues to smile. “So why me? You probably had more than a handful of agents requesting you and none of them were me.” He chuckles a little nervously at the last part, but it makes Richie frown, going into a contemplative state for a moment.
“I chose you ‘cause no matter what the articles online say, your work precedes your reputation.” He says, and then continues. “You’ve done more work in your 27 years of life than I hope to accomplish in the next 5 of mine. I could only imagine how hard you’d work for me once you knew how bad I want this. And sure, maybe I could’ve chosen some old, dried up agent who knows a bunch of directors that owe them a favour but- I wanna do this on my own. And from the looks of it, we seem to be in the same boat. You, wanting to separate from your parents…and me, wanting to just,” He shrugs, staring at the floor of the elevator. “Just act. I wanna get there on my own, not through the favours or anything else because that’s how its been my whole life. It’s just been me and I intend to keep it that way. I just kinda knew that you’d understand that.”
He finally looks up at Stan, who’s got tears welling in his eyes.
“I didn’t expect that.” He mumbles, but Richie shrugs, raising an eyebrow and then smiling like a complete dope.
“Anyways, you think they’ll update us?” He points to the red button, but Stan shrugs.
“Couldn’t tell you.”
Richie’s lips quirk to the side. “Just sucks. I had a friend meeting me at this party and now he’s gonna be disappointed.”
“What friend?”
“Bill Denbrough. We grew up together.” Richie smiles fondly, “I was excited to see him. He would’ve made this night a lot better. Even if only after one shot he’s passed out.”
“I think I’ve heard that name before.”
“Oh, for sure. He’s in that daytime soap all about the doctors. For the life of me I can never remember the name but, oh well.”
Stan hums in acknowledgement, then looks around the elevator. It all looks the same. There's nothing new to look at, and yet, he just stares around. When his eyes land on Richie, its because there's a loud clunking noise that brings him back to him.
“What are you doing?”
“Oh,” Richie has taken off his leather jacket that was tied around his waist and thrown it down in front of himself. He’s taken out a small case and it creaks open. “I figure, if we’re gonna be in here for a while, I’d rather wear my glasses.”
Stan has to look away then, as Richie peels out his contact lenses and puts them in their proper case. When he looks back, Richie is just putting his glasses on.
“The sixties called, they want their glasses back.”
“Haw haw.” Richie mocks, making a face, and then closing the case and shoving it back into the pocket of his jacket. “I hate the contacts. I wish I didn’t have to wear them but my glasses make me less ‘appealing’ or whatever.” He rolls his eyes.
“Not really.” Stan quirks his head to the side and once again, his mouth forms a smile before he can stop it. “It’s a cute look. Its quirky and kind of ‘hipster’ but then again, so are you, clearly.” He points to the combat boots. Richie brings a hand to his heart and lets out the craziest noise Stan has ever heard.
“Ooh, straight to my heart, Stanley. The compliment and the insult.”
“There was no compliment in that sentence whatsoever.”
“If it makes you feel better, you’re not so bad yourself.” Richie says, moving so he is lying back on his leather jacket. His legs are too long and he ends up having his legs rest upwards on the wall.
Stan takes a moment to check his phone, and sighs at the fact that he has no signal too. He wonders, again, if his parents even notice he isn’t there.
Richie starts banging his hands against his thighs, making a rhythm. He stops when he finally starts physically feelings the daggers that Stan is shooting him simply through his glare.
“So, Staniel,”
“Do not call me that.”
“You got a wife? A girlfriend? Maybe a mistress?” Richie asks and Stan clears his throat at the question, feeling his chest heat up and tighten all at once.
“Uh, no, actually. Never had that.”
“Never?” Richie asks, obviously surprised. The way he’s staring at Stan makes his glasses a little off centre, but it seems as though he’s used to it. “What about like, just casual FWB?”
“FW what?”
“Friends with benefits.” Richie asks, “Have you never heard that term?”
“Oh, yeah I have.” He says, “I mean- I don’t have a friend with benefits, I’ve heard the term.” Again he clears his throat, trying to get his airway to open up better. “I move around too much for me to even think about a relationship. Plus, I need to be fully focused on my work, I don’t have time-“
“Oh do not give me that bullshit, Stan.” Richie sits up then, in one quick sudden movement. He’s also moved closer, now sitting back on his ankles in the middle of the elevator. “Even your parents had time to meet one another - they weren’t even famous yet and yet.” He gestures to Stan, “They made you.”
Stan thinks about it for a moment, realizing this. Its true. His parents weren’t that famous when they got together, or when his mother got pregnant. That definitely had to put a small bump in her career, possibly even his father’s.
“They must’ve just had other priorities in that time but the parents I’ve known my whole life have only ever cared about one thing and that thing is their career and mine.”
“But what about you? Don’t you want someone to love?”
“Yes, but I want to have a good start in my career before I even think about having a relationship.” Richie groans, and Stan wonders why he sounds so upset about this. Stan decides to ask him.
“Why do you care so much?”
“Unlike you I am a literal open book. Google my name and you will find everything you want to know about me.” He says, “But you, Stan Uris, are a mystery. And when we finally write up some kind of agreement or whatever, I want to know you.”
“So you’re way of getting to know me is asking me if I’ve been having sex or not?”
“Precisely.” He nods. Stan rolls his eyes and Richie rolls over and back to his position of lying down on the floor.
Stan begins shucking off his coat and then takes his time neatly folding it. Richie watches quietly, trying to think of something to fill the silence.
After a bit, Stan leans his head back on the cold elevator wall and closes his eyes. The two don’t say anything, and they silently agree to just wait it out.
Stan opens his eyes what seems like minutes later, and to his dismay, it actually only was a few minutes that he seemingly dozed off. He checks his watch to find it’s only 10:30, and they still haven’t gotten any updates.
He shuffles over and presses the button. Within moments there is some crackling, which makes Richie turn over to face Stan more.
“Any updates on when we can get out of here?” Stan asks into the wall, not really sure if anyone is actually listening.
The crackling goes silent, and then all of a sudden the whole elevator shifts up and down a small bit. Stan looks at Richie in panic, and the lights begin to flicker.
The crackling then comes back.
“Sorry….still working on the malfunction….another hour at most.” And then its quiet.
“God. I might as well just die now since when we get out of here, my career is going to be over.” Stan says, knowing he’s being dramatic, but in this situation he is throwing all rationality out the window. Or better yet, out the vent of the elevator.
“Stop that.” Richie says, and Stan gives him a glare. “And that. I don’t need your evil eye on me. Plus, you are by far one of the best agents in this industry. Missing one little party for something that you couldn’t control is not going to kill you or your career.”
Just as he finishes, the elevator shakes again and Richie lets out a chuckle.
“Ok, maybe it will kill us.”
“I have a feeling I’ll end up killing you before the elevator does.” Stan mumbles, and it makes a gregarious laugh erupt from Richie, who after a few minutes has tears coming out of his eyes and is holding his stomach in a happy but painful way.
“Jeez, Stan. I didn’t know you had that fire in you. I love it. Please bring it to the table more often.”
Minutes begin passing where they don’t speak. They exchange looks as the lights flicker and the telecom makes some cracks but no voice comes through. After a while, Stan stretches out his legs and Richie has his back on the ground and his legs on the wall as he continuously tries to climb up the wall like a child.
Stan sighs and ends up just watching him for a while, and this goes on for about twenty minutes until Richie is literally sweating. One time he gets his legs so high up the wall that his neck looks broken , but he looks at Stan with a big goofy and triumphant grin that it makes Stan laugh (and shake his head as well). Stan notices, in that twenty minutes, how young Richie actually looks. He’s only 21, and yet his curly hair and freckles make him look even younger. He’s cute, in a boyband-ish way, and it makes Stan feel a little warmer towards him. He’s so young, and yet, he’s getting parts left and right and people are going absolutely bananas for this kid.
“Hey Stan, take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Richie says through a strangled breath as he finally turns over, wiping his forehead with his hand and taking a deep breath in.
“I’d rather not. You’d probably make my camera crack.”
“Why, because of my unmatchable beauty?”
Stan makes a face and tries to look away, but there is literally nothing else to look at except Richie.
“I gotta ask you something.” Richie begins, and as he does, he crawls over towards Stan. Stan flinches slightly at this, as Richie plops next to him, but he doesn’t say anything to stop him. Richie opens his mouth a few times, and it's clear that he’s trying to formulate a proper way to ask him whatever he’s thinking.
“Is it something personal?”
“I mean, kind of? More so for me than you.” Richie looks at him in a curious way, his eyes go from one of Stan’s eyes to the other. Searching.
“Well, technically I’m not your agent yet, so you can be as blunt as you want.” Stan says. Richie looks away and down to his boots. He knocks his knees together a few times, then quietly Stan hears him speak.
“Do you like women?” Richie asks, not meeting his eyes.
“Women?”
“Yes. Do you…wanna marry a woman?” Richie asks, giving him a scenario that makes Stan feel a little sick for a moment. He doesn’t exactly know why, but at the same time he totally does.
“I don’t know. Do you?”
“That's the thing.” Richie says, and suddenly he’s somehow sitting closer to Stan, staring directly at him as he speaks. He’s more agitated, Stan notices. More excited. “You see, the public doesn’t know this but I am bisexual. Meaning I like both men and women.”
“I’m familiar with the term.” Stan says, remembering one of his childhood friends had come out to him as bisexual as well. Mike, was his name, and he was also Stan’s first kiss at a high school party. That was until Mike moved away and they never got into contact again. Stan thinks he’s playing football somewhere in Canada now, but he can’t be sure.
Richie nods. He scratches the back of his head and then continues. “Just, lately I’ve been leaning more towards men than women, and I just wanted to make sure you didn’t have any like…prejudice towards-“
“Gay men?” Stan asks, and Richie gives him a warm smile, that makes Stan smile as well.
“Don’t worry. I’m not like my parents. I don’t care what you like, as long as you make me money.”
“Very funny.” Richie says, but gives a chuckle nonetheless. “Thanks though. I felt like I needed to get that off my chest.”
Stan gives him a pat on the back, his hand lingering for a moment. Richie seems to notice this, and his smile slowly fades, and suddenly he’s leaning forward, and Stan gasps as he notices the elevator doors begin being pried open.
“Holy shit!” He exclaims, moving before Richie has a chance to get closer. He grabs his suit coat and begins putting it on quickly, as Richie scrambles for his leather jacket. Stan looks down at his watch, and notes that if they run up the stairs, they’ll have a few minutes to mingle until the countdown.
The elevator maintenance crew is talking to them, but neither Stan or Richie are really listening.
“Richie, c’mon. We’ve still got time.” Stan says impatiently as he holds his hand out as Richie, still sitting on the elevator floor, is frantically trying to put his contacts in. “Don’t worry about it the glasses, you seriously look great in them.”
Richie looks up, lips parted as his eyes are glazed over with a fear that Stan has seen in himself all too much.
“You mean it?”
“I do. Now lets go .”
Richie slowly takes his hand. Stan yanks him up onto his feet and even though the elevator maintenance people are still talking to them (something about the elevator shutting itself down from being overworked), they run to the nearest stairwell and begin jumping the steps as fast as their legs can take them.
Stan is smiling from ear to ear, and Richie begins laughing. They’re both scared, and nervous, but they’re also okay. For some reason, Stan could describe himself feeling safe in this moment, and that's the first time he’s ever felt like that when attending any kind of event.
When they finally approach the doors to enter the penthouse, Stan stops, and Richie stops too, only after noticing Stan a few steps back.
“Whats up?” Richie asks. “Why aren’t you coming?”
Stan looks towards him and frowns, “I need to just…think for a moment. I need to get into my business mode.” He takes a deep breath, but before his mind can begin a checklist for the night, Richie interrupts.
“No.” Richie says sternly, making Stan furrowed his brows and glare. “Fuck your job. At least for one night.”
“Wh-“
“At the beginning of tonight you were all stern and cold but you’re not actually like that.” Richie steps towards him, and Stan doesn’t respond.
Behind the doors to the penthouse, they can hear music playing. It goes quiet, and someone beyond the doors is shouting for the countdown to begin in a minute.
“You were just you and the real you is a lot more cool than the business you. You won’t get far always just being in your business mode. You’re funny and you’re kind. Just be you, and they’ll love you.” Richie lets out a laugh as he says this, mostly because he can’t believe how explicitly he has to say this.
Stan nods, and together, they open the doors to the penthouse and walk in.
“10!…9!…8!…”
“Oh shit.” Richie mumbles, and then looks towards Stan apologetically, “I’m sorry you missed it.” Richie says and looks down at Stan, who’s frozen, staring into the crowd of people. The room is dark and yet he can make out a lot of important people, that he would have loved to chat with.
“6!….5!…4!…”
“Don’t be sorry.” Stan whispers.
“2!…1!”
“Happy New-“ Richie begins to say to Stan, but he’s cut off as a pair of lips crash against his own. It’s slow, and all he can see is curly caramel hair and suddenly its gone again. Richie meets Stan’s eyes and Stan gives him a sheepish grin.
“Sorry, just…you told me to live.” Stan shrugs, and Richie’s eyes sparkle.
“Well, you aren’t my agent yet. So, that’s allowed, right?”
Stan thinks for a moment but then nods, and is met with Richie giving him another kiss. They look at each other when they move away, and Stan begins to laugh, as does Richie.
“Alright, now that that's settled, you wanna introduce me to some important peeps?”
“Don’t call them peeps.”