Work Text:
It wasn't the first time Richie had a dark moment. Richie was a sliding scale between really high highs and deep lows, like mountains and valleys of mental health. When it was about his loud mouth or the things he said to his friends, he would occasionally go to Mike about it, looking for an objective ear and a sympathetic smile. When it was about his parents or the reeking smell of alcohol in his clothes, he camped out in Eddie's floor, the two of them resolving not to talk about it. When it was about his sexuality or anything of that nature, Bev's door was always open. But, when it was about what made Richie Richie, and what really didn't, he went to Stan. Stan the Man with a Plan always knew what to say.
Stan realised he needed talking to before Richie even said anything, ducking away from the history hall where his next class was meant to be held and jerking his head toward the exit near the English hall. Everyone thought Stan was the most well behaved member of the rascal Losers Club, but that hat would really have to go to one Bill Denbrough; even Eddie Kaspbrak skipped more classes in his day than their fearless leader. Richie followed Stan like a puppy, ducking his head and not making eye contact with any of the bustling students around him. Stan held the door for him before they broke for the road, speed walking until they reached the abandoned shop across the street. Richie had broken in a few times before, so they just kicked in the base of the door again.
Stan lit a cigarette for him, pulling a pack Richie knew had to be from Beverly's stash from his back pocket. Richie didn't know how to express the dark gratitude in the base of his throat, just wanting to fall into Stan and not wanting to talk about it anymore.
"Alright, Richard, out with it," Stan said, apropos of nothing, and that plan went directly out of the door; Richie wasn't sure it ever even entered the building with them. Staniel didn't let things go unless they're pried away from him with a crowbar, sharp eyes seeing even the smallest of ticks. Maybe Richie just thought that because he was the one most often beneath Stan Uris's microscope submitted for research and investigation, but that was neither here nor there. Instead of answering right away, he leaned against Stan's shoulder, sighing deeply.
"Just a bad day to be Richie, Staniel," he mumbled, a near whisper against Stan's collarbone as he discarded his cigarette by stubbing it against the wall, dropping it. He wrapped his arms completely around his best friend, digging his fingers into Stan’s fine boned back. Stan's arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him close and then pulling the two of them to the floor, Richie nearly in Stan's lap. There were several minutes of silence with just Richie's heavy breathing passing between them in the still of the abandoned shop. Richie almost sobbed as he felt Stan's hand passing through his nearly too long hair, gripping tighter at his best friend's shirt.
“God, this sucks ,” Richie whispered harshly, his voice breaking apart like chopsticks on the last word. The dysphoria was crawling and fucking Derry didn’t help, with the stereotypes of toxic masculinity walking around worshipped like Gods, with the feminine sycophants drooled over by every straight boy in the tri-county area, and Richie just felt fucking sick . Not a good day to be Richie indeed. He didn’t want to be a person at all, unless it was to be some cis boy in some cis body where he’d never having to worry about being assigned to the wrong locker room ever again. Stan pulled him impossibly closer, getting into a position where he could speak into the other boy’s hair.
“There’s a universe out there, one that isn’t ours, but so close we could taste it, where I was born Stan and you were born Richie and we’re still friends, because there’s not a Stan and Richie that aren’t best friends. We’re always Stan and Richie. You’re always a boy named Richie and I’m always a boy named Stan and you’re always my best friend, I promise. This is just the world where we have to work for some of it,” Stan explained, speaking nearly into Richie’s ear, and Richie hung off of every word. He nodded after it seemed like Stan was done, tucking his face into Stan’s neck even more.
“You’re a great guy, Richard. I insult you a lot, but you’re a good guy. One of the best guys I know,” Stan murmured, pressing what felt like a featherlight kiss against Richie’s hair. Richie gave the ghost of his real smile against the base of Stan’s neck, placing an even lighter kiss behind his best friend’s ear. He could feel it when Stan’s whole body tensed, giving him a feeling of giddy anticipation before Stan reacted.
“Sad as shit and still trying to make a move on me, Richard?” Stan asked, half anxious and half amused, which was a basic explanation of half of Stan’s personality. Richie really did love it when Stan called him Richard , flooding him with validation and masculinity and hope that tastes like choice. More of Richie’s grin came easily, though it was not the kind that he faked for the rest of the world when he was sad; this was Stan’s own smile, one that he could pull out of Richie whenever he wanted.
“I mean, if you’re mine in every universe, Stanley, well, I may as well, right?” Richie teased, nuzzling into the hollow of Stan’s throat. He could feel when Stan choked on his own breath and spit. It was both gratifying and terrifying, the one and a half seconds where Stan said absolutely nothing, catching his breath and collecting his thoughts. Richie was reassured by the spread hands on his back, however.
“Yours, huh?” Stan asked, voice choked and tight. Richie did as best as he could to nod while not jostling Stan’s head too badly, still with his shithead grin plastered across his face. He was startled, a little, when Stan’s hand came to move his chin away from Stan’s neck, forcing him to look the other boy in the eye.
“And this is the world where you’re mine too, right?” Stan asked, his other hand moving to cup the other side of Richie’s face.
“This is a world where, yeah, Stan. In as many universes as you want me, I’m yours,” Richie said, and then he was being kissed, just in that spot of a moment. He wouldn’t have it any other way.