Chapter Text
As kids, Stan was always really shy. Richie remembers going up to him on the playground in the first grade. Stan didn’t have any friends at the time. Richie hopped onto the swing next to Stan and just started talking to him as if they already knew each other. Stan liked the company. He didn’t talk to Richie the whole time, but his quiet smile showed that he didn’t want Richie to leave.
The next day, Richie did the same thing. He kept doing it all week until he finally made Stan burst into laughter. Then Stan finally decided to introduce himself, and he could tell Richie was ecstatic.
After that, Stan met Eddie and Bill, and the losers club just grew. Now, with the seven losers by his side during high school, he can’t even imagine what his life would have been like if Richie hadn’t taken a chance on the little, shy, Jewish tater that he was.
*
Stan sat alone in the clubhouse after everyone had already left. He didn’t feel like going home right now, after all it was only mid afternoon.
He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. He heard the slight ruffling of his weird little shower cap as his head rested back.
Richie was the last to leave. Before he left, he had noticed Stan was really quiet. He hadn’t said a word to him that whole day. When the rest of the losers had left, Richie had asked Stan what was wrong and Stan exploded. Saying nothing was wrong and to just leave him alone. Richie felt really awkward after that so he just said “gosh, who pissed in your cereal?” and then left.
Stan sighed. “Jesus Stan. what was that?” he muttered to himself.
He’d just yelled at his best friend for literally asking if he was okay. Why the fuck didn’t he have the balls to just tell Richie. Stan had had a huge crush on Richie since the eighth grade, maybe earlier. All the way until now (grade 11) he had just been holding it all in. but he really didn’t want to, it was just so hard to find the confidence. He wanted to tell Richie how he felt. He wanted to stop being afraid, and losing his shit when it got too much. He wanted to tell Richie, and for Richie to say the same. He wanted to hold Richie's hand while they watched horror movies in Stan’s basement. He wanted to kiss- “no! Why the fuck am I thinking about this? Richie doesn’t feel that way. Just fucking get over it Stan. get over it.” Stan felt a small sting behind his eyes. It took all of the power left in him not to burst into tears. He was so tired of having to hide behind his own fear.
He slid down the wall and sat on the dirt, his knees to his chest. There was a lump in his throat the size of a frog. He held back his tears with all he had, causing a small whimper to escape from his mouth. He held his eyes shut tight. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”