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“Ah, hell yeah, they have pumpkin.” Stan’s words were quiet, mumbled to himself.
Bill stood feet away, his own carton of ice cream cradled between his forearm and chest. The cool was seeping through the sleeve of his shirt. Weeks ago, it would have been a welcomed break from the summer heat. Autumn was long upon them, though, and the need for the cold was gone. It didn’t matter. He watched Stan reach into the cooler and pull out the ice cream he’d chosen.
“You l-like pumpkin ice cream?”
Stan startled, then relaxed at the sight of Bill. “Yeah, it’s good.”
“I d-d-didn’t know y-you liked p-pumpkin.” Bill inched closer, leaving a careful few inches between their arms as he looked at the label. It was hot and cold in that gas station. The breeze from the open door and the condensation of the ice cream chilled him, but Stanley was warm. Being so close only added to the heat.
There was a light laugh and when Bill looked up at his friend’s face, a smile met him, as well. “I like a lot of things.”
Beautiful.
Bill had been getting accustomed to that word in reference to Stanley Uris. Not that it hadn’t always been there, playing at the back of his mind every time Stan invited him on a bird-watching adventure or when he fell asleep with his head propped up on one hand during advisory, but it was new for Bill to recognize it. There were lots of beautiful things in his life and Stanley Uris was certainly one of them.
“I’ve n-n-never had i-it b-before,” he admitted. Selfishly, he wished Stan would offer him a taste. Selfishly, he hoped Stan would allow a single line to be crossed--- though he knew well enough it was never just a single line for Stan. Selfishly, he wanted to be an exception.
“Would you like to try?” Stan asked, holding out the ice cream. “We’re going to the park after this, aren’t we?”
“O-oh,” Bill nudged Stan’s offer away, consciously avoiding any direct contact with Stan’s skin. “T-that’s okay. I-I already picked a f-f-flavor.”
Stan giggled. Beautiful. Stan bit the corner of his bottom lip, his smile only making it more obvious. Beautiful . “I didn’t mean for you to switch flavors, dumbass. I meant we can share this one. I don’t mind--- you’re less of a mess than Eddie.”
Hot. The room was getting hotter. Bill could feel it in his cheeks and ears. He was an exception. He was trusted enough to be allowed past Stan’s guards without setting off an alarm. “O-o-okay. I’d l-like that.”
He was rewarded another giggle and another smile.
Suddenly, pumpkin was his favorite flavor.
The house was altogether too noisy when Bill entered. The echoing jeers of Richie’s triumph and Eddie’s demands for a rematch filled the hallway. Quieter, were the sounds of the other Losers conversing.
Bill padded down the hallway to the Tozier’s living room, plastic bag in hand, and stopped in the doorway. The usual seating arrangements had been taken: Ben and Bev together in the large chair, Eddie on the sofa and Richie on the floor between Eddie’s legs, Mike with his legs spread across the sofa cushions and onto Eddie’s lap.
Stan had a beanbag in the corner of the room to himself.
“Bill!” Stan was the first to notice his arrival. He was on his feet and in front of Bill before any of the others had a chance to say their greetings. “Let me help you with that,” he said, taking the bag from Bill’s hands.
“Billiam!” Richie was next, waving his controller in the air. Bill returned the wave with his own hand.
“I-I g-g-got snacks for everyo-one.” He gestured over his shoulder, indicating where Stan had taken his bag of cheap food. It wasn’t his turn to bring the snacks, but he’d been at the gas station, anyway.
Ben asked, “Do you need any help with them?”
Bev answered, “Nah, Stan’s taken care of that already.”
Bill frowned at her smirk but nodded. Stan had offered to help. And had taken helping into his own hands. “I’m g-gonna go find h-h-him.”
It didn’t take long. Stan was perched on the kitchen counter, bag placed next to him but unopened. Bill walked up to the counter and stopped before he hit Stan’s knees. Enough space to stay within Stan’s safe space but close enough to satisfy some of Bill’s desire to simply stay close to his best friend.
Stan smiled, small and tired. Bill wanted to pull him close and close and close, hold him until the world evened out again. He didn’t. “Wh-what’s up, S-Stanny?”
“Richie and Eddie are being loud again.”
“A-are you o-okay?”
Another smile. Bigger. Softer. Entirely for Bill. “You’re sweet, Big Bill. I’m okay, just tired. I’m glad you’re here, though.”
I’m glad you’re here . Bill kept the words tucked under his ribs, beating in time with his heart. They were simple and small and not uncommon between the seven friends, but Stan’s voice and smile were etched into them. “D-do you need anyth-thing?”
Stan shook his head. “Don’t need anything. But, a hug would be nice? If you want to, that is.”
Beautifulbeautifulbeautifulbeautiful.
Tired eyes asking for a truth. Perfect lips caught between teeth. Dying smile flickering at the edges of his mouth. Bill never wanted to look away. He wanted to pull and pull and pull until there was no room left between them. He wanted to hold Stanley so close their breathing synced up and nothing else could break that skin ever again.
Sometimes it was best to forgo words and just nod. So Bill did.
He wrapped his arms around Stan’s middle and planted his face in the center of Stan’s chest. Weight on his shoulders gradually dropped and soft breath tickled through the hair on the top of his head. Warm and steady, held together as much as he was holding Stan together. They fit in every way.
“You’re t-t-too tall u-up there.” Bill mumbled against Stan’s chest when his neck began to ache. Stan already had a height advantage when he wasn’t sitting on a counter.
Stan laughed, pulling back to see Bill’s face. His hand dragged up from Bill’s shoulder to his hair to his forehead and brushed back Bill’s bangs. There was a stuttering in Bill’s chest that he couldn’t even begin to control when Stan’s hand lingered there. “Nah, you’re just really short down there, Billy.”
If life were a movie, that might have been their moment. If life had been a story, that might have been the moment the world slowed and they met in the middle. But Bill knew better than to force reality into fiction. Skin flushed, he retreated to Stan’s side and dumped the contents of the bag on the counter.
A pack of skittles, some twizzlers, white cheddar popcorn, and a carton of ice cream. “I-I got you s-some of that i-ice cream.”
Stan, who had been focused on anything but Bill’s hands, looked over then. “Which ice cream?”
“Pumpkin.”
“Pumpkin?”
Bill grinned and held out the container. “Pumpkin, pumpkin .”
Stan accepted the ice cream, pulling it to his chest and unwrapping its plastic ring. Light pink dusted over his cheeks. Bill had half a mind to trail his fingers across the color, just to feel it under his fingertips. “Pumpkin?”
It hadn’t been meant as much of a nickname, it had just slipped out. But Stan was intently looking down at his ice cream and anxiously twirling his fingers through the plastic and Bill decided he’d never wanted to see such a small nervousness in Stan as much as he did then. “Yeah, pumpkin.”
Stan nodded, poorly biting back a smile. He brushed a few stray curls out of his face, only for them to fall back. “You can touch me, you know. I don’t mind it so much ‘cause I trust you. Just, warn me first.”
Lines. Boundaries. Exceptions. Selfish desire.
“Can I f-fix your hair for y-y-you?”
“Mhm.” Stan had to bow his head for Bill to be able to reach his curls. It was difficult to pull away.
“Should w-we go b-b-back now?” Bill asked.
“Probably,” Stan conceded. He hopped off the counter but didn’t walk away. “All the other seats are taken in the living room. If you want, you can share my bean bag chair. I don’t mind it if you don’t--- actually, I rather think I’d like it; a distraction from the noise.”
“I-I’d like it, t-t-too.”
A smile. Beautiful. Pure and focused and nothing if not beautiful. Bill fell hopelessly for that look time and time again, drunk with love and adoration each time it was directed at him.
“Grab a second spoon, Billy. We can share.”
“It’s fucking freezing.”
“Y-you have b-b-both of our c-coats.” Bill laughed, moving closer to the mass of scarves and coats and mittens beside him. Stan had been shivering before and it hadn’t stopped with the additional layer of Bill’s own coat.
“So? It’s still a hellzone in Maine. No amount of coats will ever make me warm. I’ll freeze to death before we make it out of here.”
“Drama queen. You’re s-s-spending too m-much time with Richie.”
“I can’t help that that parasite invites himself to abduct me from my home every day. And then invites his loud-ass boyfriend over so they can cuddle and be gross while I sit at the other end of the bed.”
The wind blew harder, swirling white spots of snow in the air. Bill shuffled closer to Stan. The walk would be almost over and they’d part ways, ending up in their own homes. It was too cold to be alone. Too cold and too lonely. “Wh-why don’t you c-c-come to my h-house today?”
“Okay.” Stan didn’t need to think about his answer.
The house was empty when they walked in. The ghost of a bright smile and childish excitement ran down the hall and dissipated on Bill’s skin. He shuddered and shut the door behind them. Inside was no less lonely than outside.
Stan removed the coats and scarves and mittens, smiling when Bill insisted on taking them himself. I-I can h-h-hang them up. They were discarded on the floor. Later. Bill was making his way into the kitchen and Stan was following. Bill was opening cabinets and Stan was curling himself into one of the kitchen chairs.
“D-do you want f-f-food?”
“I’m okay, thanks, though.”
Bill slid an apple across the table to Stan. He knew the words of a liar.
“What do you w-wanna do?” Bill sat in the chair beside Stan’s, leaning over until their shoulders bumped.
Stan tossed the apple between his hands and laughed, returning the gesture. More and more common were Stan’s laughs. Bill cherished each one, completely undone by the sound alone. “I don’t know. What do you want to do?”
Bill hummed, thinking. Buying himself time. The longer he appeared to be contemplating their options for the day, the longer he could immerse himself in the quiet way Stan leaned into his presence. He always knew what he wanted to do when Stan was around. Movies, card games, books--- anything that granted him unfiltered access to Stan’s relaxed way of laughing with his eyes shut and teeth on full display.
“M-my parents won’t be h-h-home for a-awhile…”
“Jeeze, Denbrough,” Stan said, eyes wide and a smirk across his face, “it takes a little more than just an empty house, you know.”
Bill wished the stains of red that were undoubtedly framing his face would sink away. He wished he had something clever to say back, a remark that would bring Stan close. He wished the flick of Stan’s eyes down to his lips then back to his eyes hadn’t made his breath hitch so noticeably. “I-- I d-d-didn’t--”
“I know you didn’t, Billy.” Stan’s smile switched back to safer territory. Back to soft and small and tired. The Stan Bill had known since third grade. The Stan Bill had seen drop down to one knee to pick up the shell of a broken robin’s egg just to excitedly hand it to Bill. “A movie sounds nice, though. I could use a nap.”
“Oh, d-do my movies b-b-bore you?” Bill asked, mock offense awkwardly strung to each word. His breathing was off and his mind drifted to Stan’s curls and Stan’s hands and Stan’s lips. To the well known image of Stan curled up into a mound of blankets, hair tousled.
“No, of course not. It’s easier to fall asleep when you’re happy. Watching movies with you makes me happy.” Stan nodded at his apple before setting it down and shuffling over to the freezer. He helped himself to the ice cream sitting in the front. “Do you keep this around for me? Or do you have some other regular visitor who likes pumpkin ice cream?”
“A-all for y-you, Stanley.”
Stan frowned, nose scrunching in the middle and lip quirking down. “‘Stanley?’ Since when do you call me Stanley? ”
“Wh-what else should I c-c-call you?” Stan hadn’t been Stanley in years. Stan had been Stan, Staniel, Stan The Man, and Bird Boy since the sixth grade. Bill knew that. They both did. But the names seem insufficient recently. They felt stale and lacking compared to the way Stan’s movements faltered and his eyes grew with the mumbled utterances of pumpkin .
They both knew.
Stan grinned and tucked the ice cream to his chest. He dug around the silverware drawer for two spoons. “You in?”
“Obviously,” Bill said.
So when they were curled together on the Denbrough’s sofa, a blanket spread across their legs, spoons dangling from loose fingers, and ice cream cradled between them, Bill gently tapped Stan’s foot with his own.
“Hm?” Stan lifted his head from where it had fallen to Bill’s shoulder. His eyes were puffy with sleep. It took more willpower than Bill cared to admit to not reach up and sooth away the exhaustion with the pad of his thumb.
“Do you w-w-want to m-move somewhere else? Y-you can crash i-in my bed, it’s more c-comfortable.”
“I’m happy like this, Billy. You make an excellent pillow.” He closed his eyes again and lowered his head back to its previous position. “Unless, of course, you’re offering to crash in your bed with me. It’s been a long time since we slept in the same bed.”
Safe inches of space kept between bodies, eyes closed as soon as the lights turned off. They’d fallen asleep in each other’s bed countless times since they met but it had always been under the ease of friendship. All of a sudden, Bill’s thoughts wandered too easily to fingers on bare skin and bare skin pressed up against even more bare skin. The easy guise of just friends faltered at those thoughts.
“A-are you staying th-the night?”
“I don’t have to.”
“Will your p-parent be ex-expecting you?”
“Not necessarily.”
Bill took a few deep breaths, attempting to lower his heart rate. It didn’t help. “Y-you should stay.”
“I can sleep on the floor, if you want me to. I don’t mind.” Liar. There were bugs on the floor. Dust and dirt and grim collected on the floor. All of it invisible, creeping onto skin until panicked breathing and terrified eyes could do nothing more than shake and sob. Stan was a liar and Bill had no self-preservation skills.
“No. I m-miss our s-s-sleepovers.” Maybe it was selfish to ask Stan to stay, if only to get a closer look at the life he would never be able to hold. But Bill could afford to be selfish sometimes.
“I’ll call my parents later to tell them. Right now, I want to continue my nap through this movie.”
Bill chuckled. “Can I p-put my arm a-around your sh-sh-shoulders, pumpkin?” The name came easier than he had expected. Natural and smooth. Bill felt Stan’s breath stop momentarily against his neck. Lack of affection from his parents made Stan more susceptible to the affection of his friends. That’s what Bill told himself when Stan nodded and pressed closer to Bill’s side.
“You can play with my hair, too, if you want.” It was quiet and muffled against the fabric of Bill’s shirt. Something breathtaking and secretive. Stan almost didn’t want the words to be heard but Bill understood them. He laced his fingers through Stan’s curls and gently dragged his nails along Stan’s scalp.
Bill found himself on the edge of the lunch table, elbow knocking against Beverly’s.
“I’m thinking about getting Richie a phone case with that hunky Street Fighter avatar he likes on it. I just haven’t decided if it should be for his birthday or Christmas.” Bev was staring at Richie but speaking to Bill.
“Wh-where do you even f-f-find that?” Bill asked.
“Here and there. It’s amazing what you can find on the internet nowadays.” She shrugged and shifted her gaze to Bill. “Ben’s the harder one to crack. I seriously don’t know what to do for him. He gives me such nice gifts all the time and I always end up doing the same sort of thing--- a cheap date that ends in one of us asleep on top of the other.”
Bill laughed. “I-is that a bad th-thing?”
“No! I mean, it’s a great time and all! But he puts time and thought into perfect little gifts for me. All I do is plan out a date that we could do any time of the year. I think they’re a blast and wouldn’t trade them for the world but I don’t want him to feel let down.”
“B-Ben? Ben Hanscom ? B-Bev, I don’t think h-he could ever be anything b-b-but in awe of y-y-you.” Bill nodded at the boy down at the other end of the table, fascinated by Richie’s shitty magic tricks.
Bev followed his gaze. Bill couldn’t help but notice the way she softened at the sight of Ben. Not for the first time, he wondered if he looked the same every time Stan so much as stood within ten feet of him. “Yeah, you’re right. He’s a dork and loves me too much.”
Love.
That was something Bill hadn’t really considered before. In passing, he’d heard the word tossed between Eddie and Richie as they bickered, whispered from Ben to Bev, announced to every one of their Losers by Richie. Love was in everything the Losers did for each other. But the idea that the Losers as individuals loved anyone was… new.
“Anyway,” Bev tore him away from his thoughts, “what’re you doing gift-wise? Anything this year? Oh! Are you gonna draw us more of those beautiful postcards?”
“Mike’s i-is already finished.” He fished out a painted postcard of a sheep with a spring of grass hanging from the side of its mouth. Bev carefully held it flat on her palms when Bill handed it to her. Maybe that was love. Being careful with a piece of art.
“Is Stan doing gifts with us this year?” She asked, handing the card back to Bill.
“I d-don’t know. I haven’t a-asked.”
There was a question in Bev’s eyes. Bill could see it burning away at her self control. Exactly what her question was remained a mystery. Part of Bill begged to know, to ask, what she saw--- what made her smirk and nod and press and push and leave the room at the right times. Another part of Bill wanted to make her question go away until he could live in painful ignorance.
“How is he, by the way?”
“Stan?”
“Yeah, Stan. How’s he doing?”
That wasn’t her question but it was close enough. “Why would I-I know better th-th-than anyone e-else?”
“Because… oh, you know. He talks to you a lot. Well, a lot for Stan, anyway.” At Bill’s frown, she continued, “Don’t give me that look, William. He’s a sweetheart but he’s also a secretive little dick. He loves us all very much, we know that, but he’s different with you! He lets his guard down more around you than anyone else.
“It’s just the way he is and we all love him for that. Despite that, maybe. I’m just trying to check in on one of my best friends in a way that won’t set him off.”
There it was again. Love .
Bill shook it off and returned to picking at his lunch. Bev hadn’t said anything that wasn’t necessarily true. Stan did allow Bill to cross more lines comfortably than most of the Losers. That didn’t mean anything. “H-he’s okay.”
“Would you tell me--- any of us--- if he weren’t?”
Bill considered. “That d-depends.”
“On what?”
“On what Stan says.”
Bev sighed, but it wasn’t heavy and disappointed. It lilted up at the end, smiling in the same way Stan’s sighs frowned. Maybe that’s why Bill loved them both so much. “You are a truly good friend, Bill Denbrough.”
“So a-are you, Beverly M-Marsh.”
Bev’s eyes held her smile then wandered over Bill’s shoulder, smile turning into an even wider grin. “Stan! Hi! Come sit with us!”
Bill shooed Bev over, scooting down on the wooden bench himself until there was seat enough for another Loser. Stan nodded, standing awkwardly at the end of the table, his books held in front of him. “Hello, everyone.”
Bev reached out a hand and tugged Stan down towards the empty spot. “Come on, Staniel, come sit! Billy made a place for you right here.”
Stan sat, dropping his books on the table, and smiled over at the two Losers closest to him. Secretly, Bill hoped that smile was meant for him. “Heya, pumpkin.”
Stan coughed, hand coming up to cover his cheeks. Bill watched with amazement as Stan’s neck colored light pink, each freckle pillowed on the color. Beautiful. A work of art. Soft lines and delicate shades. Bill wanted nothing more than to hold Stan in the palms of his hands and be careful with him.
When Stan woke up, Bill woke up. When Stan slipped out of the bedroom, Bill followed. When Stan sat up straight in bed and clawed at his throat, Bill sat up with him and held his hands until the need to rid himself of whatever plagues him subsided.
“I can’t see, Billy, I can’t see. It’s so dark, I can’t see anything, Billy Billy Billy help me please help me--”
“It’s o-o-okay, Stan, y-you’re okay. I’m h-here.”
“No no no no, it’s dark and it’s dirty and there are spiders everywhere. I can’t see them but I can feel them--- all of them with all of their little legs crawling all over me, I can’t do this, I can’t I can’t I can’t-- ”
“N-no spiders here. Just us. I-it’s just us in m-my bed.”
“Spiders everywhere, everywhere, so many of them all running around on me.”
Bill pressed closer, wrapping his arms around Stan’s body, chased the phantoms of Stan’s nightmare away with the press of his fingers. “J-just me. Just us. Y-you and m-me, Stanny. No one else.”
Stan sobbed, falling against Bill more, fighting to sink back into something solid. Bill fell back with him. “ Bill, please-- Help me, god, please just help me-- ”
“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. I-I’m here.”
“Help me--”
“I’m h-here, darling.”
“Please please please get them off of me--”
“Stan,” Bill pulled him closer, tucking Stan under his chin, “th-ther are no spiders. O-only me. C-c-can you try t-t-to focus on my f-fingers right now?”
Stan hiccupped and struggled in Bill’s arms, tossing and turning and grasping at Bill’s shirt to get impossibly closer. “I can’t keep doing this, I can’t-- I just want them gone, why won’t they leave? Please make them leave, Bill, please.”
“Y-you’re safe, love. I’m here, I’ll k-k-keep you safe. Nothing c-can hurt you.”
“Bill? Billy, come back, please. Where did you go?”
“I d-d-didn’t go anywhere. I’m r-right here with y-you. I’m i-in bed with you, pumpkin. It’s just us.”
“Don’t go.”
“I w-won’t go.”
“Don’t leave me alone.”
“I won’t, pumpkin. I s-s-swear I won’t.”
“God, Bill, please keep calling me that, please.”
Bill whispered the reassurance against Stan’s hair over and over, holding him impossibly tight until Stan’s sobs turned to sniffles turned to quiet snores.
They didn’t talk about the nightmares.
They didn’t talk about how they clung to each other and promised their lives with a single word. It happened late at night and it stayed there until the next night brought new horrors.
Bill held and anchored and pulled and tugged. Stan clung and cried and swore.
They didn’t talk about the name. It was becoming part of who they were together. Bill picked up ice cream, Stan held out an extra spoon. Bill pushed back unruly curls and Stan smiled. Bill tapped Stan’s nose and Stan leaned into Bill’s space.
“How’s it g-going, pumpkin?”
“Better.”
“You can be an honorary Christian for the night, Staniel!” Richie was drunk.
“You aren’t even a Christian, asshole.” Stan was not drunk but he was securely wrapped up in the fluffiest blanket he could find. Bill was beside him, wrapped up in the warmth of Stan. It was Christmas and they’d congregated to celebrate with gifts and lots of stolen liquor.
The usual arrangements had been taken with the exception of Richie sitting beside Eddie, his head hanging off the seat of the sofa. Mike laughed and looked over at Stan himself. “How does it feel? To be celebrating Christmas?”
“I celebrate with you people every year. This is no different.” He sunk further into the blankets. Bill was his barrier between everything, the screen that kept away the ordeal of having to be seen too much. Bill couldn’t say he didn’t like it. A glimpse at being the hero he never was. A game where he really did get to save Stan from all the horrors of the world.
Few gifts were passed around. Richie passed around a bottle of vodka, Ben offered brownies, and Bill handed out postcards. Holiday themed horror movies played in the background of lazy shots and arguments that dissolved as soon as a new topic was mentioned. Mike was the first one passed out over the arm of the sofa.
Bill had been cycling through contentedly watching his friend from his spot at Stan’s side, getting invested in the movies, and forgetting everything that wasn’t Stanley Uris. At the time that Stan was turning his gift from Bill over and over in his hands, Bill was staring at how easily his friends slotted together in their relationships.
Bev and Ben fit together.
Eddie and Richie argued and mocked each other but were undeniably a perfect fit.
“I don’t think I thanked you,” Stan said.
Bill looked over and glanced down at the picture he’d drawn--- a cardinal perched on top of a pumpkin. Underneath, the words happy holidays, pumpkin were scrawled in Bill’s poor cursive. Stan’s thumb brushed over them repeatedly and Bill wasn’t sure that simple action should have made him as flustered as it did.
“Y-you did, Stanny. You a-a-always d-do.”
“It’s beautiful.”
Beautiful . Bill thought Stan was beautiful.
“I love it, really. Cardinals are some of my favorites.”
Love. Bill thought he loved Stan.
Not more than any of the other Losers, just differently. He thought maybe love was in Stan’s laugh and Stan’s smiles and Stan’s tired way of letting Bill be the shield between him and whatever took too much energy.
“Anything for you, pumpkin.”
Stan laughed and curled into Bill more. Their knees bumped and suddenly Bill’s arm was being raised and lowered around Stan’s shoulders. “This okay?”
Bill didn’t trust himself to respond. Didn’t trust that the next words out of his mouth wouldn’t be a proclamation of undying love or an admission of how purely beautiful Stan was. So he nodded instead and avoided Bev’s look.
A list of things Bill Denbrough knew to be beautiful
- Frogs sitting on lily pads in ponds
- The look of peace that settled on the features of his mother when she used to sit at the piano for hours, playing concerts for her sons
- Candles burning on a day filled with too much rain
- Birds
- Stan’s excited way of sitting up straight and occasionally grabbing Bill’s hand in glee when a new bird was sighted
- Stan inviting him on bird watching “dates” every Sunday--- regardless of if Bill really could make it
- Stan taking to humming quietly when it was just the two of them, no words left to pass back and forth
- Stan grinning and forgetting to cover the red that spread over his cheeks each time Bill whispered pumpkin
- Stan not bothering to deny Bill the opportunity to see the happiness spread over his features with the nickname
- Stan.
“It’s almost Valentine's day.”
“Bev a-asked me to help s-s-set up her date with B-Ben.”
“Richie wants me to help him make three dozen heart-shaped cookies for Eddie.”
“W-will you?”
“Probably. I don’t have anything else to do.”
“Do you w-want to go to th-the park a-a-after?”
“Like a friend date?”
“Whatever y-you w-want.”
“It could be a date.”
Bill nodded. “It could be, pumpkin.”
A list of things Bill Denbrough knew he loved:
- Bird watching with Stanley
- Stan leaning close and pointing to birds, whispering facts and names that Bill would never remember
- Stan splitting a stolen heart cookie in half and handing one half to him
- Walking back to Stan’s house, stories and laughs being swapped, Stan’s smile and laugh illuminated just barely in the glow of the street lights
- Stopping at the corner of Stan’s street and having his questioning look be answered by two arms flung around his shoulders, a brilliant smile, and the words Thank you. I love you, Bill
- Stan telling him he loved him
- Being able to look Stan in the eyes and say I love you, too, pumpkin regardless of their true meaning
- Watching Stan sigh and smile
- The warm feeling that bubbled up in his chest as Stan slipped into his house with a small wave and another smile
- Stanley Uris.
Stan was held up in class again. Bill could feel his absence keenly--- it was unbearable.
“How was your Valentine’s day, Bill?” Eddie asked, taking his seat at the lunch table across from Bill. Richie pushed himself up against Eddie’s side despite the room left on the bench.
“F-fine,” Bill said, looking over his shoulder, just in case. “We went b-bird watching.”
“Jesus, you two are like an old married couple.”
“How were th-the cookies?” Bill asked instead of dwelling on how badly he wished that comment were closer to the truth than it was.
“Disgusting, the ones that Richie made, at least.” Eddie looked over at Richie but was met with the back of his head. “I guess he’s not paying attention anymore.”
Ben and Mike took their seats shortly after the first three did, unpacking their lunches and trading foods between them. Bill itched to ask if they’d caught sight of Stan at all, but restrained himself. More because Richie swiveled back to the group before he got a chance to speak up than anything else.
“You know Patty?” Richie asked.
“The one with the big glasses and straight hair?” Bev kissed Ben’s cheek and sat between Bill and Mike.
“Nah,” Richie shook his head, “the one with the big glasses and curly hair. Always has a stack of books in her arms and can be spotted walking out of math class with our dear old Staniel Uris. Patty Blum.”
He was looking at Bill and Bill wasn’t sure why. Patty was a kind girl and made Stan laugh. She was pretty. She was nice. She made Bill more jealous than Ben ever had with Beverly. Patricia Blum was a sweetheart and she made Bill irrationally angry. Still, there was no reason to be rude. “Yeah, I-I know her.”
“ Well ,” Richie said, leaning in and stage whispering, “she asked me if a certain someone had a date this Valentine’s day.”
Bill knew very well who a certain someone was. He’d seen enough of their interactions to piece it together. But he didn’t want it to be true. “Who?”
“Stan, obviously. ”
“Oh.”
“Oh?” Richie laughed, falling back in his seat. “It’s cute how hard you’re trying to not be jealous, Denbrough.”
Jealousy was a right earned when someone wanted you as badly as you wanted them. Bill was destined to be fighting off the tendrils of jealousy for the rest of his life, pining over the person he wanted more than anything or anyone. “I’m n-not jealous.”
“You can be jealous, Bill,” said Eddie.
Bill chose to ignore that. “What’d y-y-you tell h-her?”
“That he was taken, of course.” Richie shrugged and tossed a french fry in the air. It hit him in the face.
“Why w-would you say that?”
Bill couldn’t decipher the look shared by the people surrounding him. Bev’s hand was on his arm and he couldn’t stand the feeling. “We didn’t realize you were trying to keep it a secret, Bill. Honest we didn’t.”
Ben was next to speak. “Yeah, well, we just assumed you weren’t saying anything.”
Mike. “But not a secret so much.”
Eddie. “We know you two haven’t said anything to us but it’s so obvious--”
“Wh-what is obvious?” Bill cut in. He looked between his friends, gaining no more answers from any of their faces.
Another look was shared around the table. It was quiet for a moment, no one wanting to speak. They eyed Bill nervously and shuffled awkwardly. Richie was the one who gave up on the silence first. “That you and Stan are… dating?”
Dating.
Love.
Friends.
Dates.
Beautiful.
“W-we’re dating?”
More looks. More silence. More awkward shuffling and coughing and pained expressions. Bill didn’t know where to look. Eddie refused to meet his eyes, Richie was too obnoxious, Beverly was too much . He settled on Ben. “D-do you a-a-all think Stan and I a-a-are dating?”
Ben nodded. “Yeah, sorta.”
“H-how long?”
“Since Christmas, at least.”
“ Two months? ”
“You act all couple-y! You sit in that tiny bean bag chair together all the time, you gave him that postcard with the bird, and you call him pumpkin! What else were we supposed to assume from all of that?”
Bill opened his mouth but found no explanation. What else were they to assume? That Bill was madly in love with his best friend and Stan was okay letting him hang on like that? Were they to think the nickname was nothing more than an inside joke that just hadn’t died out yet? Rather than the key to picking apart Stan’s defenses little by little?
All the looks and smiles and laughs. Bill was crushed with the sudden realization that he was nowhere near as subtle with his feelings as he had believed himself to be. It was terrifying.
“Well,” he started, “w-we aren’t.”
There was a resounding silence.
And then, “What the fuck happened here? Did Richie make another joke about fucking Eddie’s mother?” Stan was taking his position at Bill’s side.
The other recovered faster than Bill. They continued their conversations while Bill picked at the wood of the table and balanced on a thin line between anxiety and depression. On one side, he had the overwhelming sadness of knowing what he had been dreaming of was not only seen but also acknowledged by those around him without having a bit of reality. On the other, the crushing fear that if the other Losers knew then Stan himself knew, too.
“What’s going on in your mind, Bill?” Stan was whispering.
“N-nothing.” Bill was hurting.
“Stay tonight, will you? The house will be empty except for us…”
It was easier talking to Stan. It wasn’t but it was. Bill wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or afraid. Still, he laughed. “I-it takes a little m-m-more than an e-e-empty house, you know, pumpkin.”
Stan nodded. “Like dinner?”
It shouldn’t have been so easy. “Yeah.”
“Is ice cream okay?”
Bill nodded and didn’t care for the look Eddie was giving him.
“Cool.” Stan was smiling. “It’s a date, then.”
It was cold outside and Stan was very warm.
The lights were out, TV playing something in the background as two empty pints of ice cream sat discarded on the coffee table. Stan had his head turned towards the television, his legs stretched out and resting in Bill’s lap. Bill was sweating through his T-shirt.
The conversation from earlier that day had been picking his mind to shreds. Each time Stan leaned a little too close or asked to put his head on Bill’s shoulder, Bill could feel his skin prickling. The desire to push away the world until there was nothing left but the feeling of Stan’s skin beneath his palms was difficult to ignore.
“Stan?”
“Yeah, Billy?”
“Do you l-like it when I c-c-call you pumpkin ?”
“‘Course I do. If I didn’t, I’d have told you to stop by now.”
Bill nodded. He liked the confidence Stan had. It was reassuring. “Do y-you know wh-what the other Losers th-th-think?”
Stan tilted his head. Bill could feel his heart thundering in his chest. “What do they think?”
It was bordering on painful. Looking at Stan, shadowed in the night and glowing under the light of the movie. Repeating the words of the Losers over in his mind. Imaging countless scenarios where he walked home, unwanted and ashamed. He must have been breathing heavily because Stan was sitting up, closer.
“Can I touch you?” he asked. Bill nodded again and Stan’s hand was firm on his chest. “Just breathe. It’s okay, whatever it is. Breathe with me, Bill.”
“They-- They think--”
“Take your time, it’s okay. I’m here.” He hovered his hand inches away from Bill’s cheek. “Can I touch you here, too?”
“Jesus, Stan-- Y-yeah, you c-c-can.”
Stan kept one hand on Bill’s chest and the other cupped his face, soothingly running his thumb over the skin under Bill’s eye. “Can you tell me about the Losers now? Whatever it was they thought? I’ll listen whenever you’re ready.”
People say it’s easier to trip off the bandage. Bill tended to disagree with that, but Stan was so close and Bill was so close to a panic attack. “They th-think we’re d-d-dating.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
Stan smiled. “What am I supposed to say right now, Billy? You’re one wrong move away from a panic attack, I don’t think this is an opportune moment to have this conversation.”
“Y-you a-a-aren’t m-mad?”
“No, of course I’m not mad.” He frowned. “You’re stuttering more. Hold on a second, let me get you some water. Will you be okay if I leave for a second? I’ll be right back, okay? Promise I will.”
Bill wasn’t sure he wanted Stan to leave. Stan was warm and kind. He hadn’t yelled and kicked Bill out. That was better than what Bill had anticipated. But Stan was gone and back before Bill could make up his mind. A glass of water was held in front of him until he took it and drank from it.
“Better?” Stan asked. He was close again, knees pressed against Bill’s.
“B-better.”
“So the Losers think we’re dating, then?”
“Mmh.”
Stan bit his lip and twirled his fingers. One hand landed on Bill’s knee. Bill swore he could feel his heart in his throat. “ Are we dating, Bill?”
“I-- A-are we?”
Stan held up five fingers, counting off points on each one. “I don’t mind it when you touch me, I like sharing things with you, I think we’re on a date right now, you call me pumpkin , and…” He laughed shakily. “Well, shit, I’d really like to kiss you.”
“D-does that c-c-count as dating?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it does?”
“Do y-you want it to?”
“Yes. I would.”
“So w-would I.”
Bill wasn’t sure what conclusion had been drawn in Stan’s head but he knew there was one. He stared and waited, entirely breathless and left in suspense. It was dark and warm and cold and light. Stan was close and much too far away. Bill couldn’t breathe.
“So, we’re dating? We’re… boyfriends?”
Beautiful.
Love.
Suddenly Bill couldn’t think of anything else. “A-absolutely.”
“I’m going to kiss you now. Is that okay?”
Bill was nodding and wrapping his fingers in the collar of Stan’s shirt before he was fully aware of his actions. “Please d-do, pumpkin.”