Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

After the second incident on Neibolt street, Stan longed to feel in control. In the house, Stan had felt completely out of control, even whilst he and the other losers were finally overpowering Pennywise, he still didn’t feel the same rush of control that seemed to accompany his friends. Stan himself wasn’t quite sure what in particular he wanted control over in his life ( if anything, maybe he just desired control in general? ), this made his search for something to fulfill this lust for control difficult.

But that didn’t stop the boy, he was determined. So he started taking control in all the ways he thought he could.

First it was just his daily routine. Stan would wake up, get ready, and then leave his house at the same time everyday, and for a while this fulfilled his need and the boy felt in control, But just as soon as that control had come and settled in his chest, it had up and left. The schedule didn’t quell the hunger that was almost pulsating out of Stan's heart, and that's when Stan made his first mistake.

He skipped breakfast and ran out the door before he had time to pack his lunch, this only happened because Stan needed the schedule and on that day he was running a tad bit late. Now this seems innocent enough, and it would be, if it was a one time occurrence,

But it wasn’t. 

Because Stan had Gone to school that day and felt the thrill of starvation, a thrill he quickly became addicted to. He felt the emptiness of his own stomach, he felt how clean it felt to have not eaten any dirty food that could poison his body. For the first time since Niebolt, He felt good.

Suddenly Stan became focused on his stomach, and how it felt.

By lunch his stomach started to make occasional grumbles that only Bill seemed to notice and if anyone else did they didn’t say anything about it. He felt a sense of empowerment upon remembering that he was the one to cause his body to feel this way, little old Stan had complete control over how his stomach felt and he loved it.

 After school, as he and the other losers went to the quarry, Stan almost forgot about the hunger pains all together, It was only When he took his shirt off to jump into the cool water below that the memory arose.

Stan had always been skinny, but as the boy looked down at his stomach he suddenly felt a wave of insecurity wash over him, why did he look like this? Why did he have stomach rolls when he sat down and hunched forward? Why did his thighs have so much fat on them? Why did he have so much upper arm flab? Why wasn’t he small enough to wear his belts with them buckled in the last hole?

Stan had had thoughts like these before but usually he just shoved them down inside himself and forgot about them. It was hard to forget this time, especially since Stan's mind had already offered up a fix to the way his body looked. Just don’t eat.

“A-a-a are you Going to Jump?” a smug voice broke Stan out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Bill's challenging gaze. He smiled back at him.

“Of course, I'm not a loser.” Bill smiled at Stans admittedly poor wording.

“Sorry buddy, b-bu-but being friends with us makes you e-exactly that.” and with that Bill jumped off the cliff edge, crashing into the serene water below. Stan watched from above as Bill emerged from the water and beckoned him in with a smile upon his face, and so, he jumped down after him.

Stan felt the water envelope his body, the shock of its durastastic temperature difference from the air above made him shiver. He quickly arose from the water only to exclaim a quiet but passionate “geez its fucking cold!” to no one in particular. But Bill heard him and laughed at the others' pain.  

“C-cu-come here then, we can s-s-share body heat.” Bill joked, though he followed through and made his way over to Stan, beginning to hug him. At first Stan reciprocated the hug as it did make him slightly warmer but then his thoughts started to spiral for the second time today. What if Bill thinks I'm fat? What if Bill can feel the fat underneath my skin? What if Bill doesn’t like me because I'm fat? 

Stan pushed away from Bill and tried to play it off as nothing, quickly trying to distract Bill by calling out to the others who were still fluffing about at the top of the quarry. 

“ Are you losers coming down soon? y’know we don’t have all day!” Stan yelled, hoping his voice projected loud enough for them to hear. Stan would admit that what he said was very out of character for him, but at least it seemed to do the job of distracting Bill.

“Y-yeah hurry up already” Bill said, with no actual bite to his tone. There was a quiet scream of ‘ last one in has to kiss Ms kaspbrak’ the words silenced by the distance. Then another scream, louder than the first as Eddie appeared to be pushed into the water by none other than the glasses wearing nerd that had declared , or rather screamed, the ‘last one in rule’ in the first place. 

Riche followed Eddie off the edge soon after, and Eddie all but flocked close to the place he would land so that he could begin his ‘ why the fuck did you push me off the edge’ questioning. After Riche finally reappeared from under the water's surface, Eddie did exactly that. 

“ Why the fuck did you push me off the edge fuckface?” Eddie huffed.

“ Well we couldn’t have you kissing your own mother could we.” Riche replied, with skewed logic.

“ Oh my god, are you actually fucking stupid? me kissing my own mother would make the most sense because we are fucking related you fuckin-“ Eddie was interrupted by the splash of water Mike had created after jumping in.  

Before Eddie could complain that he had been splashed in the face there was a second and third splash in quick succession as Ben and Bev landed in the water, both quickly reemerging.

“looks like you are the one that will have to kiss Ms K, Bev.” Riche Jokes.

“ What the fuck, no, no one is kissing my mother.” Eddie had always been bad at picking up on jokes, so bad that sometimes Stan wondered if he knew they were joking and just played along so that he could play fight with Riche. It sure seemed that way sometimes.

Recently Stan had picked up on the hidden glances that both Riche and Eddie gave each other, it was rather obvious that they didn’t exactly feel fully platonically toward each other but Stan knew that they were both to scared of scaring the other person away to say anything, he wished that they could see from his perspective, maybe then that would finally confess their feelings to each other and everyone else wouldn’t have to deal with their disgustingly excessive pining.

“ What are you talking about Eddie, i’m a very good kisser i’m sure Ms K would be happy to give me a smooch” Bev purposely riled Eddie up and Stan finally decided that now would be a good time to Tune this conversation out, he could practically already hear Eddie’s screams of anguish.

Stan wadded through the shoulder deep water, no real designation in sight. Stan started to think about Food again. What if he just didn’t eat? like he understood that you couldn’t do that for too long without dying but what was the limit?

 He wanted to find out.  He wanted to test the limit. He wanted to see how skinny he could get before his small body could take it anymore and collapsed on him. The thought excited him. The control excited him. 

Stan felt this weird sense of pride sitting in his stomach, Stan was making this decision, Stan had complete control, Stan got to decide what he wanted to eat and what he wouldn’t, Stan got to alter his body because of his decisions.  

it was all up to Stan. 

“ hu-hey Stan” someone with a stutter, Stan could guess who, spoke from behind him. Stan turned around and his suspicions were correct, Bill stood there behind Stan, a nervous look accompanying his usually cheerful face. The nervousness that Bill was displaying made Stan nervous, he could feel his heartbeat pick up speed in concern.

Stan realized he hadn’t responded for probably an uncomfortable amount of time and so he got onto doing that.

“ Hi Bill?” Stan upped his tonal pitch for Bill's name to turn the normal statement into a question. He raised an eyebrow to display his confusion further. 

“I just w-whuh-anted to make sure that I didn’t make you comfortable b-before?”  Bill spoke as if  what he was saying was both a question and statement. What Bill said only led to confuse Stan further, What had Bill Done? Stan tried to reminisce, but his brain was definitely not properly switched on at the moment, he was too much in his ‘ never eating again mindset’. 

“Huh?” Was all Stan could produce for an answer, after his reminiscent attempts had come back fruitless. 

“It’s j-just that before wu-when I was like hugging you, you like pulled a-away, and I just wanted to make s-sure that I didn't make you uncomfortable” Bill stated finally clueing Stan in on what he was talking about. Stan tried to think of a way to say what he wanted to say without seeming like an anorexic, insecure freak. 

“Oh, no,” Stan began, “I just don’t really like it when people touch me. It had nothing to do with you.” Stan decided that making up some half truth was easier than actually explaining anything. Bill looked at him, unsure. 

“You s-su-sure?”

“Yep,” Bill still looked unconvinced  “Bill, Honestly, I’m fine.” Suddenly, as if on cue, Stan's stomach grumbled, loud enough so that both the boys could hear it through the water. Shit , Stan thought, ducking his head in embarrassment. 

“W-w-we can go to the diner if you're hungry.” Bill offered up, smiling softly as he spoke. Stan understood that Bill was trying to be kind and accommodating but he was still wildly embarrassed that his stomach had been heard by both of them.

“Nah, it's fine, I’ll eat at home.” Stan said slowly wading back toward his other friends, avoiding the rest of a conversation that would undoubtedly be awkward. 

The thing is, when Stan got home he didn’t eat. 

He went straight up to his room, purposely skipping Dinner. 

As Stan laid face up on his bed, stretching his limbs he felt the hollowness of his stomach, and finally he felt completely in control, and so Stan kept that control.

After that day Stan didn’t eat. 

—

Stan felt so painfully average. He was just an average boy currently sitting at an average weight, but Stan wanted to be more than average, better than average. He wanted control over at least this in his life, if nothing else. There were so many things that he couldn’t control, but this, this was completely up to Stan.

He started taking this control by looking through a dieting book that his mother had purchased ages ago and never once touched again, the book had almost become something akin to room decor, by the way it lay on the family coffee table, a stupid little constant in his life. From this book Stan learnt that the average adult should be getting 2,200 calories a day to be healthy and in most cases maintain their current weight. He figured since he was a kid he would probably need a little less, eating disorder or not. 

Stan was a child, a boy of thirteen to be specific, so maybe, he decided he could try to become more aware and count his calorie intake (another tip he had learnt from the book) and make sure that he had consumed less than 2,200 calories, way less. Stan settled on a limit of 500 calories a day and still that number seemed a bit high to him but he wanted to ease himself into this, plus just because the limit was 500 didn’t mean he had to eat that much per day. 

Stan also learnt about something called a BMI

( body mass index) 

Which was practically, to his disordered mind at least, a number that told you if you were fat or not. A BMI of over 25 was considered ‘overweight’, a BMI of 25 to 18.5 is considered as a healthy weight to height ratio, and anything under 18.5 was ‘underweight’ according to the book. Stan, after following the proper steps for calculation, had a BMI of 20.5, painfully average. Stan wanted to get a BMI of under 18.5, to be officially and medically known as under-wieght. 

The dieting book had a whole section on what the calorie count of different foods was and Stan was ecstatic to find out. The Average apple 

(150g)

 Was only 109 calories and celery sticks were even less ( depending on how much of them you ate). With the book noting that they are ’practically just water’. Water was another thing Stan decided he needed to drink a lot of, after all it was zero calories and could help flush food out of Stan’s stomach.

An odd sense of pride buried its way in to the boys chest, look at him, he was actually taking the strides necessary to make change, Stan almost giggled with excitement when he thought about the next day, the first day he could take control with his newly informed mind.

—

It was the next day and Stan was spending time with the losers. He hadn’t eaten over the past 3 days and his stomach was making quite a fuss about it, it ached and grumbled, grumbles that Stan tried to stop by holding his breath yet to his dismay it still grumbled. Him and his friends walked the streets lazily looking for something to do . The group walked onto the main road, sun blazing down upon them. Mike spotted a diner, the same diner Bill had offered to take Stan to a couple days prior.

“Hey guys, we should go in, we could get milkshakes.” Mike proposed, pointing toward the diner as he spoke.

“Yeah I haven’t been there in ages.” Bev agreed. Subconsciously, the Losers seemed looked to Bill, seeking approval of the idea because Bill was undoubtedly the leader and everyone seemed perfectly content with doing what he wanted to do.

 Bill nodded and as if They all had been given a direct order, they walked towards the diner and entered. It was decently busy, but not too loud. Stan’s eyes scattered around the diner, looking for a place for him and the Losers to sit. Once he had spotted a empty booth he nudged Bill, Bill turned to face him and Stan tilted his head in the direction of the spot.

“ Here’s a spot to sit.” Bill stated, making the others aware of the empty booth before they all went over and sat down some place other. Stan squished his way next to Bill on the plastic-y booth seat. He felt sick, though this time it was not because he hadn’t eaten, it was due to the fact that right now the idea of eating a Milkshake made Stan want to throw up. From previous diner visits, Stan knew that this diner put ice-cream in their milkshakes which combined with the milk that was already in there and the flavored syrup would be a good 500 calories in itself. Stan definitely wasn’t getting a milkshake. 

—

It had taken A while for Stan's body to get used to his new routine, but it came around eventually. Stan would skip breakfast and lunch and then eat one Pink Lady Apple when he finally made it home for the day. After that he would Skip family Dinner. At first Stan's parents asked him why he wasn’t eating dinner with them, they were more concerned that he was missing out on the socialness of family dinner that the actually food itself but Stan just made some shitty excuses that seemed to Quell his parents questions; ‘Sorry mum I got some homework due tomorrow’, ‘ Sorry I ate a lot when I went out with friends.’ And eventually they got used to it and just started not making food for Stan at dinner time anymore. Stan didn’t have any siblings so he felt better about the whole ‘not eating food with his parents’ idea because that meant all his parents had to do was make dinner for themselves instead of for a whole other person that didn’t even want to eat the food they made.

Like many people, Stan was good at committing to things that rewarded him. There was probably a lot of things that Stan could do if only he put his mind to it, but Stan wasn’t focused on the possibilities, he was focused on realities, and his current reality was amazing, -(well aside form the nausea, headaches and throbbing stomach pains that is )- Stan had started to lose weight, drastically. In his house's bathroom there was a small scale that Stan had never thought to use before, but recently, before he had his morning shower, he would step on the scale and see how much weight he’d lost. He felt so fulfilled after seeing the number of the scale decline and decline.

( 120lbs, 117.5lbs, 112lbs, 110lbs, 103lbs, how much further could he go?)

He felt like he was doing the right thing. Seeing the number go down felt so rewarding, so gratifying. The rush that he got when he saw the decline written in front of him was like nothing he had ever felt before, it was indescribable, it was addictive, it was incredible, it was like pure bliss. Though the scale wasn’t the only thing that gave him this rush, he also got it when he went to but of a pair of his shorts that were cut just above the knee and found that they were crazily roomy, Stan found himself having no other option but to wear a belt; which he would have done anyway, but the fact that his pants wouldn’t actually stay of his body if he didn’t made him feel like a million bucks. The waist of the pants wasn’t the only part of the shorts that didn’t fit, the thigh area was also stupidly big. The shorts were meant to be stretchy, but nonetheless sit on the skin, but now the shorts awkwardly detached themselves from his thighs, leaving tons of extra fabric of the sides of Stan's thighs so that he almost looked similar to Eddie, when he was wearing those red short-shorts that had white piping up and on the sides. Stan had known those shorts were almost three sizes too big for Eddie as he has mentioned it once in passing. His thighs practically swam in them. But the difference between him and Eddie was that Eddie’s pants were many sizes too big and Stan’s weren’t, they were his size, and still way too big from him.

Stan had started noticing new things about the people around him. It had started with how small Eddie’s thighs were compared to his, but since then it escalated. he noticed how you could see Bill ribs cage in the front of his chest, how all Bills shoulder bones were visible through his skin, how when Bill bent over in the water of the quarry all his back bones protruded. Stan wanted to look like that, Stan wanted his body to look like that, Stan wanted to be as effortlessly skinny as Bill. 

There were times when Stan didn’t feel like he was doing the right thing. Those times usually started when he could tell that other losers had started to notice his weight loss. They started sneakily - well they tried to be- eyeing him during lunch break, to see if he was going to eat any food. They would offer Stan their leftovers just for him to politely decline them. They would look at him at the quarry, side eye him as he took his shirt off to jump in the water. They would take note of the ribs sticking out from his stomach that definitely weren’t there before. They would notice how Stan always muttered to himself about being dizzy or light headed. They all knew something was up and Stan knew they all knew, But there was this silent, mutual agreement to not speak about it, Stan didn’t think any of his friends knew how to properly handle the situation, and to be fair Stan didn’t know how to deal with it either. 

It left all of them in the uncomfortable middle ground of knowing that something is wrong with someone you love, but also not knowing what to do to help this person. It led to all the losers just acting, pretending that everything was okay, if Stan was being honest it was exhausting for all of them.

You shouldn’t have to pretend around your friends. A small voice said in the back of Stan's toxic, clouded mind, but that voice was quickly shut up by the safe warming tone of the other, louder voice, telling him that he is doing everything right and he is doing great and that Stan is amazing, a success story even. 

Stan you are such a good listener, you're such a good boy Stan, with your good grades and your empty stomach, you're such a good little boy stanley, look at you go, making that scale go down even further than you had even imagined. You're such a Good little boy with your diced apple slices. You're such a good boy with your unnumbered lies. You're such a good boy with your belt buckled in the last hole. You're such a good boy with your protruding ribcage. You're such a good boy, aren't you Stan ?

Stan didn’t know the answer to that question.

—

Stan started sitting out days at the quarry. He couldn’t take all the judging eyes on him anymore, he didn’t want to have to pretend that everything was okay and that he wasn’t starving himself and if that's just what he had to do around his friends at the moment he would pass. Bill had given him a nervous look as he declined the invite to the quarry today. But Stan was too busy making some bullshit excuse about his Dad wanting him to practice specific citations from the Torah -none of his friends really knew much about the Jewish religion, so he was able to get out of things just by mentioning the synagogue or Rabbi and they would accept it as a valid reason to ditch. Recently, Bill seemed like he was on a much higher alert of all of Stan's actions, the other losers did too, but it was definitely mostly Bill.

“W-w-well we’ll have to hang out s-some other time.” Bill sounded hopeful, too hopeful, Stan started to feel bad. 

“Sure.” Stan walked away after that, he didn’t want to have to deal with Bill's disappointed face anymore. He didn’t want to have to feel bad about himself clearly letting Bill down. 

—

Stan laid down in his bed, today was yet another day he had to make up an excuse as to why he couldn’t hang out with the Losers. Today's excuse was Homework. He was tired of lying to them, but it was better than telling them he was fucking starving himself like a fucking weirdo. 

Stan hadn’t eaten for 4 days, and sure he left clean, but there were still mass amounts of stomach pains he was enduring. He had both of his hands wrapped around his waist, arms crossed as pain seared its way through Stan's core and he swore for a second he could feel his stomach shrink inside of him. Stan needed to get his mind off his stomach, he needed to get his mind off the pain he was in, and so he decided to do something he hadn’t thought of in a good while, go bird watching. This way Stan could reach his 15,000 step goal whilst also distracting himself from food. It was the perfect plan.

Stan walked down the stairs of his empty house, his father wasn’t home much- his work was quite demanding- and Mrs Uris was out with her friends, though he didn’t mind, right now he preferred to be home alone. He reached the front door with his binoculars and bird book in hand but when he finally opened the door he was met with a familiar face.

Bill stood in front of him, hand posed upwards in a fist as if he was just about to knock on Stan's door. His eyes widened, eyebrows raised as he brought his eyes up to meet Stan’s. They were both shocked at each other's sudden presence. 

“ Hi Stan” Bill said, smiling, trying to avoid the awkwardness that hung in the air. 

“ What are you doing here?” Stan admitted that he sounded blunt, but he really wasn’t in the mood for dealing with Bill right now. 

“ I was coming to see if you had f-fin-finished your h-h-h-hu-homework, I thought that if you were done maybe w-wu-we could hangout. I feel like we never hangout a-an-anymore.” Bill's tone saddened whilst he said the last sentence, it was a sudden burst of vulnerability, which was something Stan didn’t find himself well equipped to deal with. Stan was embarrassed because deep down he knew that what Bill was saying was true, he just couldn’t admit it to himself, he didn’t want to admit it to himself. He wanted to believe that everything was fine, that everything was the same as it always was, that nothing had changed between him and Bill, let alone the other losers.

But there was a change, a change between all of them, a change that Stan would have to accept soon, a change that Stan didn’t feel as though he could control and that lack of control made him worried. 

“ Oh, I guess so.” Stan felt like an asshole for answering so dryly, but he didn’t have enough social energy to be polite. Bill frowned. He obviously didn’t like this side of Stan, and Stan didn’t blame him, Stan didn’t like himself either.

Bill's eyes drifted down to what was in Stan’s Hands, falling upon the binoculars and birds book that he was all too well acquainted with. Bill and Stan had gone Birds watching with each other many times. Stan liked to watch the birds, writing notes and tid-bits on the different species he saw and Bill liked to see Stan’s reaction to the Birds, he loved the way his entire face lit up. Sometimes Bill would sketch drawings of Stan in his notebooks, though Bill kept those to himself.

 Stan’s face never did that anymore. He was constantly stone faced as if he was trying to not feel anything, as if he was trying to be completely numb. And maybe he was. 

“ Are you g-going bird watching?” Bill already knew the answer to the question. Stan paused, thinking of the different possible outcomes depending on how he responds to the question. Bill watched him as he thought, observing the slightly tensed browl and quirked, upturned lip that Stan displayed.

“ That was the plan.” Stan kept his distant, almost arrogant tone. 

“ Well then I guess I’ll c-c-cu-come w-wu-with you” Bill completely dismissed Stan’s tone, smiling at the boy in front of him. Stan looked like he wanted to offer Bill an excuse, a reason why Bill couldn’t tag along. But it seemed that he didn’t come with any excuses that were valid enough for him to use whilst also not feeling like a complete asshole. 

Stan looked up at Bill, finally meeting his gaze, before walking out the door, side stepping around Bill.

“ okay.” Stan stated without looking behind him to face the boy he was talking to. Bill hurried after Stan, he didn’t want to let the boy out of his sight, afraid that he would simply cease to exist if he did, vanish with the wind maybe…

The pair started off their walk in silence, with Bill not knowing how to start a conversation and Stan being too pissed to want to. Bill could sense the obvious hostility coming from the boy he was walking next to, he decided it would be better to just let him walk then try to start up a conversation Stan clearly didn’t want to take part in. 

They both walked through their small town, already knowing their final location without having to discuss it. Before Stan got sick they went bird-watching together quite often and when they used to go, they would go to the same little park, the one that was right near the standpipe. Stan would sit and bird watch, Bill would sit and draw, both boys just enjoying each other’s company. Bill would draw Stan, Stan never got to see those pages, the action seemed too intimate, too domestic to seem friendly. Bill would observe the way Stan looked, the light from the sun added a hue to his face; Bill thought he had a beauty that couldn’t be captured in the medium of drawing, maybe it couldn’t be captured at all, Maybe Stan’s beauty was something reserved just for people who got to see him face to face, or even better; it was just reserved for Bill.

Bill ended up having a sketch book full of Stan, his hands, his face, anything that was Stan. 

From what Bill understood, they always had to go to this park in particular because Stan ( and his father) loved the shallow stone birdbath that was located in the park. It was the same bird-bath that Stan would birdwatch for hours, the same bird-bath that had the small Latin inscription that read as ‘Apparebat eidolon senex’ , an inscription that on one summer afternoon, he and Stan had tried to translate to english. The boys had looked through the small amounts of Latin that was found in the genus classifications of Stan’s bird-book. After about a half hour the boys had been unsuccessful in their translation, but Bill could remember the way that Stan’s face had lit up at the idea of his bird-book being put to use, being a great help to not only himself but Bill as well. Bill remembered how he had Stan had sat, huddled together, on the park bench, ( the one Stan and he would sit at when Stan wanted to watch the birds come and go in the bird-bath) pressed together from shoulder to thigh, each of them holding one side of the bird-book. Bill remembered how when they had finally realized that their translation attempts would be futile, Stan had looked back up at the bird-bath and gasped in delight at what he saw. The boy had spotted the male cardinal ( Fringillidae Richmondena ) that a co-worker of his father had told Stan about. Stan had explained to Bill how it was very rare to spot a cardinal this far north of Massachusetts, the excitement was prevalent in Stan’s voice as he spoke. He was clearly very passionate about his birds and Bill thought his passion made Bill love him even more.

oh right. That was a recent development to Bill, the fact that he loved Stan. At first he thought that it was perfectly normal, that there was nothing weird about it, after all he loved all his friends and Stan was a friend of his so loving him would make sense. But then it struck him: the idea that his love for Stan was a different sort of love than the love he felt towards his other friends. He still didn’t have a name for this love yet but he felt that it didn’t need to be named, it quite simply was . Bill thought that there was nothing, nothing at all that could change that. His love for Stan was too pure, too unconditional, to be broken. Before, Bill had almost let himself believe that his love could be reciprocated by Stan, but then Stan changed, drifted, and now the idea he had previously, of his love being requited, seemed preposterous. Bill was okay with Stan not loving him the same way, as long as he got to be around the boy he loved, that would be enough. Then Stan stopped hanging out with him; or any of the Losers for that matter. He became more quiet and reserved than he was usually nd Bill couldn’t understand what possibly could have happened to cause Stan’s behavioral switch, yet he understood that even if he couldn’t conceive what had happened to Stan to change him this way he still had to acknowledge that something had happened, something bad, something that was still unknown to him. 

That led Bill to where he was now, walking up towards the bench in the deserted little park that housed both a birdbath and a standpipe. 

Stan and Bill both seated themselves next to each other on the bench, Stan placed his binoculars and bird-book on the other side of him then stared down at his knees. Bill decided he needed to start a conversation, it was now or never.

“ D-do you remember the f-fir-first time you took me b-b-bi-birdwatching with you?” Stan seemed slightly taken back by the question but still answered.

“Of course, but that would have been ages ago now, at least three or four years.” Stan’s bitter tone from before had much dissipated, being replaced by a much softer genuine tone. 

“ You first took me w-wu-when we were nine, s-so yeah it w-wu-would be about four almost five years from then” Bill paused. Stan didn’t fill the silence. “ I remember seeing you k-Khuh-carrying your b-bi-bird-book in its plastic rain slicker and your binoculars and thinking t-that you looked like the world's smallest adult” Stan let out a small giggle, something of politeness not necessary sincerity. Bill continued.

“ I also remember thinking how mature you were and how smart you must be to be able to look at a bird and know what its name was. I remember thinking that you were just the coolest and that it was even cooler that both you and your dad would birdwatch together, like it was just your thing, something special the both of you shared. Then you asked me to go birdwatching with you and it felt like you were sharing this special thing with me, almost like you letting me join you was you letting me in on a secret, a secret that was previously only kept between you and your dad that was now also kept between you and me. I remember feeling so special that you had picked me to let in on this secret, I felt like I might be able to become as cool as you.” Stan wasn’t looking at his knees anymore, he had lifted his head to meet Bill's gaze, as if to judge the sincerity of Bill’s words. Bill started to talk again. “ And then slowly, over time I realised that what felt so special wasn’t the birdwatching itself, but spending time with you, Stan. Whatever we did together would be fun because of the simple fact that we did it together. Just you and me.” Bill finished, his mouth was hung open like he was trying to get more words out but just couldn’t manage, eventually he gave in and let it close. 

Bill let Stan process everything he had just said, breaking his gaze and instead opting out for watching the sun fall lower and lower as the clock hit 5:00pm. The boys just sat on the bench, enjoying the serenity of the park as the sun slowly dwindled downwards in the sky. It’s been so long, too long since we’ve last done this. Bill thought. And god, I have missed it. 

“ You didn’t stutter.” Were the words that finally made their way past Stan’s lips.

“Huh?”

“ You didn’t stutter once, during that whole speech of yours.” Stan smiled as he spoke, a genuine but mischievous smile. 

“ Oh, I guess not.” Bill returned the look.

“ Who knows, maybe that whole ‘Stutter’ of yours is actually a facade that you have been putting on for years to get people to lower their defences around you.” Stan joked, a faux serious tone apparent in his voice. He used his middle and pointer finger on both hands to create quotation marks when he said the words ’stutter’. Bill feigned a surprised expression, playing along. 

“ Oh no, you’ve found m-m-me out! W-wu-whatever will I do now?” 

“ Confessing to your crimes right here? Wow that’s low.  I can’t believe you have done this to me, it’s unbelievable and to think you got away with it for so long, I’m shocked.” Bill giggled at Stan’s dramatics.

“ I can’t have a-an-anyone else knowing about this Stanny boy, I’m s-sorry but I have to d-do t-this to you.” Bill raised his hands as he spoke, once he was finished he drove them forward to either side of Stan and began to tickle him. Stand let out colourful spouts of laughter, his own hands reaching down to grab Bill's wrists, trying, and failing to pry them off of himself. 

“ wait- no- Bill, I-hah-I promise I won’t tell anyone about your fake stutter- it can,- it can just be our secret.” Stan muttered between his laughs, struggling to get the entire sentence out. Bill paused, as if to contemplate the proposal that Stan had made, but he realised his mistake too late. 

Stan broke free of Bill's grip and moved his own hands to Bill's middle where he began tickling him. “ Don’t underestimate me again Bill.” Stan giggled out. 

“N-no! using m-my own tricks against me?H-h-hah-how ku-could you?” Bill's laughter interrupted him many times as he tried to speak. His legs thrashed violently and involuntarily. He grabbed at Stan’s hands trying to disconnect them for his waist, Bills head tilted back as he laughed. 

Eventually, after one particularly strong pull, Bill got Stan’s hands off of him. Letting out an exasperated sigh as he did. “ Jesus Stan, you’re brutal.”

“ I try my best.” Stan giggled. Bill looked between the boys, realised he still had his hands gripped around Stan’s wrists and let go in an abrupt motion, a flush of red began to rise on his face. Stan giggled again and for some reason Bill felt slightly less embarrassed. Bill reseated on the bench after the position the tickle attack had left him in. He took a deep breath in.

“ I’ve missed this, Stan.” Bill was serious again and Stan knew this, there was no deflecting this with jokes.

“ Met too,” Stan admitted. He looked up at Bill and saw that the boy was looking toward the horizon. The sun was setting over them, letting out beautiful oranges, pinks, purples and yellows colour the clouds. Stan shifted closer to Bill, so that the boys were pressed together as they had been so many times before on that same bench. He reached down and grabbed Bill's closest hand in his. It was an action of comfort, a good touch. Both of the boys needed comfort, comfort in each other, comfort in touch. Bill let out a sigh of content, Stan leaned his head on Bill's shoulder, more comfort, more touch. 

“Do you-“ Bill paused “Stan y-your my best friend, your k-know that right?” Stan inwardly winced, he knew where this conversation was going. 

“Mm hm.” 

“ You know t-that you can tell me anything, r-right?“ 

“ Ok.” By now Stan had removed his head from the other boy's shoulder. Bill looked down at Stan, an almost pleading look in his eye, a look that begged Stan to continue talking, to open up, to express how he feels. Stan stared straight ahead, not giving into Bill. The walls Stan had built around himself were firm and strong enough to block people out; there simply wasn’t enough room for Bill within them. 

“Stan” Bill paused. “Please talk t-t-to me.”

“ There is nothing to talk about.” Stan's eyes were still locked on the horizon, his gaze unwavering, strong, powerful.

“ Stan, please, c’mon“ Stan stood up, abruptly almost haphazardly.

“ I think I’m going home.” Bill's eyes widened, He had come so close to having a break through with Stan. Bill felt this fleeting feeling, Stan was going to leave and the next time they spoke he would have built even stronger walls around himself, it would be even easier to block Bill out then. 

Bill didn’t understand, Stan didn’t seem happy yet he also didn’t seem to want to get better and if he didn’t there was to get better then there was nothing Bill could do, no way he could force this upon Stan. Stan had to want this, and maybe that was the problem; Stan didn’t want to get better, he didn’t want help. At this moment Bill knew it was pointless to ask Stan to stay, he clearly didn’t want to and he doubted a ‘please’ would make that change. Bill eventually joined Stan standing up.

“ D-do you want me to w-walk you there ?” Bill knew he was clutching at straws at this point; it was already too late for this. Stan smiled politely, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“ No thanks, I’m okay.” Bill swore he saw Stan's happy facade drop for just a moment when he spoke, but it happened too quickly for him to be sure.

“Well, I’ll see y-y-you soon, okay?” Bill knew that this was his way of locking Stan into an agreement, an agreement to see Bill again, an agreement to not block Bill out.

“ Sure.” Stan spoke in the same polite tone as before.

“ Goodbye Stan. ” 

“ Bye Bill.” Bill took a step backwards before turning on his heels, he set off towards his house. Stan turned in the opposite direction, suddenly thankful that his and Bill's homes were in different directions. 

—

Stan felt shitty. He laid in his bed for hours after his and Bill's impromptu park visit. He was thinking, thinking back to how he had felt when Bill laughed at his jokes or held his hand. Reminiscing on these things caused Stan’s heart to beat rapidly in his chest, it was going so fast that he placed his hand over it to see if that would aid in slowing the speed, it didn’t. Stan felt flushed. Why did Bill make him feel like this? Stan hated the vulnerability Bill could bring out of him, he didn’t like that Bill made him feel things, things that he could quite explain because they didn’t even make sense to Stan, himself. It made Stan feel weak. It made Stan feel out of control.

Yet still he ached to be near Bill, to be in his presence, to be the thing that had his full attention, to be the object of his affections. 

But what if he could be? Maybe he could tell Bill that he didn’t want to talk about his feelings, or rather, eating habits, with him but still wanted to spend time with them. Maybe that could work. He could still eat small amounts without isolating himself, he could still lose weight whilst spending time with friends. Stan decided he would do just that.

—

The next day was a Friday. Before Stan developed an eating disorder he would be excited because this meant that he would go down to the quarry with the other losers today, but nowadays he wasn’t even sure that they’d want him to come with them, after all he had blown them off countless times. Stan got ready for the school day ahead of him, he packed himself some celery sticks, Stan felt like bringing lunch ( or at least some sort of food) would be a good idea because he was going to try to mend his somewhat dysfunctional relationship with the other losers and them seeing him eat would probably be a good thing. 

Stan’s father was always out of the house before he even woke up, so Stan never got to see him in the morning. His mother, on the other hand, was always there to greet him. Despite being a busy woman herself, Stan's mother always tried to make an effort to talk to her son, so that there was a firm line of communication between them. Stan appreciated the effort.

After double checking that he had everything he needed Stan made his way downstairs and kissed his mother goodbye. He left his house and started the short walk towards his school. Once he had reached the end of the street, he heard a familiar voice calling out his name. Stan turned toward the sound, just to be greeted by the sight of Bill riding on a bike that looked simply too big for him.

( silver )

Stan waited, adorning a questioning expression, as Bill made his approach.

“ I’m g-g-glad I caught you, I didn’t n-nu-know what time you left your house.” Bill hopped off silver and began wheeling him by the handlebars as he and Stan continued the walk to the school.

“Not to seem rude, but why are you here?” Stan tilted his head. 

“ I t-th-thought we could walk together.” Bill smiled, with obvious pep in his step. 

“ Okay, but isn’t our school in between your and my house? You would have wasted so much time riding past the school only to go back there, don't cha’ think?” Stan looked at Bill admiring the way his smile didn’t fault despite the fact that Stan had pointed out a major inconvenience in his plan. 

“ Not really, cause now I g-g-get to walk with you, and I wouldn’t be able t-to do that o-otherwise.” Stan looked away from Bill, hiding how what Bill had said had made the tips of his ears red and his face flush with colour.

“ oh, okay.” Was all that Stan could manage as a response. Bill started up the conversation after a brief pause.

“ D-do you want to hangout with me this afternoon? I n-nu-know we’d usually do something with the other losers but I thought maybe we could just h-hu-hangout one on one” Bill paused before adding “ I really enjoyed yesterday” 

“ Sure, okay” Stan replied “ And just so you know I liked yesterday as well.” Stan was smiling now too. He guessed that Bill just had that sort of effect.

The pair made it to school in no time, quickly walking to the spot where the losers usually met for lunch. It was a small rectangular wooden table, the kind that was commonly found in parks. It had two long wooden slabs connected to either side of the table, these slabs made places to sit. 

When Stan and Bill arrived there wasn’t anyone else there yet, after all Stan liked to get to school early. The boys sat on the same wooden slabs so that they were sitting next to each other instead of facing each other. 

“So what do you want to do this afternoon?” 

“Well I was thinking that maybe you c-co-could come over to my house, maybe we could rent a m-movie? It’s fine if you d-don’t want to t-th-though I was just thinking since you haven't been over in ages that you might like to but it’s totally fine if not, like I completely understand if-“ Bills rambling were cut short by Stan placing his palm over Bills mouth to shut him up.

“ Bill, it’s okay, I’d like to come over.” Even though Stan couldn’t see Bill's mouth he could tell by the creases that had formed next to his eyes that he was smiling. 

Then suddenly he felt something wet touch the palm that was clasp around Bill, Bill had licked him, the dirty fucker! 

“Ew Bill! That is so gross, oh my god now I have your spit on me!” Stan pulled his hand away before Bill got a chance to strike again. Bill began to laugh, he laughed so hard his stomach began to hurt. Stan saw this and seeked revenge, so in one quick upwards motion he brought his hand close to Bill's face and swiped the guys spit from his palm onto Bill cheek. Now it was Stan’s turn to laugh. “ Here, have your spit back Bill. Oh geez that’s so disgusting.” Bill playfully shoved Stan on the shoulder and began to laugh as well. 

“ What’s so disgusting?” A voice from behind the boys called out. They turned to see both Richie and Eddie walking towards them.

“ Bills spit.” Stan called back to Richie as he and Eddie quickly made their way over and sat across from Bill and Stan.

“ Now just what were you doing with Bill's spit?” Richie asked in a mixture of confusion and slight concern.

“ Bill, he..” Stan paused for dramatic effect. “ He licked me!” Both Eddie and Richie gasped, playing along with the dramatics.

“ He did what? ” Eddie asked, holding a hand over his heart in feigned shock.

“ It’s true.” Bill admitted.” I did lick Stan, but he has neglected to mention that the act of licking him was in self defense!” There was another round of gasps followed by Richie asking:

“Is this true Stan?” 

“ Of course not! I wasn’t putting Bill in harm's way even slightly so there was no need for him to use his quote ‘defendatory’ lick. I’ll be the first to say that Bill Denbrough is lying!” More gasps and shocked expressions.

“ Good rebuttal Stan,” Richie commended. “ Bill, how do you respond?” 

“ The only reason I licked Stan Urine over here-” Bill pointed toward Stan. “- is because he had su-silenced me!”

“ silenced you, you say. Now what exactly do you mean by that?” Eddie talked through giggles that were caused by the phrase ‘ Stan Urine’.

“ It means this: I was t-talking, inviting Stan Urine over like the kind ju-gentleman I am when all of a sudden he places his h-hand over my mouth like so,” Bill demonstrated by using his own hand to mime where Stan’s had been just prior. “Then I was f-forced to defend myself by licking the hand that was preventing me from speaking.” 

“ And is this true Stanley Urine?” Richie looked from Stan to Eddie and then back to Stan again as he spoke.

“ I’m afraid it is,” shocked noises ensued. “ But I would like it on the record that I only placed my hand over Bill's mouth because he was rambling, I needed to shut him up for his own sake!” 

“ Hmm for his own sake you say, very interesting, very interesting indeed, What’s your read on this Judge Eddie?”

“ Well it would seem to me that Stan was only trying to help Bill and then Bill went and licked him out of the blue, are you in agreement Judge Trashmouth?” 

“ I think you’ll find I am Eds.” Eddie elbowed Richie at the nickname. 

“ Well then I believe we have a verdict, don’t we?” Eddie said before a new voice chimed in.

“ Verdict? What the fuck are you guys doing?” The four seated at the table turned in the direction of the voice. They saw Bev, and behind her Ben and Mike all of them walking toward the table. It was clear that the voice belonged to Bev. 

“ A court trial.” Richie spoke as if his answer was the most obvious thing in the world.

“ Oh sorry, I don’t know how I couldn't tell since most trials are held by 4 teenagers in a schoolyard.” Beverly words were laced with heavy sarcasm. Her, Mike and Ben all seated themselves before Stan responded.

“ It’s okay Bev, we all make mistakes sometimes.” He spoke as if Bevs words had been literal. 

“ Yeah, don’t beat yourself up about it.” Bill added

“ Fuck the both of you.” She deadpanned with fake anger. ( Truthfully she was exceptionally glad to see that Stan was sitting with the Losers again, she had started to get seriously worried about the boy but seeing him joke around like this put her nerves to rest for the time being.) 

“ Good morning guys.” Mike moved the conversation along. They all reciprocated the greeting and began speaking to each other like it any other morning, like Stan was always there. Stan felt good, he felt right, a sense of belonging washed over him as he sat and listened to Richie complain about his music teacher. This was where he was meant to be, it was as if these people sitting around him were his platonic soulmates of sorts and suddenly Stan felt dumb for believing for even one second that these people wouldn’t want to spend time with him. These people; the losers, loved him, Stan could feel it and even if he didn’t exactly understand why they all loved him he would have to accept it because that was simply just how it was.

—

By the time Bill and Stan met again it was lunch. They didn’t have any school periods together on a Friday since they had picked different elective subjects and weren’t in practically any of the same mandatory classes, it really sucked for the both of them.

Stan was standing by the school’s pay-phone when Bill spotted him, he jogged toward the boy. 

“Who ya callin?” Stan jumped slightly in surprise, he hadn’t realised Bill was next to him.

“ Just my mum, I thought I ought to let her know that I would be going to your house this afternoon, don’t want them getting worried.”

“Ahh right, smart thinking Stan the man.” Stan smiled before groping in his pocket to retrieve a quarter to pay for the call. He placed it into the coin slot before dialing his home phone number into the number pad. Stan unhooked the phone from its holding rack and brought it up to his ear, it rang. Bill waited in front of him, expectantly.

After a couple of seconds there was a shift from the incessant ringing to Stans mothers voice. 

“Hello? Mrs Uris speaking.” Bill saw Stan smile again at his mothers voice; he was glad that she had picked up. 

“ Hi mum, it’s Stan.” The boy briefed.

“ Oh, Hi honey!” Stan's mothers voice switched from warm to concerned. “Why are you calling me? Is everything alright?” 

“ Yes everythings fine Ma, I was calling to let you know that I’m going to go to Bill's house this afternoon, so don’t worry if I’m home late.” 

“ Oh, that’s lovely sweetheart. Do you know what time you’ll be home?” Stan paused.

“ I’ll ask Bill.” Bill's ears perked at the mention of his name, ready to see what question he would be asked. Stan put his hand over the microphone part of the phone and lowered it from his ear. 

“ Do you know what time I’ll be leaving your house? My mum wants to know.” Stan spoke in no more than a polite whisper, but the words only went in one and out the other for Bill. For some reason he couldn’t get over the fact that right now Stan looked good, like really good. This wasn’t out of the ordinary; Stan looking good to Bill, but there was something about the way Stan was right now, the domesticity of it all, that made Bill's heart flutter and brain scrabble. It was odd, odd that it was Stan, the boy he saw almost everyday, the boy he had known since the young age of seven, the boy who was far too mature for his age, that made him feel that way.

“ Bill, did you hear me?” Stan snapped his fingers in front of Bill's eyes. Bill blinked, blinked again and then let his brain refocus on the task at hand.

“ Sorry Stan, what was the question?” Stan rolled his eyes, his smile still apparent upon his lips.

“ You're such a dork Bill. I was asking if you know what time I’ll be leaving your house tonight.” Bill’s eyes widened in acknowledgment.

“ Oh, w-whenever you w-want I guess, but if your Mum’s asking for a time then ma-maybe say like 8:00pm, just so there’s time for a movie.” What seemed to be a permanent smile situated itself on Bill's face as he spoke.

“Sounds good.” Stan returned the smile. He brought the hand away from the microphone and brought the phone back up to his ear. “ Bill said around eight, we wanted to watch a movie, is that okay?” 

“ Eight? I don’t know Stan, that seems a little late for you to be walking home alone, don’t you think?” Stan needed a decent enough response to both calm his mother and let her let him stay out that late.

“Bill will walk me home and then ride back to his house on silver, is that okay?” Stan made eye contact with Bill as Bill shot him a quirked eyebrow. 

“ That sounds more like a good idea Stan, as long as your both safe I don’t see a problem”

“ Okay, thanks Ma, see you later tonight” 

“Have fun at Bills and stay safe darling”

“ We will mum, bye.”  And with that he hung up. Stan put the phone back on its holding rack before turning to Bill. Bill had an overly smug look upon his face. 

“Oh, so I guess I’m w-walking you home now? I’m glad your mum sees how buff and s-st-strong I am and how I can use my big m-muscles to defend you.” Bill spoke with a tone that was even more smug than his expression, he flexed his arm, there was no muscle definition. Stan giggled at Bills over the top persona and Bill felt warm again.

“ I can assure you Bill, my mum does not think you're strong or buff. She just believes in power in numbers.” 

“Sure, sure, I’m s-sure Mrs Uris believes in ‘ p-power in numbers’ or whatever the fuck you call it and definitely didn’t accept your pro-proposal because I am so tall and manly that I will scare away any p-people that try to take you.” Bill provided a stupidly high pitch voice and finger quotations when he said ‘ power in numbers’ to emphasise his distaste  of the idea. Stan rolled his eyes again. 

“ Take me? Who on earth is going to take me?” Stan raised an eyebrow and began to walk away from the pay phone and towards the direction of the table he expected his friends to be seated at, Bill followed after him. 

“You don’t know Stan, there are some k-crazy people out th-there.” Bill shook his head in disapproval. 

“ Sometimes you're a real prick Bill.” Stan elbowed Bill in the upper arm.

“I may be a prick, but you s-still love me.” Bill used the same smug tone of voice. Stan pretended to puke at the mere mention of the idea.

“Ew, no way in ever would that be true.” Bill falsified a stab to the chest at the reaction.

“ Wow Stan, you’ve wounded me.” Now Stan became the smug one.

“Good, stay wounded Big Bill, after all you are apparently so strong, I’m sure you’ll be just fine.” Bill smiled.

“ Despite being buff, s-strong and tall, Big Bill is still human, you can’t hold him to higher s-standards than you would yourself.” Bill began to refer to himself in third person. 

“ Your a dumb mother fucker, you know that Bill? Like I’m talking complete dipshit, I swear it.” Stan muttered, walking fast to leave Bill ( or rather Big Bill) behind. Bill ran to catch up with him as Stan reached the table where the other Losers were seated.

“ Where have you guys been?”Richie asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Stan plopped down on the bench next to Richie, flicking him in the back of the head as he did so.

“You're so gross Richard.” Bill sat next to Stan nodding in agreement with his statement.

“What? How? It was just a simple question!” Richie spoke in offense. 

“ You know wha-what you were implying, doofus.” Bill rebutted. Eddie, who had previously just been listening to the conversation, joined in from beside Richie. 

“ Yeah Rich, leave them alone, I think you’ve done enough terrorising for today.” Richie tutted in displeasure.

“ See my dear Eds, that’s where you're wrong, you can never do enough terrorising.” Richie turned from Eddie back to Stan and Bill. “ Billiam, you said I was implying something, now just what would that something be? Enlighten me, please.” Richie looked innocently at Bill.

“Fuck you Richard.” Bill flipped Richie off and the action seemed to catch the attention of the other three seated across the table.

“ I was going to ask ‘ Woah what has Richie done this time’ but at this point I don’t even want to know.”Mike's comment caused a plethora of giggles and an exaggerated sigh from Richie. After this had died down, Stan noticed Bill reaching under the table to open his school bag, a couple seconds later he produced a sandwich in a container from the bag before zipping it up again.

Right, lunch, Stan thought before he reached for his own bag that he had placed under the table. He opened it and brought out the celery sticks he had packed for himself earlier today. After placing the container down on the table in front of him, he opened it and retrieved a celery piece from inside. Stan could feel Bill side-eying him as he brought the celery stick up to his mouth and took a bite, he chewed slowly, cautiously, scared to do something wrong as he was tentatively monitored by Bill. 

Then it seemed that Bill wasn’t the only one but every person at the table that was sneaking glances at him. He almost felt like a zoo attraction with all the eyes on him. Even more cautiously now he took a second bite. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, he didn’t want to have to deal with that awkward moment where the person looking at him would have to pretend they weren’t staring. Stan went sick in the stomach, not only from the fact that the celery was the first food he had eaten in 4 days and his stomach was actively trying to reject it but also because his brain was currently screaming at him ‘They’ll all know you're an anorexic freak. ’ Stan stomached just one more bite before he couldn’t take it anymore. He stood up, announced:

“ I’ll be back.” Before turning on his heel toward the toilet block. Black spots invaded Stan's vision from how fast he had stood up, he felt dizzy and had a killer headache but right now his priority was getting to the bathroom before his stomach successfully rejected the food. He walked as fast as he could without tripping over his own feet and relief washed over him once he reached the bathroom. After walking in, he sighed happily as it was empty apart from himself. He quickly entered the last stall, shutting the door Behind him. Stan flipped up the toilet lid, luckily for him he had seen a ‘cleaning in progress do not enter’ sign on the door of the toilet earlier today which meant at least he won’t be touching too many random people‘s germs. Stan knelt down before the toilet, gagged and then threw up. The nausea and stomach pain was instantly relieved as he spit up the throw up leftovers from his throat, bile coating the inside of his mouth. He shut the lid of the toilet before flushing it. Stan thought for a second and then the reality of what just happened hit him. He realised that no matter how hard he tried to ignore the fact that he was sick it would never work, he realised that his friends always be on high alert to what he was eating and he couldn’t tell them to stop without acknowledging the fact that something is wrong, he realised that he couldn’t successfully be friends with the losers

(especially bill)

if he also wanted to keep up his current eating habits and most importantly he realised that he had fucked up his stomach so bad to the point where it wasn’t accepting food anymore, now he felt fear as well as sadness.

Tears pricked his eyes and before he knew they were racing down his cheeks. Stan was scared, so scared, what had he done to himself? Stan let out a sob in the otherwise silent bathroom then quickly brought the sleeve sweater up to his mouth to muffle the noise. Despite the bathroom being empty, Stan held his breath to stop the sobs, hearing them made everything seem more real to him. Stan noticed how he was shaking uncontrollably, teeth chattering despite being still pressed into the sweater sleeve. He knew that this was his body’s reaction to the emotions and revelations he had just had but it didn’t stop him from making him even more scared. He took a gasping sort of breath against his sleeve before holding his breath again. His stomach began to ache again from his stomach acids being tossed around. He sat on the toilet seat with the lid down in fear that his legs just might give out if he tried to stand.

4 days since he had eaten, and even when he had eaten all those days ago it had only been a medium pink lady apple.

(107 cals)

He realised just how bad this had gotten, it wasn’t normal to not eat for one day let alone four. Before he could dwell on these concerned thoughts they got interrupted by a different thought: how much weight had he lost? 

Stan hadn’t weighed himself since the day he had eaten that apple, the scale had read back to him 103 pounds; this meant he was down 17 pounds in just a couple weeks, but Stan had fasted for 4 days now he must have had lost even more weight; he was probably even under 100 pounds by now. Stan hated how the thought excited him, he hated the fact that he knew as soon as he got home he would be getting on the scale to see his new weight. Thinking of home got Stan thinking of how he had arranged to go to Bills this afternoon. Suddenly all previous desire he had to go to Bills house and hang out was gone, suddenly Stan just wanted to go home; his friends were the last people he wanted to be seeing. 

Stan had begun to control his sobs, he wiped his face with the tissue paper before putting it in the utility bin that could be found in each bathroom stall. His slowly got his breathing under control, the shaking stopped and the teeth chattering became less frequent. His headache was still going strong, possibly stronger than when he had entered the bathroom but that was bearable, at least he had regained the ability to think clearly. Stan decided that he was to go to the office, tell them he felt sick and ask to go home; there was a mild flu going around the school and Stan figured he could just claim to have symptoms of that. 

After Stan had felt he had calmed down enough he exited the bathroom stall. The bathroom was still empty and he still felt light headed. Stan left the bathroom and set off toward the school office, he walked with slow calculated steps to make sure he didn’t fall over. Once he arrived, Stan walked up to the receptionist.

“ Hey honey, how can I- oh sweetie, are you alright? You look ill.” The sweet looking lady behind the desk's face scrunched up in concern.

“ I was coming here to ask if I could go home because I feel a bit sick.” Stan replied, not properly answering the receptionist's question.

“ Yeah of course darl, what’s your name?” 

“ Stanley Uris.” The receptionist pressed a few clunky keys on the keyboard in front of her.

“ Should I call your fathers work number or your home phone?” Stan thought it would be better to call his mum on the home phone and so he responded accordingly.

“ The home phone please.” 

“ All right then.” 

“ Thank you Ms.” 

“ All good sweetie, you have a seat in the sick bay, okay? Let me know if you need anything.” 

“ Okay, Will do, thanks.” As Stan walked away he saw the lady behind the desk pick up the phone and dial what was presumably his home phone number. The sickbay was empty, three beds lined the far wall and on the opposing wall were two chairs and a sink. A cabinet who’s door was a mirror, hung above the sink. The school bell rang out symbolising the end of lunch. Stan sat in the chair furthest from the door, one of his legs began to shake uncontrollably up and down as he waited in anticipation.

A few minutes later the same receptionist as before entered the room, Stan looked up at her, acknowledging her presence. 

“ Your mother is on her way to pick you up, sweetie. Also I’ve just realised that you don’t have your school bag with you, do you know where that might be?” Stan thought back to lunch and how he had left his school bag behind at the lunch table. 

“Oh yeah I left that at my lunch table, I could go get it right now if you’d like.” The receptionist smiled in a concerned fashion.

“Oh no sweetie, I’ll go get it for you. Could you please tell me which table it is?” Stan described which table he and the other Losers sat and the lady nodded in acknowledgment and recognition.“Okay, I’ll be just a second.” And with that the receptionist left the room, leaving Stan on his own again. More time passed, Stan couldn’t really tell how much exactly, he just felt too dizzy.

Eventually the receptionist re-entered the room, but this time she wasn’t the only one to enter. Bill Denbrough entered after her and Stan’s leg immediately began to shake up and down faster. Bill had a worried expression drawn across his face and he was holding Stan’s school bag. 

“Bill here had brought your bag with him when you hadn’t retrieved it at the end of lunch and luckily I was able to spot him as he was leaving a lunch table. He asked to come see you because of plans this afternoon.” The last sentence was spoken as more of a question than the that statement it was. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it.” She said, before turning on her heel and leaving them in the sick bay together, the door was shut with a quiet ‘thud’ behind her.

“Are you alright?“ Bill asked after the silence had lingered for slightly too long. Stan shrugged.

“Thanks for bringing my bag.” Stan avoided the question and spoke with no real joy. Bill walked over and sat in the chair next to Stan, placing his school bag under the chair Stan was seated on.

“It's alright. So I’m gu-guessing you’re not up for a movie to-tonight?” Bill looked up from his knees to Stan. Stan looked anywhere about Bill.

“I guess not.” Silence re-enveloped the room, Stan’s leg shook faster.

“Are you s-sure you're okay?” Bill placed his hand on Stan’s shoulder seemingly trying to comfort him, Stan flinched away from the hand.

“Don’t touch me.” Bill's hand immediately retracted from Stan’s shoulder. Stan hadn’t meant to sound so forceful but he couldn’t focus on how his tone came off when he felt like his stomach was eating itself.

“Sorry.” Bill looked back at his knees.

“It’s okay.”  

“Is there an-anything I can do to help?”

“I said I'm fine.” 

“Right.” Bill paused. “But you a-a-aren’t really are you?” It was Stan’s turn to pause this time. The only noises in the room were coming from the shake of Stan's leg and the whirling of the old rusted ceiling fan.

“Thanks for my bag Bill, but I think you should go now, my mum will be here soon.” Stan ignored the question.

“But-“

“ I think you should go now, Bill.” Stan reinforced. Bill stood up solemnly and walked to the door.

“ Stan, I just want you to know no m-matter how many ti-times you try to pu-push me away I’ll a-always be there for you-“  

“ Bill. Piss off.” Stan snapped, speaking with bite. Bill seemed taken back but nonetheless left as Stan had requested. Now Stan was alone again, he felt like he might cry, he was overwhelmed with all the emotions he hadn’t let himself feel in the weeks before. Stan felt like he might pass out, so he rested the back of his head on the wall behind him until his mum finally arrived to pick him up. Mrs Uris drove Stan home and walked with him up to his bedroom.  As soon as Stan got under the covers of his bed, he collapsed into sleep. Miss Uris watched her son with worry. He looked so pale, too pale and yet still flushed. She gave him a sweet kiss on the forehead before heading back downstairs.

Stan dreamed of what the afternoon might have looked like if he’d spent it with Bill, he dreamt of the movies they would watch, he dreamt of the huddled way they would sit next to each other, he dreamt of them holding hands, he dreamt of comfort. Stan slept through the rest of that day, only waking up once to use the washroom. He remembered what he had said to Bill and felt like a total dick, Bill probably didn’t like him any more, Bill probably thought he was mean. Stan was mean. These thoughts only made Stan hate himself more, but before he was able to work himself up he fell asleep again. The warmth from his covers was simply too enticing to resist.

—

When Stan finally awoke, it was due to his concerned Mother entering his room. Mrs Uris had brought him soup, she was still under the impression that her dear boy Stan was sick with some sort of flu, in truth he had an illness in the head, a mental sickness. Mrs Uris gently pat her hand over Stan's back, rubbing it comfortingly till he awoke. Stan blinked twice before his vision finally cleared and his mother‘s caring expression came into view. She smiled warmly at her son before informing him about the hot soup that she had made for him. Stan appreciated the effort but ultimately knew he wouldn’t be eating it. Mrs Uris stroked a hand through Stan's curly hair and Stan, in a short moment of vulnerability, leaned into his mother‘s hand. The comfort that touch brought felt good, loving even. There was a short while where he and his mother stayed just like that, Stan enjoyed the warm serenity of the moment but it seemed that it was over before it had even started. 

Mrs Uris told Stan to call on her if he needed anything, Stan agreed that he would, then she left his room and Stan was alone again, as he had been so many times. The boy lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling and deciding upon his next course of action. Eventually Stan arose from his bed and walked towards his bathroom, the hot bowl of soup in one hand. Once arrived with the bathroom door shut behind him, the boy poured the soup into the toilet bowl before flushing it down. His heart panged for a moment at the thought of the hard work his mother had put into making the soup,  but he shoved the thought to the back of his mind before he could dwell on it.

He washed his hands in preparation for leaving the bathroom but then something else caught his eye. There stood the scale, seemingly calling him from across the room. How much did he weigh now? Stan’s heart began to race with excitement. Not counting the celery stick incident (the food was only in his system for two minutes, tops) Stan hadn’t eaten in five days now, 120 hours, 7,200 minutes, 432,000 seconds.

Stan felt an overwhelming sense of pride at what he had done. The boy rushed towards the scale as quietly as he could not wanting his parents to hear him. He stood in front of the scale and took a deep breath then took a step onto it. The scales seem to spend ages flicking between weights until the final number was revealed. 97.3 pounds. Stan was so happy he could cry, the boy wanted to jump up and down in joy but didn’t as to avoid being overheard. Stan stepped on and off the scale just to check that the weight was correct and sure enough it was. The amount of satisfaction that the number gave him was unimaginable, he was just so incredibly happy it was crazy. Stan practically pranced back into his bedroom, a smile drawn across his face. He felt so positively, unequivocally good. He locked his bedroom door behind him and stood in front of his full-length mirror, Stan could tell that he lost weight but he still didn’t feel skinny, or maybe better phrased, skinny enough. It almost didn’t feel like the body he was looking in the mirror was his own. Stan lifted up his shirt to observe his ribs, they poked out in the front of his stomach and under them, his belly was concave. His ribs showed on his back and as a pleasant surprise to Stan, also under his collar bone. Stan put down his shirt before lifting up his pant legs one by one to see how his thighs looked. Stan had a massive thigh gap, he could wrap his thumb and middle finger on both hands around the top of his thigh. Next Stan looked at his arms, he could wrap his thumb and middle finger around most of his forearm. Stan felt overjoyed but A knock at the door of his bedroom interrupted him. 

“ Don’t come in, I’m getting changed!” Stan yelled to who was presumably his mother. Stan spoke the first part despite being well aware that his bedroom door was currently locked. Stan quickly began to get changed so that his mother would see him in different clothes and no he mustn’t be lying about getting changed. After quickly throwing on some new clothes Stan rushed to his door to not keep his mother waiting. The boy unlocked the door and opened it yet his mother wasn’t on the other side, Bill was, Stan furrowed his eyebrows.

“What are you doing here?” Stan’s tone was accusatory, hostile.

“I thought I would ch-check in with y-you, your mum said you were pu-pretty sick.“

“ When were you talking to my mother?“ Stan raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, my mu-mum called yours after I told her that you went home s-s-sick, she wanted to see if you were du-doing good.”

“ Oh okay.” There was silence.

“Could I ku-come in?” Even more silence.

“Ok.” Stan turned back and sat on the foot of his bed, Bill followed him in his room, politely closing the door behind them both. Bill stood in front of Stan, leaving about a metre of space in between them, Bill crossed his hands over his chest.

“So, how are you?” 

“Fine.” 

“That’s good, it s-sucked that you ku-couldn’t come over yesterday, I was really looking fu-forward to spending time with you.” 

“Oh. Yeah.”  Stan paused. “ Me too.” 

“Whu-well do you want to mu-maybe go to the VHS store? We could get a movie to make up f-for yesterday, if you're feeling whu-whu-well enough that is.” Stan thought about Bills proposition, he couldn’t let himself give in, he couldn’t show Bill that he could get within the carefully constructed walls that Stan had built for himself. 

Stan had to be strong, Bill didn’t need to know about everything the boy was going through, they weren’t Bill's issues to deal with, let alone know about. Letting Bill in showed Vulnerability, Vulnerability showed weakness, and being weak meant Stan wasn’t in control, but Stan was in control, he tried so, so hard to be and he wasn’t going to let his best friend ruin that. Stan’s control was showing results and he wasn’t going to give that up.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea for me at the moment.” Stan gave no explanation. Bill didn’t ask for one, he could sense that Stan wasn’t about to give in and open up to him just from the boy's facial expression. But Bill didn’t lose hope, he wasn’t about to let his best friend sit and (clearly) suffer by himself.

“ Okay.” Bill paused for a beat. “Well if it’s okay with you I’d like to do something together, as I said before ‘I feel like we never hang out any more.’” Bill quoted himself, his arms had moved from their prior spot crossed over his chest, to wrapped around his waist in a self comforting action. Bill's expression was completely juxtaposed from his body language, he looked firm and strong, yet still caring.

“We hung out one on one two days ago.” Stan didn’t answer Bill’s question, instead opting to counter his quote. Bill frowned.

“Okay? But that was the first time in ages.” Stan didn’t have a rebuttal to that. Bill’s tone had slipped into more of an angry sound, not angry at Stan, but angry that Stan would let himself spend time with Bill; or anyone for that matter.

“ I don’t even know why you're here right now.” Stan bit back, crossing his hands over his chest, his tone began to match Bill’s. The boy knew it was a pathetic attempt to steer the conversation away from Stan and his feelings and issues, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“ Because I care about you? Because you’re my friend?” Bill offered. “ I don’t know why you can’t accept the fact that I care about you, Stan, but I do.” Stan rolled his eyes. “ And I also don’t know why you're being such a dick right now, Stan. All I’m trying to do is offer you help- and don’t even say some shit like ‘ I don’t need help’ because you do, you definitely do and yet the more I offer the more you pull away, which makes me think that you don't want help, And that is what I don’t understand the most.” Bill was more mad now, Stan didn’t like it, he didn’t like that the anger was getting directed at him; an action which in turn, also made him angry.

“ Bill, have you ever even thought about the fact that I didn’t ask for your help?! I didn’t ask for you to get all nosy and in my business and yet look at you, you still did! I don’t know what on earth you’re seeing but, no, I don’t need help, and especially not yours. It seems to me like you just want to be the hero, so much  that you’re willing to push this faux narrative on me where I’m your fucking damsel in distress and you’re there to rescue me. Well sorry to burst your bubble but I can fucking deal with stuff on my own, I don’t need to be babied by you, or anyone else for that matter.” Stan took a breath in.“Bill I don’t depend on you to live. I can do that by myself!” Stan was standing up now, he was yelling back at Bill; who kept his eyebrows and nose slightly scrunched in anger.

“Oh my god that’s such bullshit Stan, and we both know that! I know that you can survive on your own, and all that shit, but me treating you kindly and trying to fucking help you isn’t me babying you or treating you like a damsel in distress, it’s just been me being nice to you. Why can’t you accept the fact that I’m trying to be nice without believing that I have some sort of Ulterior motive?!” Stan seemed to almost flinch backwards at Bill’s words, his angered expression deepened.

“ Bill, why do you even care what I think? I thought that I made it clear that I don’t want to hang out with you, when I did just that, and didn’t hang out with you but apparently not” Bill expression flickered, sadness could always overcome anger.

“ You don’t mean that.” Bill sounded less sure of himself, less firm, less believable. Bill almost found it hard to believe his own words, but he thought back to him and Stan giggling on the park bench just a few days ago; that was the real Stan, the Stan that didn’t put on an act, the Stan that didn’t hide behind a mask, The Stan that Bill loved.

“You clearly don’t have a good gauge when it comes to seeing if people are serious or not, because I do mean everything that I’m saying, Bill.”

(no I don’t, I’m just scared Bill, so scared, so please help me, help me like you did at Neibolt, stay with me, provide comfort, provide answers, I know you’ll know what to do, you always do, after all your-)

“Sorry that I’m not all over you, like you apparently want me to be but you can’t force me to engage with you, in fact I don’t want anything to do with you.” Stan was a liar. Bill was hurt, (If keeping Bill out was what he was meant to do, why did it feel so fucking wrong.) the kind of hurt that Stan could take back. Tears rose in Bill’s eyes, it was Stan's fault that they were there. Stan had caused the hurt; the hurt that would become the hurting, because hurt like this couldn’t be ignored, discarded, or forgotten. Hurt like this stuck. And yet, Bill kept on pushing, kept his mind on the good moments, on the sketch book full of Stan, on the swimming in the quarry, on the lazy afternoons, on the real Stan. He remembered that Stan was also hurting, and Stan would continue to hurt unless Bill got in, under his walls and talked to him about his

(eating) problem. He remembered Stan needed someone, anyone, and Bill could be that someone. 

“ You can’t keep doing this to yourself, I can see that you’re so obviously hurting, and no matter how much you tell me that what I’m saying is something that doesn’t exist I won’t believe it. You can’t keep isolating yourself, it just isn’t a way to live Stan.” Bill's anger was fully diminished, being angry took too much effort, and neither he nor Stan needed the anger, not now. His tone had become quieter, calmer, more collected. He had lost control of himself before - that was when the anger had come out and he had directed it to the only other person around; Stan. It was only a human reaction for Stan to also become angry.

“How would you know ‘how to live’? Honestly Bill, it would be so much easier if you would just leave me alone, at least then you could force your delusions onto someone else. I don’t want or need your help Bill, you need to understand that.” Stan’s anger hadn’t diminished; anger wasn’t vulnerability, so he clung to the feeling, Relishing in anything that wasn’t vulnerability at the moment.

“ Stan, when’s the last time you ate?” Stan froze, that was the last thing he had expected Bill to say; of course Stan knew that Bill knew that something was wrong with Stan's eating habits, but he had never expected him to just bring it up, not now, not ever really. The abruptness of the question had also caught him off guard, it wasn’t the response Stan’s answer had prompted from Bill. 

“ What?” Stan sounded strained, forced. His jaw trembled slightly as he spoke. His world was practically crashing in front of him. Bill took a big breath.

“ When’s the last time you ate?” He repeated. Stan felt this heaviness settle in his gut, he felt caught and afraid and most of all he felt out of control.

“I don’t understand what this has to do with what we are talking about.” Stan lied. His stomach had begun to do somersaults.

“Stan..” Bill looked pleadingly, he was desperate for Stan to give in, give up, be vulnerable, lose control. 

“ Bill, get out of my house.” Stan wouldn’t- he couldn’t give in, he didn’t care if he lost Bill, (yes he did) right now he just needed to be alone so he could finally let out the tears that were so clearly in his eyes.

“ Stan, all you're doing is delaying a conversation that we are going to inevitably have one day.” Bill spoke; still calm.

“ No I’m not!” Stan hated how desperate he seemed; he sounded like a child trying to convince their parents that they hadn’t stolen food from the pantry, (although the idea that Stan would be stealing food seemed ironic) despite the fact they had been caught in the act.“ I don’t ever want to see you again Bill, now get out of my house, I hate you!” Stan didn’t realise he was going to say the last statement until it came out of his mouth. Stan didn’t hate Bill, not at all and yet he couldn’t find it in himself to take it back. The tears that had been threatening to fall from Bill's eyes made their way down his face, racing it seemed, creating uneven lines of wet. He stepped backward, still facing Stan but making his way towards the exit; the door. Bill met Stan’s eyes. 

“ I really hope you don’t mean that.” The words came out broken and Stan felt a rush of guilt, it was worse than the heaviness that resided in his gut, worse because it was Bill who he had made cry, Bill, Bill Denbrough, his best friend, a friend who he loved. 

“ Just get out.” Stan’s words juxtaposed his thoughts perfectly, he was screaming at himself to stop, to comfort Bill, to say all his overdue sorries, he owed that to Bill, Bill deserved that, and yet he didn’t move, instead watching as Bill reached for the door knob.

“ bye Stan.” The sound was quiet and Stan swore he felt his heart break. He wanted so badly to run up to Bill and hug him still he stopped crying, to stay in Bill’s loving presence, but there was this other part of himself that wouldn’t let him. It was as if he was frozen.

Bill shut the door quietly behind him and Stan was alone again. Tears finally broke their way down the boy's face, he stumbled back to his bed and lay back on it. What had he done? 

His tears came fast and heavy, quickly replacing the one that came before. Stan couldn't find time to breathe, between the chattering of his teeth and the sobs it was just too hard. Again (like they had in the bathroom at school) hands came up to his mouth to muffle his sobs, Stan was tired, so fucking tired; not only his body, but his mind was exhausted from the constant mental battle he went through. Stan felt like he had given everything; his friends, food, his happiness, to this diseased part of his mind and yet it still wanted, took , more. 

Stan didn’t have the right to try to stop it if it was more alive than himself at the moment.

It was like a void, one that could never be filled, he would never be skinny enough, never be able to fit the impossible standards this brain he created without killing himself in the process. And, oh, that was a revelation. Why was he still alive anyway?

The thought didn’t unsettle Stan like it should have. He wasn’t happy, he couldn’t spend time with friends (especially Bill) and he could enjoy food. What was the point of him being alive?

Stan began to imagine a world in which he had never existed, there had simply never been a Stanley Uris. The losers would be able to hangout without noticing the gaping hole in their group of seven that Stan had left. His parents could live peaceful lives together, without the worry of looking after an entire human being. If he had never existed there would be no standards to fill, no constant exhaustion, if he had never existed everyone would be happier. ( Stan included. )

And yet, Stan continued to live, live for those impossible standards, live for the cold exhaustion, live for the simple reason that he could lose more weight. In short, Stan continued to live for all the wrong reasons.

—

Stan was alone for almost the entire weekend. Apart from his run in with Bill and some occasional check ins from his parents he saw no one. The boy hadn’t left his house since School on Friday, he had spent this time inside either reading; mostly from books of his shelf, but every now and then he would re-read parts of his bird book, or watching Tv down stairs; he only didn’t this when his parents were out of the house, it was to much effort for him to interact with people at the moment and they weren’t an exception. He had plenty of time, too much of it probably, plenty of time that he didn’t know how to fill, and so he sat and thought.

Stan thought about how he and Bill yelled at each other, a sick anxious feeling invaded his stomach when he thought this thought. The possibility of him having ruined his relationship with Bill made him nauseas- a different sort of nausea as the one he got from eating nowadays-, yet he knew he could let himself see Bill any more. Bill brought out vulnerability and feelings ( ones that Stan didn’t quite understand ) and both those things were bad, he wasn’t supposed to feel things like that. Anyway Bill already knew too much; him asking Stan the question about him eating had confirmed it in Stan’s brain. Stan half hoped Bill would give up and move on, but he knew that that was probably asking for too much. Bill would try to break down Stan’s walls shaking and this time Stan would engage with him, he wouldn’t give Bill the satisfaction of winning, of making Stan give in.

Stan was in control.

—

When Monday hit, Stan realised that today was his seventh day of not eating, (an entire week!) Pride washed over him, the type of pride he only got from not eating. Stan didn’t both trying to convince his mum that he was still sick just so that he could avoid Bill at school, after all he would have to face Bill eventually so it was probably better to get it over and done with.

No boy greeted him at the end of his street today. No boy accompanied him on his walk to school. Today, Stan walked alone, the loneliness had become somewhat normal to him, or at least as normal as loneliness could get. Upon reaching school he made his way to the library, not bothering to check if any of the Losers were at school yet. The last time he had tried to mend that friendship hadn’t gone well and Stan wasn’t particularly interested in trying again.

The library was quiet in the morning, only a few people dotted around either reading or working on homework, not that Stan paid them much attention. He found a corner area that he had sat at many times, one of these times, or rather the memory of one of these times, flooded back to Stan’s mind as he sat. There they were, Stan and Bill, pressed together, Bill with a comforting arm around Stan, Stan crying softly, knees bent pressed against his eye sockets effectively hiding his face; from Bill, from anyone who could walk into the library, from the world in general. Stan remembered what had caused his tears in this memory. It had been Henry Bowers.

Stan had been getting books from his locker when Henry had walked up to him, 

“ Oi, dickwad,” Stan turned, eyes widening as they fell upon Henry. Stan didn’t reply. Henry continued. “What the fuck is that on your face?” Henry’s eyebrows rose in disgust, he adorned an exasperated, almost pitiful look, his mouth wrinkled backward, his nose scrunched upward in displeasure and again, disgust. Stan reached up to his face to inspect for anything that would cause Henry to make his current expression. His attempts were futile. “ I mean those scars, shithead.” Henry jammed a grimy finger forward pressing it against one of Stan’s scars (the scars from the woman in the painting) on his forehead before flicking him in the same spot. Stan took a step back, in shock, not because Henry was strong enough to flick him over, no. one hand moved up in an attempt to quell the pain. He felt emotionally exhausted, he didn’t want to have to deal with Henry’s verbal abuse, especially now.

Henry wasn’t the only one disgusted by those small dotted scars that lined Stan’s face, Stan himself loathed them. He hated all twenty seven white dots of knitted sacred flesh. He hated the way that they protruded from his skin slightly. He hated the fact that there were an uneven amount of scars ( twenty seven was such an ugly number). He hated the way they seemed almost randomly scattered across his face. But most of all he hated what the scars reminded him of, that dirty, decaying house, that terrifying woman, the powerlessness, being out of control. 

“How’d you get those things anyway? I doubt a priss like you would take part of any risk taking behaviour that could have caused them.”  The question resurfaced Stan in the here and now, although he wasn’t sure how to answer.

“ Let’s go Stan.” A different, familiar voice spoke from behind. Bill. Stan had forgotten that he was standing next to Bill; their lockers were next to each other so Bill had gone to get books with Stan before  Henry had interrupted the pair. Stan made an effort to leave, Bill followed behind him. Henry blocked his path.

“You didn’t answer the question.” Henry’s stare was that of a madman, his deadpan tone only added to that. Stan just wanted to be left alone. 

“ I just fell.” Stan answered, fully aware of how unbelievable that was. He tried to get past Henry again but his answer didn’t appear to be adequate enough, even for Henry Bowers low, low standards.

“That’s bullshit! Can’t you tell me? Or is it a secret between you and your boyfriend?” Stan didn’t know what- or rather who, he meant by Stan’s ‘boyfriend’ as Henry has referred to practically all of his male friends as this at some point. He wasn’t even sure Henry himself knew at this point; the idea of Stan; a boy, having a ‘boyfriend’ was funny to him, funny enough that he didn’t even feel the need to direct what he intended to be an insult at one of Stan’s friends. 

“ It’s not a secret, I just fell. Now can I get past?” Stan made a third attempt to get past, it was again, futile. He just wanted to be alone with Bill, he just wanted to be alone. Stan was exhausted, so fucking tired, he just wanted to be alone. He felt as though he could break down any second, he was so fatigued and drained and worn out that any second now he would breakdown.

Stan wanted to be alone.

“ Not until you tell me the truth, fucker.” 

“ I’ve already told it to you, dickhead.” Stan’s eyebrows furrowed as insecurity became anger. He stared at Henry, Henry’s eyes didn’t meet his, instead fixated on something behind Stan. Stan turned to see what the boy was looking at. Behind him ; not directly, more just someone in the same corridor as Stan, stood the principal; someone who both Stan and Henry knew could tell Henry’s wrong doings to the only person Henry actually feared; his father. The principal was looking Henry's way and so the boy backed down, but not before getting the last jab at Stan. 

“ If I were you, I’d try to cover up those shit scars, I can’t believe that you are able to just walk around looking like that, with those on your face I mean, how are you not embarrassed? fucking faggot.” Henry spoke in no more than a whisper and when he was finished speaking he spat on his hand and wiped it across Stan’s face before walking away. Stan felt his ear Tips go red with anger and insecurity, the feelings melded together. Stan quickly wiped his face to rid it of spit, simultaneously and yet still discreetly drying the tears forming in his eyes at the same time.

“Hey, are you okay?” Bill rubbed Stan on the back, more comfort from touch. Again Stan didn’t know how to respond so instead of a verbal response he just nodded and grabbed Bill’s hand pulling him in the direction of the library. 

“Woah, where are we going buddy?” Bill smiled, using a thumb to run over the skin on the back of Stan’s hand. Despite Bill's soothingness, Stan still felt on the brink of tears, he figured it was probably a build up of things that caused these tears to try to force their way down the boy‘s face and yet his mind still felt a lot more clear than what his actions were supposing.

 “The library, is that okay?” Stan slightly slowed his pace in case Bill wanted to head to class instead. 

“You want to skip?” Bill asked, Accentuating the ‘you’, surprised that Stan, someone who was notoriously against missing class, would want to do so. 

“ Yeah.” Stan stopped in front of the library and looked at Bill as he spoke, monitoring his reaction. By now the halls were mostly empty, the bell for class seemed to have gone off without Stan even noticing it. Bill smiled.

“ I always knew you had it in you.” And for some reason Stan couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. They broke past his eyelids and streamed down his face in oddly straight lines. Bill's smile was replaced with concern. 

“ Stan? Are you alright?” He gripped Bill's hand harder in a subconscious motion, seeking comfort of his own.

“Yeah.” Stan lied, speaking with broken words. “Wanna go inside?” He gestured towards the library. “It’s probably a better place to talk.” Bill nodded and the pair made their way inside and sat in a corner, backs pressed against the wall behind them. Stan brought his knees up to his chest while Bill let his legs lay out stretched in front of him. 

“Was it what Henry said? I mean, was that what upset you?” Bill prompted, trying to figure out the reason Stan was crying. Their hands were still interlocked. 

In all honesty Stanley couldn’t verbalise what had caused his tears. They were caused by his scars and what they reminded him of, they were caused by Henry’s words, they were caused by the strange feeling that Bill made him feel, they were caused by all of the above and more, more that Stan didn’t even what to think about, more that Stan didn’t want to know.The tears weren’t tears of sadness, more just tears for the sake of tears, tears for the sake of expressing emotion through physical action. 

“Kind of? Maybe?” Stan almost laughed, he must sound so stupid to Bill, so stupid for not even understanding why he is crying. Stan was stupid. “I’m not even sure what emotion these tears are meant to portray.” Stan did laugh this time, it was a dry humourless noise. 

“ Sometimes it’s good to just cry, Stan. You don’t need a reason.” Stan faced Bill, looking at him while Bill spoke and then the feeling was back, the old feeling that he only got from Bill. Stan’s heart seemed to hurt, though not in a pain that could described by something physical, like an ache, it was a pain that couldn’t at all be described because words would somehow diminish its existence, it was a pain he wasn’t even sure was a pain, it could be more of an oddness; an unevenness. Whatever it was it only stood to make Stan more confused. 

“Suppose that’s true.” Stan shuffled closer to Bill and Bill wrapped an arm around his shoulders in a reciprocation of the closeness, a nonverbal confirmation that Bill needed the comfort that touch brought just as much as Stan; comfort could be found in that confirmation alone. 

There were more tears, comfortable silence occasionally broken up by light conversation, Stan remembered how Bill had comforted him until he was well again, Bill had been totally nonjudgmental, he only seemed to care about Stan in those moments and although selfish, Stan liked the fact that he did. Now Stan was alone, as he was so commonly these days. The library seemed colder, harsher without Bill, in a strange way Stan supposed  Bill used to warm him up with only his presence. 

Time had seemed to skip ahead while Stan was reminiscing, as once he checked his watch it was only 2 minutes till the school bell. Stan stood up, his chest hurt, he was instantly (and constantly) light headed, black spots formed in his vision, yet he ignored it all and picked up his school bag before walking out of this library and towards his first class of the day.

—

Despite packing his gym clothes, Stan had forgotten that he had P.E today. P.E had become the boy's least favourite subject now that he had disordered eating habits. He was in constant fear that he would pass out, or his legs would give out or some other bad thing would happen, there were too many possibilities, but worst of all, Bill was in his P.E class. Bill was the last person on earth that he wanted to be forced to see, and yet still, P.E rolled around in the last period of the day.Stan had managed to avoid Bill in the changing rooms, in fact it wasn’t until the actual start of the lesson that he even saw Bill. The coach had gotten everyone to gather on the field to do some warm-up jogging. Stan's classmates made a standing huddle around the coach as he explained what the students were to do. 

Stan could feel Bill's eyes on him but he refused to meet them, looking back at Bill would feel like giving up, giving in and Stan wasn’t about to do that. After all, Stan thought he had probably already gone past the point of no return when it came to their friendship. 

Once the coach had finished explaining what they would be doing during the lesson. The coach told the class to run laps around the track field to warm up. Stan’s P.E coach was rather relaxed, he would let people walk the laps and talk amongst each other as long as they moved, he didn’t seem to care. Stan couldn’t blame him. 

Stan began jogging at a slow pace, a pace where he wasn’t at risk of passing out. Stan could see Bill in front of him, jogging faster, so much faster that if they had been racing Bill would be lapping Stan in no time. Stan chose to focus on his feet and putting one in front of the other because at the moment that was all he needed to do, that was the only thing he needed to focus on, unlike the fact that Bill was close to complete his first lap; that needed no focus, no attention, especially not from Stan. Stan refocused on his feet and the rhythmic pound of them on the ground, the fall of one foot in front of the other and yet still his thoughts escaped to Bill. What was Bill thinking? Did he still like Stan? 

Bill hadn’t tried to talk to Stan yet this period, or today at all for that matter, was that because he thought Stan didn’t want to talk ( he would be correct about that) or because he himself didn’t want to talk with Stan?

The questions seemed to rattle around Stan’s head after each step he took, he could feel his headache worsening but at the moment That wasn’t a priority, Bill was, forget putting one foot in front of the other. He wondered if he and Bill would ever be friends again, Stan had been pretty harsh toward Bill when they had last spoken and maybe that had pushed Bill over the edge, maybe that was the final straw and now he didn’t want to help Stan anymore, maybe Stan had pushed to much, whatever happened between them was Stan’s fault and he knew that for sure. 

Stan had been so wrapped up in his thoughts

(bill)

That he hadn’t noticed the black spots forming and spreading throughout his eyesight. Stan slowed his pace, the light headedness hitting him in migranal waves. Stan could hear his heartbeat in his ears, quickly palpitating. Stan felt dizzy, his vision was becoming less and less trackfield and more and more black spots until the black spots took over completely and he collapsed. Right there. Once the track field. In front of all his classmates. There of all places was where Stan had to pass out. 

Stan wanted nothing more than for things to go back to the way they were; for him and his friends, to be able to be kids, to forget things that happened in the sewers, to be able to sleep and eat and play, to be able to simply be, to exist. 

But things could never go back, because Bills parents would never forget Georgie and how Bill had ‘coerced’ him to leave the house that rainy 1988 day; how Bill had ‘led him to slaughter’; how had practically murdered him, and Eddie, Eddie would never feel clean, clean enough, he could rub his skin until blooms was drawn and still the dirt and grime from the sewers would stay, the scent seemingly sunk into his skin; and Things would never be the same because Beverly wouldn’t ever forgive herself, her fathers blood would forever lay on her hands, because daughters don’t kill fathers; because Mike wouldn’t be able to sleep, the sinking feeling that all this wasn’t over, that they hadn’t defeated IT for front his mind in a never ending loop; because Richie couldn’t bring himself to believe in the horrors he saw in the sewers because it was too much, too much to handle, too unbelievable, it was the sort of thing that haunted people in their nightmares; haunted childrens nightmares

(But nightmares aren’t real) 

And Richie wasn’t young enough to believe in tha anymore; because Ben had the scars, scars that wouldn’t allow him to forget, ever, he would be stuck with the carving imprinted on his skin, stuck and unforgetting; And things couldn’t go back to the way they were because Stan’s parents had sat around watching their boy both hurt and hurting, both dying and already dead, and done nothing, nothing to help, to save, to aid, the boy that’s so clearly needed saving. They had done nothing but sit and pretend things were alright, pretend things were that same as before, but things would never be the same because Stan couldn’t forget he couldn’t forget the sewers or IT or the fear he had felt, he couldn’t forget how everyone had just sat by and watched as he catapulted into instability, he could forget but he also couldn’t blame them. He didn’t know what to do, they didn’t know what to do and rather than sitting through the uncomfortableness of unknowing they chose to pretend. Everyone but Bill who had fought through the uncomfortableness and tried to save Stan; the boy who needed but didn’t want saving, the boy who had already gone too far, seen too much and tried too hard to stop now. Things couldn’t go back to the way they where because Bill had come too late and Stan had gone too far and Richie had seen both too much and not enough and Eddie had gotten too sick and Beverly had become something she wasn’t (a killer) and Ben had to see, to remember everyday and Mike couldn’t stop the nightmares. Things couldn’t go back because too much had changed, because time continued, because one day they would all be adults and they would think of their silly little journey down into the sewers as nothing more than a day dream, things couldn’t go back because life ebbed on, people grow up, time moved too fast, friends drift apart, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it; it was forever out of control.

Stan awoke in a familiar location, his school sickbay. He blinked, trying to get his visions to focus. Eventually, after a couple blinks, his eyes began to work as they were intended again. Stan found himself lying on one of the sickbay beds; if you could even call them beds, they were more like sun lounges with their plastic frame and clip on cushions. 

Stan wasn’t alone when he woke up either, a school staff member; a different one from the lady on Friday, was standing by the sink filling up a paper cup with water. She turned and jolted back slightly, surprised to see Stan awake.

“How are you feeling honey?” She walked and stood by Stan’s side offering the paper cup to him. He accepted graciously and took a sip, the cool water lid down his throat and pooled in his stomach, the temperature difference quite apparent in an odd somehow pleasant feeling.

“I’m okay, thanks for the water.” Stan’s voice was croaky despite just drinking water. The nurse smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. She took the cup back from Stan once he had finished drinking and placed it on the counter by the sink, ready to refill. 

“I’m not sure if you remember or not but just earlier you passed out in P.E class.” the nurse informed Stan, although he was already aware. “We have already called your parents to inform them of this and your mother is on her way now to pick you up. Do you have any idea what could have caused you to faint? Any underlying health conditions that might have contributed something?” Stan figured a half-truth would be decent enough to use as an answer to the nurse's question.

“I haven’t eaten anything yet today; I got up late so I didn’t have time to pack lunch or make myself breakfast,” Stan explained. “ and I guess the heat didn’t help either.” The nurse nodded along, there was nothing to incline her to not believe polite Stan Uris, so she didn’t doubt his story for a second, who would?

(Bill)

“Mm yeah, that’s definitely most likely, but just to be safe maybe you could ask your parents to get a blood test- Although,” the nurse interrupted herself. “This is the first time you’ve fainted right?” Stan nodded. “Then I doubt it’s something like low blood sugar or low iron, But I guess it's better to be safe than sorry.” The nurse smiled again and Stan made a mental notes to try to avoid getting a blood test at all costs; he figured that because he wasn’t eating he would have low blood sugar, low iron, low everything really, and if his mother saw that she would definitely know something was up, after all perfectly health children don’t just suddenly gain a deficiency from everything, it just doesn’t happen. 

The nurse and Stan talked a bit more, she asked him some questions and although he was thinking of her as a nurse it became apparent that she definitely wasn’t qualified for that title. Stan looked around the room, it was practically just the same as it had been, though, today, he heard footsteps approaching from outside.

The idea that it was Bill appeared in Stan’s still slightly out-of-it brain, his heart swelled, maybe it wasn’t over between the two of them, maybe Bill saw Stan collapse and rushed over to help, maybe he got out of P.E just to come and check in on Stan, maybe he still cared. 

But it wasn’t Bill that opened the door, it was his mother. She stood tall in the doorway, she looked strong, Stan thought. Everything about her was strong, tough, except for her face which adorned a much softer expression. Worry. 

In that moment Stan felt a wave of love towards his mother, the mother that had left work twice in the span of four days to care for Stan, the mother who would run her fingers through Stan’s hair when he wasn’t well, the mother who respected Stan enough to give him his space, arguably too much space, Stan supposed, but still, she cared and made an effort and loved him.

She loved him so much and yet just enough at the same time. Stan felt loved by her, if no one else. He felt as though he could cry and maybe that was for the best. Maybe.

Mrs Uris entered the sickbay in a hurry as soon as she saw Stan. “ Stan! Are you okay sweetie? I heard that you passed out darling.” Mrs Uris spoke in a rushed voice, trying to force the words out as fast as humanly possible so Stan could hear them sooner. She placed a cool hand over Stan’s heated forehead, he wasn’t sure if it was for comfort or she was just trying to feel if he was burning up, either way the touch was welcome.

Stan didn’t know what exactly it was about what his mother had just said (maybe it was nothing, maybe it was everything) but now he was crying, ugly fat tears streaming from his eyes down his cheeks. Stan couldn’t remember the last time he had cried in front of someone else, it was probably in the library with Bill all those months ago. It felt good, good to let go, to give in, Stan felt good. Mrs Uris rushed closer, face wrinkled with more worry.

“ Are you okay Stan?” Stan met her eyes and more tears fell, he was out of control but maybe that was okay? Maybe. 

“Yeah.” He sobbed out and his hands came up to wipe the tears from his face. Stan was exhausted, this was his body’s release, and that was okay.

—

By the time Stan had gotten home the tears had stopped. Guilt and Shame settled in, how had he let himself cry in front of two people? How had he let himself be vulnerable? A school nurse had seen him at his most vulnerable, she probably thought it was weird that he had randomly started crying, it was weird that he had randomly started crying.

He could believe he had let anyone see this side of him, how? How did it happen? Stan supposed he was exhausted and when you're tired you can get more emotional. He almost wanted to go back and find that nurse just to tell her that he was normal, that he wasn’t usually like this, but in truth Stan wasn’t ‘normal’; normal people ate, normal people didn’t faint in P.E, normal people did get weird feelings around their best friend. Stan wasn’t normal and he was disgusted at himself for that fact and for everything else.

Why didn’t he just eat? After you need to eat to survive so why couldn’t Stan eat? Did he want to die? Was this his way of subconsciously Killing himself? It so it was dumb. Stan was so dumb. He was such a fucking idiot and he couldn’t understand why he thought the way he thought or why he was the way he was, he just was. 

Maybe he didn’t actually have an eating disorder and this was all an elaborate scheme to get attention. Stan wouldn’t put it past himself for wanting to do something so self centered, he got attention before his disordered eating, but of course he needed more, of course , and now look at him, in so much pain that he is passing out but still too fucking afraid of eating to save himself from eventual starvation.

Stan hated himself so much he wanted to rip his hair out, But he was too much of a Sulk to actually do anything to himself, apart from not eating, of course.

A tapping a Stan’s window broke him out of his thoughts, he was alarmed that the previously quiet room had been interrupted by an incessant noise.

Stan turned toward the window, frustrated at whatever bird was hitting his window. After walking over and rolling up the blinds Stan was met with an unexpected sight before him. The tree outside his window wasn’t occupied by a bird, it held a boy. Bill to be specific. Stan’s eyes widened as they met Bills, shocked that the boy was here, but even more shocked that this was his mode of entry upon the Uris household. 

Bill offered Stan a half smile. Stan didn’t have time for this. He opened the window to ask the boy why he was here. He did care, or rather didn’t think, about Bill seeing the fact that he had so clearly been crying earlier, at the moment that wasn’t really his main priority, the boy outside his window was. 

“What- why are you here?” Stan asked coldly, one side of his mouth twitched upward in a grimace sort-of expression.

“You f-fainted. I wanted to see if you wu-were okay.” Bill smile fully now, probably trying to get Stan to offer him inside, after all, sitting on a tree wasn’t exactly the most comfortable place to be

“Well you checked and I’m fine so you can leave now.” Stan was on the verge of another breakdown and he didn’t need Bill's intrusive questions to push him over the edge. He began to shut the window but before he could, Bills voice interrupted.

“Okay, you may be ‘f-fine’, but if you're willing to, I'd love to t-talk to you.” Bill paused briefly. “ about Saturday maybe. I feel like we ku-could both use a civil conversation about what happened on Sa-Saturday, how about you? You up f-for it?” Bill's smile seemed almost contagious and Stan found himself having to actively fight off a smile. Stan sighed. 

“ On one condition.” Stan offered and Bill seemed pleased that he had even considered the idea of letting him in.

“ What’s that?” Bill asked 

“If you or I don’t want to talk about something then the other one has to leave the subject alone, no matter how much you think you are doing the right thing, leave it alone. Just for this afternoon. Deal?” 

“ Deal. Now, could I pluh- please come inside now, it’s not exactly h-homely out here.” Stan opened the window and reached out a hand to help pull Bill through. Eventually they were both in Stan’s room, just like Saturday. 

Stan sat on the floor by the foot of his bed, his back pressed against the bed frame. Bill joined him, placing the backpack he was wearing next to him. They sat in silence for a good while. Stan picked at the skin around his fingers, it was as much of a distraction as he would get at the moment. Bill's legs lay in front of himself just like he had in the library when he was comforting Stan.

“So, what does it feel like to f-faint?” Bill began. Stan paused and thought about the question, forming his response. 

“Um, well, I didn’t realise anything was wrong until a bunch of black spots formed in my vision and then suddenly I could hear my heart beat so loud it was scary. Then the black spots took over and I knew I was out.” 

“Oh, wow,” Bill momentarily stopped. “That doesn’t sound like mu-much fun.” Bill joked, it was an effort to alleviate some of the tension that had built up.

“Really? Cause I thought it sounded like tons of fun, I thought the whole reason people fainted was because of how fun it was.” Stan spoke sarcastically and elbowed Bill in the ribs. Bill laughed, happy Stan was Willing to speak, let alone joke, with him. 

“Is that wu-why you did it? For fun?” Bill giggled.

“Oh, damn, you caught me red handed. A little man came to my window last night and began advertising the funness of fainting to me and I guess he won me over because I just had to try it.” Stan smiled at Bill. He liked it when Bill laughed at his jokes.

“Ahh, I see, I wonder when the win-window man will come to see me.” 

“You are your own window man after what you pulled just before. Maybe you could become a qualified window man and then they could pay you to go other people's windows.” 

“ You really thu-think I have what it takes to be a window man? Wow thanks, it mu-means a lot.” Bill turned to face Stan better.

“Of course. I always believed in you, Big Bill.” Bill rolled his eyes at the old nickname.

“Okay, but who would be these pu-people paying me to be a window m-man?”

“The society of window men! Obviously!” Stan paused trying to think of the acronym of the society. “The SOWM will be the ones to pay you.” 

“Oh, right, of k-course, how could I have for-forgotten about SOWM!” Bill acted in absolute shock and this time Stan laughed.

“Silly Bill, How could you forget! You must be getting too old.” Stan tutted, Feigning contempt. 

“ What! No way, I’m still yo-young with full ear fu-function.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“Suree.” Stan spoke in a suspicious tone, drawing out the ‘e’ in the word, this time Bill elbowed Stan. There was a moment of silence, it wasn’t quite awkward but it definitely wasn’t comfortable. Stan turned away from Bill and looked down at his feet. 

“So,” Bill continued. “Um, on Saturday, I’m sorry if-“ Bill was cut off.

“Hey, wait, Bill, um,” Stan paused. “ I don’t really think you have anything to apologise for. I was being a real dick, on Saturday and before that. Um, I'm sorry.” Stan stopped, it didn’t feel like enough, he didn’t know what to say, but he needed to say more, he had to. But he couldn’t bring himself to sound sincere, he was trying, though seemingly not hard enough. “I mean it. I’m sorry for being awful, you were just trying to help and I, I was treating you like shit, you don’t deserve that. Sorry.” Stan still couldn’t meet Bill's eyes.

“Oh.” Bill didn’t know what to say, he was hurt and although he appreciated the apology, it was hard to accept and move on like nothing happened. “Thanks for saying sorry.” There was an awkward silence. “Sorry if I was pushing you too much on Saturday.”

“Nah, it’s okay.” There was more silence. “Sorry for yelling on Saturday and sorry for saying I didn’t want to be friends with you. That was a real dick move. Sorry.”

“Mm.”Bill looked away from Stan. “I’m sorry for yelling too.” Stan could tell that this wasn’t Bill accepting his apology, he wanted to make it up to him, make things between the two friends good, good like they used to be.

“Um, is there anything I could do to make it up to you? Like I could, Um, I don’t know, do your science homework? You hate that shit right?” Stan tried to joke, he looked at Bill, Bill didn’t laugh.

“You don’t have to do en-anything, Stan.” Stan looked away from Bill. “You- I think it might take me a-awhile to get over what you said on sa-Saturday, but thanks for apologising.” 

“Um, is there anything I could do to speed up that process? I mean I understand that you need to take your time to get over things which I totally understand and is totally reasonable, but is there anything I can do to help? I’d just really like for things to be okay between us, you’re my best friend.” Bill sighed.

“ Stan, you've apologised, I think that’s all you can do.” 

“Oh, okay.” More silence. “Um, is there anything else that you’d like to talk about?” Stan looked to Bill.

“Yeah, but I'm pretty sure that my questions will go against our deal.” Bill didn’t meet Stan’s gaze, opting to look at his legs in front of him.

“Oh. Well. Okay.” 

“Um, Is there anything you want to talk about?” Stan shook his head, showing a negative action. “Okay, well maybe, um, I should get going if we aren’t going to talk about anything else today.” 

“Oh, urm, okay, sure.” Bill stood up.

“Maybe I could see you tomorrow? If that’s okay?” Stan joined Bill in his standing position.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Stan smiled.

“Okay, cool, I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Bill reciprocated the smile before he walked toward the door of Stan’s room. He turned back toward Stan just before he exited. “Thanks for talking with me today. I really appreciate it.” Stan smiled and Bill shut the door behind him as he left the room.

The boy sighed, rubbing his palm over his mouth and chin, he felt his smiley facade fade. He was so tired.