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The winter air burned Bill’s cheeks as he pedaled towards Stan’s house, his hands tightly gripping the handlebars, so much that his knuckles turned white. It was their families’ bi-monthly dinner together, something brought upon after their summer of clown hunting.
His parents had driven for obvious reasons, but he enjoyed the ride, and even more so when he turned the corner and saw Stan sitting on the porch.
As always, Bill tossed his bike to the ground, quickly disregarding it.
Stan huffed as he walked over, “Do you ever use your kickstand?” He tenderly picked up Bill’s bike, knowing how much he treasured it.
“Only y-you do that.” He smiled, watching as Stan propped his bike up next to his parents’ car.
He stared at Bill for a moment, and shook his head as he responded, “No, every normal person on the planet does that, Bill.”
“Every normal p-p-person also greets their friends wuh-when they see them.”
Stan just rolled his eyes, turning on his heel to go inside. There was a slight smile on his face, something only someone close to him could spot. Bill followed him without question, trying to ignore the blush spread across his cheeks.
Both of them shrugged off their coats once inside, putting them on the coat rack next to the door.
As Stan spoke, he tugged off his shoes, “I don’t get why you didn’t just ride with your parents.”
“It’s nice outside.” He shrugged.
Stan looked at him for a moment, before smiling, “That’s definitely up for debate.”
“M-muh-maybe.”
After a quick exchange with their parents, the pair made their way upstairs until dinner was ready. Bill quickly ducked into the bathroom next to Stan’s room, taking a moment to examine himself in the mirror.
He breathed in deeply, running his fingers through his hair as he let out a shaky breath. The ever growing circles beneath his eyes seemed to be more pronounced in the light from above the mirror. There was a moment where he considered splashing water on his face, but he refrained, knowing there was no real use.
Making his way into Stan’s room, he got quickly distracted by the pictures hung on Stan’s wall. They had been there for ages, shown by the slight curling around the edges.
From birds to candid shots taken from Stan’s camera he had picked up a few months ago. Amidst the photos, a few of Bill’s drawings were proudly displayed, including a few doodles he had made in various notebooks Stan had shared with him.
Stan’s voice broke the silence, much softer now, “You’ve seen all of those a hundred times.”
“I l-like looking at them.” He glanced at Stan, who was now standing beside him.
“Me too.” His eyes were focused on a drawing Bill had given him for his birthday. It was a portrait of him, something he hated typically, but it was based off a picture Richie of all people had taken with Stan’s camera.
It made him happy to see that his friends liked documenting him, in their own ways.
“Anything you w-wuh-want to do?” Bill looked at Stan, who had finally turned to him. The way the setting sun outside the window hit his face made him look like he had come straight out of one of the filtered prints hanging on his wall.
Stan shrugged, laying on his bed, staring above him, “I’m not sure.”
There were stars stuck to the ceiling, organized in neat constellations, something that Bill knew took Stan hours. With the stars hung various bird prints that were hung up with fishing wire that Bill had managed to steal from his garage for Stan.
Bill sat down on Stan’s bed, “C-cuh-could we go out on the r-roof?”
He turned on his side, facing Bill, “It’s way too cold for that, Bill.”
“Like I said, nice outside.”
Stan laughed, a sound that was rare to hear without the presence of a certain glasses wearing friend of theirs. Bill loved when he could listen to Stan’s laugh, especially when he was the one who made it happen.
Stan smiled, rolling his eyes, “Fine, we can, if you really want to.” He sat up, moving to be next to Bill. Their knees knocked together for a moment, and Stan’s eyes widened.
“We c-cuh-could just talk, if you’re so opposed to the c-cold.”
“Nope, you asked, so we're doing it now.” Stan stood up, and Bill smiled up at him, his eyes seemingly glazed over.
They headed back downstairs, Bill grabbing their coats as Stan confirmed dinner wasn’t happening quite yet.
“We’re good.” He took his coat from Bill, and headed upstairs, and down the hall.
The Uris house had a small attic, with a window that led directly onto a flat part of their roof. After Bev had accidentally discovered it while looking through some of Stan’s mom’s old clothes with Stan, it had commonly become a place where she and Richie would smoke together whilst visiting.
Less commonly, Stan would sit with Bill, stargazing, or occasionally birdwatching in his neighbor's yard.
They sat down, sides pressed together for what they claimed to be for warmth, which did have a part in it, but definitely wasn’t the only reason. There was a comfortable silence, with both of them enjoying each other’s presence.
“Have you written anything recently?”
Bill let out a sigh, and Stan already knew his answer, “I’ve been drawing a lot, if that’s anything.”
“What sort of stuff?”
Their hands were scarily close together, and it took everything in Bill to not reach out and clasp Stan’s hand in his own.
He knew they were soft, way softer than his. He knew that sometimes Stan would get callouses around his knuckles from how he wrote. He knew that..
He snapped back to reality, taking his eyes off Stan’s hand, “Oh, anything, r-ruh-really.” There was a pause. “I did something for R-Richie’s birthday.”
“I’ll give you five bucks if you drew Eddie for him.” Stan was deadpan, but Bill could tell he was resisting smiling.
“N-no!” He laughed, putting his head in his hand. “He would like that though.”
Stan’s tone softened, “What did you actually draw him?”
Bill sat up straight again, his face flushed for reasons unknown to him, “The quarry.. he once t-tuh-told me that he wished he c-could stop the sunset right over the c-cusp of the hill.”
“Richie Tozier said that?”
“Surprisingly, yes.” He laughed, and Stan grinned at him. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Any cool b-birds?”
There it was again, Stan’s laugh, the sound that Bill found himself so entranced by. By now, the sun had almost entirely set, but Bill wished he had Stan’s camera to take a picture of him at this moment. He wouldn’t listen to Bill, no matter how many times he wanted to take photos of him.
“Not really, most birds that migrate during the winter have already passed through.” He shook his head, smiling sadly. “Sorry, you probably don’t want to hear me talk about migratory patterns.”
“I do!”
Stan looked at him, tilting his head, “Really?”
Bill just nodded, and took the opportunity to take Stan’s hand in his own. This motion elicited a small gasp from Stan, but in reality it felt like every ounce of oxygen had been knocked out of him. He gulped nervously, and both of their eyes were focused on their intertwined hands.
“Why?” Stan’s voice was quiet, and if Bill wasn’t paying so much attention to their hands, he may not have heard him.
“I don’t know.” His face was twisted into the half frown he often did when he was nervous.
“Oh.” He didn’t let go of Bill’s hand, but it was clear he was somewhat disappointed by that response.
“I m-muh-mean.. shit. Shit!” He shook his head, trying to get past the mental blockade built by himself. In his mind, he had no idea how to navigate the topic relating to the hand he was currently holding.
“What is it?”
“I w-want to hold your hand.” He grimaced at the awkwardness of that statement. “Ugh. I w-want to do more than that, frankly, but I’m p-puh-pretty sure hand holding is a g-good first step, right?”
Stan’s eyes were wide, his expression fearful, and he avoided Bill’s eyes, “Right.” His hand squeezed Bill’s, partially to reassure himself that this was actually happening.
It was Bill’s turn to be quiet, “Is that okay?”
“Yes, yes..” His other hand clasped Bill’s, like he was pleading with him. “I- fuck.” He shook his head, letting go of Bill’s hand. “Sorry.. I do too, just..” He turned slightly, looking inside, like someone was on the other side of the glass.
“I understand, Stan.”
“Thank you.” He pushed the glass open, and stepped back inside. His mind was reeling over the sort-of-confession that had just happened.
Once Bill had stepped inside again, drawing the dusty curtain down, Stan spoke again, “Bill.”
“Yeah?” He looked nervous, his head ducked.
Stan let out a breath, and moved to Bill, grabbing the sides of his face and kissing him. Bill didn’t move, his body frozen from shock. As Stan pulled away, Bill just stared at him, his face red.
When Stan noticed his expression, he recoiled, “Sorry.. shit, that was not the time.”
Bill blinked a few times, his mind still fully processing what had happened, “No.. no, that was fine.”
He still seemed nervous, glancing at the door, “We should probably go downstairs.”
“Yeah.”
With a small smile on his face, Stan spoke again, “Can I stay over at your place after dinner?”
Bill managed to nod, and had to suppress a grin that could only be described as giddy.