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Eddie saunters through the fog, the unsettling cloud clinging to his skin. It’s unreasonably cold for the Fourth of July. The air feels like an entity both ominous and comforting. Eddie’s felt a similar presence once before, but he can’t recall when or where.
Right now he wanders on through the thick mist. He’s not far from the roads, not too deep into the woods. He’s aimless. Even if there was a place for him to go, he’s not sure he’d make his way there.
There’s too much shame. Filled with chagrin, weighing him down, stopping him from seeking the comfort he desires. He’s not even sure how he got here or why he feels so deeply.
He’s not even sure what it was he did wrong to earn the marks on his face.
“Eddie?”
The voice is too soft to startle Eddie, who turns towards a luscious thicket. Amongst the wet, vibrant foliage is a brown lump. The lump stands up straight, removing his hood to reveal neat curls and eyes as green as the bitter berry bush behind him.
“What are you doing out here, Stan?” The question should be rhetorical; there’s only one reason why Stanley Uris would come out to the woods and kneel down near the mud, rain or sun.
“Coach Black said he saw a piping plover,” Stan shrugs. “Seems unlikely, but they’re endangered enough for me to be curious. It would be something interesting to find one so far from the shore. Weather is perfect; no people around.”
“Ah,” Eddie says. “What are you doing talking to Coach Black?”
“He’s trying to get me to join the baseball team at school. Saw me playing at Tracker’s field last week and said he liked my game.”
Eddie misses the days he would catch foul balls down at the field while Stanley played. “Senior year?”
“I suppose so. What happened to your face?”
It’s as rhetorical as Eddie’s question was before; there’s only so many ways Eddie Kaspbrak would have a bruised and bloody face.
“I earned a good pummeling for being a faggot, I guess.”
Stan frowns at that, tucking his binoculars away and stepping forward. A tinge of pink spreads on his pale cheeks. “Was it… Was it because of yesterday?”
“We don’t need to talk about it,” Eddie says quickly, feeling his own face blush. He’s glad that he’s naturally ruddy from the cold biting his cheeks, hopefully making it harder to tell he’s still embarrassed over what happened.
“Well, you should at least get cleaned up before Sonia sees this.”
“Donald won’t take kindly to it either,” Eddie mumbles.
“They’re not home,” Stan tells him, gently nudging Eddie back towards the neighborhood. “No one to bother us at the Uris house.”
Relief floods Eddie, following Stan back quietly. He picks extra lint off his shirt as he walks, knowing the smallest speck of uncleanliness will not be welcome upon Donald’s return. It may even bother Stan if something falls on their pristine floors. So Eddie quickly grooms himself, using the moisture on his face from the air to wipe away any excess blood from his abrasion.
“Eddie, stop fussing,” Stan says as he unlocks the front door. Eddie can practically see him rolling his eyes from the back of his head. “I’ll get you cleaned up.”
“I can always count on you for that.”
Shoes dried, slid on the rack. Coats hung delicately so that they don’t drip on the rug. Stan inspects both of them carefully to make sure nothing foreign is dragged into the home. Then he brings Eddie to the downstairs bathroom, where Eddie knows a first aid kit awaits beneath the sink. Stan, of course, begins the process by cleaning Eddie’s face quite delicately.
“Who was it?” Stan asks him after a moment. One of the nice things about Stan — not that Eddie particularly disliked when the others talk — is that his voice is soothing. It’s gentle and warm, like soft candlelight. Despite Eddie’s chest fluttering at Stan’s touch, a pleasant humming in his head has him relaxed, and his voice does nothing but further lull Eddie into comfort.
“Don’t blame yourself,” Eddie says. He means it sincerely, because what Stan did wasn’t anything wrong.
It was different, for sure, to have Stan yank Eddie onto his lap in the photo booth. He was rarely the one who sought physical affection from their group. But with the two of them being the last left of the Losers in their school, and Mike usually busy with house and farm work, they began to mold together more closely. Eddie enjoyed the quiet nature of Stan’s presence, while Stan slowly embraced Eddie’s tenderness.
Sometimes, it made Eddie feel like a baby bird, being nurtured by Stan. Broken and unwanted. Eddie didn’t doubt that his own mother loved him, but the embrace he would feel from Stanley filled him with so much adoration and warmth. Not like Sonia’s. What was once maternal and comforting now filled him with dread.
“You shouldn’t have to deal with that,” Stan says. “After what happened with Bowers and his friends, I thought… I thought things could be different here. Especially after we… After we finished what we did.”
“Even with It gone, it doesn’t matter. People are the real monsters. I learned that a long time ago.”
“That’s a wise understanding of the world,” Stan nods solemnly. “I just… I’m worried about how you’re going to get treated in New York. More people…”
“I’ll keep to myself. I don’t want to deal with them. I’m going to focus on school, keep my head down.”
“People can still…” Stan sighs, shaking his head. He purses his lips, looking like he wants to say something. It sets something off in Eddie, a small surge of panic, swiping Stan’s hand away from his face.
“You know, just because I’m small, doesn’t mean I’m so delicate, Stan. I know you wanna treat me like one of your broken birds, but I’m not, okay? I can handle myself. Not everyone is going to look at me and think I’m some kind of fag—”
“Hey, hey!” Stan snaps gruffly. His face is properly red, glaring back at Eddie with heat in his eyes. “Don’t fucking say that anymore. I’m sick of it.”
“Well, that’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it?”
“I’m mad that people think it’s wrong!” Stan says, surprising Eddie. “You shouldn’t be treated like that just for being gay!”
“Well I’m not, so what does it matter?”
“Nevermind. Forget it, Eddie.”
“No, I wanna know. You think I’m some bum-fucker?”
Stan huffs out of his nose, his lips a flat line. “Why would it matter if you were? Besides, do you really think all there is to being gay is just fucking each other behind The Falcon?”
“Well, what — What else do they do?” Eddie huffs back, crossing his arms.
“Are you serious?”
“Well, yeah. You know how they are. They — They do that, they get AIDS and ass cancer.”
“I’m so close to slapping you right now, Eddie.”
“Why? I didn’t do anything! I’m just — I’m just saying…”
Stan observes him for a moment or two. It makes Eddie uncomfortable under Stan’s gaze, looking down at the floor. When he feels brave enough to look back, he sees Stanley’s expression has softened.
“Sonia really did a number on you, huh?”
Eddie gulps quite audibly. It’s almost comical, like a cartoon character being caught. “Huh-how did you know?”
Stanley’s brow furrows. “Know? Oh. Oh. Oh, Eddie…”
Eddie is only further eluded by Stanley’s actions when he reaches forward and cups Eddie’s cheek. The flutter returns to Eddie’s chest, his jaw tightening.
“Why did she do this to you?” Stan whispers.
“I told you,” Eddie says, willing his voice not to break.
“She really called you that?”
“She misunderstood.”
“Misunderstood?” Stan intones, his frown deepening. “Eddie, this isn’t right. You’ve gotta know that… Look, they…”
He leans away, dropping both of his hands to his lap. He thinks on what he’s about to say, opening his mouth more than once only to shut it again each time. Eddie waits patiently, drumming his fingers on his knees.
“Gay people aren’t anything special, Eddie.”
“Uh,” is all Eddie can think to say.
“What I mean is, like… They have relationships, you know? They kiss and hug and go on dates. They try… they try not to get sick, just like anyone else. And like anyone else, sometimes, they do get sick.”
“They get sick a lot, though,” Eddie says. His confidence is dwindling at Stan’s words, feeling uncomfortable. “Ma says—”
“Forget what she says for a minute, okay? Especially after what she did to your face, how are you defending her words? After all she said about us? What she says about me?”
Shame spreads to Eddie’s face. He should know better than to listen to a woman who would say such nasty things about the people he loves and cares about. It sometimes feels necessary, clinging to other people’s words when Eddie so often feels lost in the world. He’s always known he was the most naive of his friends, and it embarrasses him now to show this in front of Stan.
“I’m sorry…”
Stan sighs, seeming to think for a moment. He then says, “Haven’t you had a crush before, Eddie?”
“Yeah,” Eddie shrugs.
“How come?”
“How… How come?”
“Yeah. Explain how you felt.”
Felt? Eddie didn’t feel anything. He was sure he once had a crush on Greta Bowie, seeing her look rather nice in a dress. Her shoulders were bare, and it was the first time Eddie really had the opportunity to see something revealing of a girl. She lived in a world of belonging that Eddie too wanted to be part of. Thinking about that day, she just looked… nice, that’s all. Her face was pleasant.
Not that Beverly’s face wasn’t pleasant. That was just different. Beverly was one of the guys, and with the guys, of course, Eddie didn’t… Eddie didn’t…
Well, he thought Bill had a nice face. All of the Losers, for that matter. Maybe people were just nice to look at. So maybe, really, he hadn’t had a real crush on Greta. He certainly saw her the most outside of his friend group, due to her being at the pharmacy where he so often was, and she wasn’t always nasty to him in their younger years.
Something occurs to Eddie then. He thinks again about Bill’s face. About Richie’s, Ben’s, and Mike’s. They were all nice to look at, and the image of them sends that flutter of butterflies to his chest again. He thinks of Beverly, and it’s just… not the same. A warmth, sure. An adoration he knows is a deep love. But he thinks back to that feeling with the others, how it came about when he’d feel someone’s fingertips on his skin, or when someone like Richie would make him laugh.
He looks up at Stan again, the familiar flutter returning. The aching to touch. The low but apparent heat in his belly. The intrusive thoughts that come into his mind late at night. Those same feelings he had yesterday, when he felt Stan’s heartbeat against him when sitting in his lap, making his own heart soar.
Tears spring to Eddie’s eyes.
“That’s what’s wrong with me,” Eddie cries softly at the epiphany. He feels the burn in his throat, straining his voice. “Why Ma says I’m — says I’m sick all the time.”
“You’re not sick, Eddie!” Stan snaps again. It finally makes Eddie jump, but he stares at Stan in awe rather than hurt. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t listen to you say that about yourself. You’re not sick. It doesn’t make you sick… And, it doesn’t mean I’m dirty. It doesn’t make me dirty,” he seems to nod to himself more than anything. “I’m not dirty. You’re not sick.”
“Of course you’re not dirty,” Eddie whispers, confused but concerned. Despite his internalized crisis, he knew nothing good came of Stanley spiraling, either. Being dirty, being in filth, was as bad to Stanley as it meant for Eddie to be deathly ill. “Why would you think you were… is it because of me? Being friends with me?”
“Not for the reasons you’re thinking,” Stan says softly.
He reaches up again, though he’s back to attending Eddie’s abrasion. Eddie watches his face carefully, both ashamed and relishing in Stan’s gentle touch. His tears are wiped away with care, and Eddie thinks about what Stan has been saying to him.
Eddie knows he may be naive, but he’s not entirely dumb. It takes a minute or two, but it finally clicks for him, watching the tinge of pink spread on Stanley’s cheeks. He thinks about the look on Stan’s face when they took the pictures in the booth yesterday, how he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of Eddie.
Just like Eddie can’t seem to take his eyes off of Stan now.
The long curve of his jaw, lightly lined with dark stubble. The slight chap of his lips, curled in concentration. The speckles of gold and brown in his green irises. All of Stan's meticulousness and care, shown not just in his cleanliness, but his affections to Eddie.
It shouldn’t hurt or feel wrong to love someone so beautiful.
Is that all this is? Is love the thing his mother has been so hellbent on destroying? The “sickness” that’s been so buried deep in Eddie that he couldn’t find the words or feelings for?
For once, Eddie wants to let those feelings lead him. Without a second thought, without a care to what Stan is doing, Eddie leans forward. He’s barely sure their lips even touch, but the message gets across. He blinks back at Stan, who looks frozen in bewilderment.
“That’s all it is, right?”
“Huh?” Stan chokes out.
“Being… being like that. It means we can kiss and stuff, right?”
“It — yeah. Yeah, it can mean that.”
“Is that why you’ve been letting me hold you and stuff lately?”
“Yeah,” Stan says, going red again. “I’ve been… growing fond of it.” He chuckles, letting the smile spread on his face. “Here, let me finish your face…”
Eddie holds entirely still, hoping the dopey grin on his face doesn’t intrude on Stan's task. He still has a sting at the back of his throat, the threat of crying nearly imminent from his sensitive emotional state. But Stanley has that silly smile, too, and it makes Eddie giddy more than anything. He's letting that part of him triumph.
They sit on the top step of the porch, huddled close with their hands clasped together in Eddie’s lap. No one seems to be around to notice. The cloud of fog still hangs low, a ring of gray surrounding them. It’s like their own, small little bubble — a shell — their sight protected by the deep mist.
Both of them are quiet, silently enjoying each other for a few moments. It’s Eddie that speaks first, peering at Stan around the side of his hood.
“I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to forget this. Not this.”
“We’ll be together soon. It’s just one year.”
“One year you have to put up with Derry. One year I won’t remember you. You’ll be somewhere in the south, somewhere warm…”
“I’ll go to New York, too. I promise. I’ll make it there. I’ll find you.”
He seals that promise with a kiss. A proper one this time. Eddie feels the cold tip of Stanley’s nose against his cheek, his own cold skin against Stanley’s warmth. Sharing each other's heat, sharing love like the breath between their lips.
“And after?” Eddie whispers when they part. “We made another promise, too. What then?”
“We did it once before. Maybe we’ll make it.”
Maybe they’ll make it.