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“can someone pass me the soda?” richie yelled, his yell echoing off the wooden walls of the clubhouse.
beverly rolled her eyes. “can’t you get up and get it yourself?” she remarked, making richie just scoff. beverly and richie had always had a love-hate relationship, that was evident.
“which one yo— you want, rich?” bill asked, grabbing a red solo cup from a small table.
“whichever’ll rot my teeth the fastest, big bill,” richie replied, flopping dramatically onto a pile of pillows like he’d just run a marathon. “just make sure it’s carbonated and full of artificial dye.”
bill chuckled and handed him a cup. “root beer it is.”
richie took it with exaggerated reverence. “ah, the drink of champions.”
“you’re so annoying,” eddie muttered from his corner, not looking up from the stack of uno cards in his lap.
richie grinned over the rim of his cup. “and yet, here you are. in the same room. voluntarily.”
“barely,” eddie grumbled, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.
the hangout was the same as always. some stereo playing in the back, cards and games on the floor in front of them. it felt normal. it was normal. but for some reason, richie felt a little uneasy.
ben, who had been quietly munching on chips, glanced around at the group. “okay, so are we actually gonna do something tonight, or just keep roasting each other until someone cries?”
“i vote we cry,” bev said, making richie raise his cup in agreement. “feels… on-brand.”
“anyone wanna do a movie night?” mike asked, glancing around.
“not if richie has to pick again,” eddie scoffed.
“you wound me, eds,” richie said, clutching his chest. “i have exquisite taste.”
“in horror movies with zero plot and buckets of fake blood,” beverly added.
“like i said, exquisite!”
laughter bubbled up around the room, easy and warm. for a few moments, everything felt simple again.
as the conversation turned to weekend plans and homework complaints, stan glanced down at his watch. “i don’t think i can stay, it’s getting late,” he sighed “i’ve got early synagogue in the morning.”
richie’s head snapped to stan immediately. that was a lie. they didn’t have synagogue in the morning. “we do?” richie questioned, even though he knew the answer. “it’s thursday.”
“yeah,” stan didn’t flinch. “we do.”
richie just huffed a laugh. he thinks he knows what stan is trying to say right now. he’s trying to say, “let’s leave.”
him and stan have always been friends. since the beginning of time — well, what richie can remember — they’ve known each other. he knew stan before he even knew eddie.
“ohh... cool, then,” richie stretched with a groan. “wanna walk home together then?”
stan nodded easily. yes! right on the money. “yeah. let’s go.”
no one questioned it. no one commented. but as the two stood up and started gathering their things, there were a few glances exchanged. a few raised eyebrows. a quiet shift in the air.
“you g-guys are seriously leaving?” bill complained.
“yeah,” stan replied, fixing the rim of his collar slightly. “i don’t want my parents to freak. and i have to go to sleep early.”
eddie sat up, looking at richie. he was standing closely behind stan, almost too close. “then why are you leaving rich?” eddie questioned. “i thought you were spending the night at mine.”
richie shifted uncomfortably. “shit, that was tonight?” he winced. “sorry, eds. i forgot. maybe tomorrow? i didn’t realize we had synagogue tomorrow morning…” he shifted slightly as he stood. he couldn’t help but feel bad lying to eddie’s face.
eddie sighed softly, breaking eye-contact with richie. “whatever, meathead.”
richie smiled at the way eddie had just shrugged it off, even though he obviously cared. “plus, gotta make sure princess staniel gets to his castle safely. he doesn’t wanna walk alone.”
“i live, like, a block away from you,” stan added.
“yeah,” richie said, smirking. “so i’m being a gentleman," eddie narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
“see you guys,” stan said, brushing off his jeans.
richie tipped an imaginary hat, following close behind him. “don’t miss us too much.”
“hard promise,” eddie muttered sarcastically.
bev smirked, watching them head for the ladder. “get home safe, party-poopers,” neither richie nor stan responded. but richie did bump stan’s shoulder lightly as they climbed up into the night.
the night was heavy with summer warmth, the air still and quiet as richie and stan walked side by side down the empty street, shoes scuffing softly against the pavement.
“god,” richie muttered, stretching his arms above his head. “i’m kinda glad we left. if i would have had to watch e.t. again i might have genuinely lost it.”
stan laughed. “you say that every time, and yet you still show up.”
“yeah, well,” richie shoved his hands into his pockets. “maybe i like watching you groan at the same parts.”
stan just rolled his eyes and bumped him with his shoulder, but didn’t say anything. they kept walking, the silence more comfortable than awkward. they turned onto a quieter street, passing by the park.
it seemed like they were walking aimlessly, as richie and stan’s house were both the other way — but stan didn’t complain. without it to worry about, they had no worries in the world.
“can i ask you something… random?” stan questioned, breaking the comfortable silence between them.
richie glanced at him sideways. “shoot.”
“do you ever— like— wonder?” stan’s voice dropped a little. “about— like, about…” stan sighed. “nevermind.”
richie raised an eyebrow, then smirked. “stan the man, are we about to have an early-life crisis?”
stan chuckled quietly, “no, dumbass…. well— maybe?”
richie’s eyebrows perked up, “now i’m intrigued. what’s up?” richie teased as he leaned closer to stan’s face.
“forget about it,” stan rolled his eyes, pushing richie back playfully.
richie stumbled back dramatically, clutching his chest like stan had wounded him. “you can’t just say forget it! that’s not fair!”
“you’ll live,” stan muttered, trying to fight back the smile tugging at his lips.
they walked a little farther, the streetlamp casting their shadows long and warped on the sidewalk. a soft breeze picked up, lifting the ends of stan’s curls and making richie shiver slightly — not from cold, really, but something else.
“seriously though,” stan said after a pause, crossing his arms. “sometimes i… i wonder like— things about… boys.”
richie stiffened for half a second, then glanced sideways. “really?”
“really,” stan mumbled under his breath.
after a beat of silence, richie nodded, surprisingly quiet. “me too,” he said, barely even audible.
stan blinked. “huh?”
“don’t look so shocked, casanova,” richie said, nudging him. “i’ve been questioning my entire personality since i was, like, eight. i figured questioning the rest of me was inevitable.”
stan snorted. “you’re impossible to be serious with, richie.”
“but irresistible,” richie added, winking.
“oh my god,” stan groaned, but it was mostly to cover the way his ears had gone a little red.
they stopped under a streetlight, the glow catching the curve of stan’s cheekbone — plus, the nervous twitch at the corner of richie’s mouth.
there was a pause. and then—
“what if we…” richie started, then hesitated. “i dunno. tried something?”
stan looked at him, eyes narrowing just slightly. “like what?”
richie chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “nothing big. not even, like, a thing. just... a test. see what happens.”
stan knew what he was referring to. he wasn’t stupid. “a test,” stan repeated flatly, raising an eyebrow.
“for science,” richie said, shrugging, like this was all totally normal.
“and what is it that you’re thinking?” stan asked, voice dry.
richie didn’t look at him right away. “maybe, like… a kiss?”
stan blinked. “a kiss.”
“yeah,” richie said, too fast. “not a real kiss,” he nervously laughed, making stan just smile. “not, like, romantic or whatever. just— a data point. a little test-drive.”
stan folded his arms, watching him. “you want to test-drive my mouth?”
richie choked. “i— okay, when you say it like that it sounds worse—”
“richie,” stan said slowly, like he was explaining gravity to someone who was actively floating away, “we’re friends.”
“exactly,” richie said, eyes wide, hopeful. “which means it’s safe! one kiss won’t hurt anything. right?” stanley just sighed, trying to look anywhere but richie’s face.
“you’re unbelievable,” he muttered.
“but you’re considering it,” richie pointed out, stepping just a little closer. “aren’t you?”
stan didn’t say anything.
but he didn’t move back either.
richie tilted his head. “one kiss,” he said again, softer this time. “just one. if it sucks, we never talk about it. if it’s good… well— i don’t know yet.”
there was a moment.
a car passed behind them, headlights sweeping across the sidewalk like a spotlight, like the world was holding its breath just for this.
“one kiss,” richie said again, barely above a whisper. “that’s it.”
stan licked his lips — nervous habit — and said, without looking at him, “fine,” he said, barely above a whisper. he glanced over at richie finally. “one.”
and then, before richie could reply, or joke and smile and completely ruin it—
stan leaned in and kissed him.
the kiss was quick, almost laughably so. a bump of lips, a breath, and then they pulled apart.
they both stared at each other.
“… hm,” richie said.
“yeah,” stan echoed.
“we’re either really bad at kissing,” richie said, “or that was...”
“i vote… nice,” stan said, a bit too fast.
they stood there for a moment, both kind of smiling, not looking at each other too directly.
richie grinned. “wanna try again? correctly this time?”
stan gulped slightly. “i thought we agreed… one kiss.”
richie just winced, looking off to the side, “well—”
the curly-haired boy just laughed at his reaction, and leaned in to cut him off.
they kissed again — it was awkward at the start, but warm. surprisingly soft. richie’s hand came up automatically, ghosting over stan’s jaw, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch.
richie froze for a second, like his brain hadn’t caught up with what his hand was doing — but then stan didn’t pull away. in fact, he leaned in just a little, and that was all the permission richie needed.
he cupped stan’s jaw, and the kiss stretched longer this time, not rushed or sharp, but something that settled in like it belonged. it wasn’t perfect — richie was grinning halfway through it, and stan’s nose bumped into his — but it didn’t matter. it felt addictive. it felt like something they shouldn’t have been doing, and yet couldn’t not do.
the kiss deepened — turning into something messier than either of them probably meant it to be. richie’s other hand slid up, thumb brushing his cheek without permission.
stan made this tiny noise in the back of his throat, not a protest but something closer to giving in, and suddenly richie was leaning in harder, pulling him closer like he couldn’t stand even the inch between them.
it wasn’t neat. it wasn’t careful. it was teeth knocking together and stan’s fingers clutching at richie’s sleeve and both of them breathing way too hard for a kiss that should’ve been quick.
richie licked into stan’s mouth, and for a second he thought maybe he’d gone too far — but stan didn’t shove him away. he tightened his grip instead, knuckles white in the fabric of richie’s sleeve, holding on like he wasn’t sure what else to do with himself.
richie’s pulse went absolutely feral. every nerve in his body screamed something along the lines of: don’t screw this up.
he slowed it down, just a little, pulling back enough to press a smaller, softer kiss against stan’s mouth. testing. offering.
stan followed him into it without hesitation.
richie made a sound — somewhere between a laugh and a groan — and pressed their foreheads together, noses brushing clumsily, breath fogging between them. “jesus christ,” he muttered, breathless, faces inches away. “you’re gonna kill me.”
stan huffed out something that might’ve been a laugh, except it was too shaky. “you’re so dramatic.”
“am i?” richie smirked, thumb still stroking along his jaw because he couldn’t seem to let go.
“yeah,” stan muttered, voice just a little uneven, staring right back into his eyes.
neither of them moved.
“so,” richie whispered, his grin wobbling as he tried to make it sound like a joke. “turns out kissing you is… kinda revolutionary. i think i might have to publish a paper about it.”
stan scoffed, giving richie an actual laugh. his voice came out low, almost steady. “you’re insufferable.”
“and yet,” richie started again. “you just let me kiss you for, like… a solid forty-five seconds.”
stan’s cheeks went hotter, but he didn’t argue. didn’t deny it. just stared at him, like he was still calculating what the hell had just happened.
richie’s grin softened into something smaller, something dangerous. “what? do we have to test it again for you to actually give your feedback?”
that finally got stan to roll his eyes — but his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. his hand was still curled in the fabric of richie’s sleeve, like he was trying to say… maybe, yeah.
maybe they did.
richie woke up to sunlight slicing through his bedroom blinds and the overwhelming realization that he had kissed stan. not once. not twice. but three times. he stared at the ceiling for a long moment, blinking slowly, like that would somehow make anything better.
stan’s hands clutching onto his sleeves, the way their noses bumped stupidly, the way it had felt weirdly good and not funny at all. not that he regretted it. he didn’t. at all. he just… didn’t know what to do with it.
on his nightstand, his phone buzzed. one new message.
princess staniel:
you up?
richie blinked at the message, his thumb hovering over the screen slightly.
the trashmouth:
physically? yes
emotionally? jury’s still out
stan didn’t reply right away, which made richie even more nervous.
princess staniel:
cool, so it wasn’t just me thinking about it all night?
richie felt his heart trip. he grinned a little at the screen, biting his lip.
the trashmouth:
depends.
were you thinking “wow richie’s lips are so chapped i never want to do that again” or “hey i liked that”
stan left him on read for two minutes — two minutes that felt like eternity. then,
princess staniel:
option 2. obviously
richie exhaled, flopping back against the pillows. he let his grin widen without even realizing it. then his mom yelled from downstairs, and the moment was gone. “richie! you left your bike in the driveway again, someone’s gonna steal it!” she exclaimed from the kitchen.
“let them!” richie shouted back.
another buzz. his head snapped back down to look at his phone.
princess staniel:
can you come over?
richie stared at that one longer. his fingers hovered. his chest buzzed in that strange, fizzy way again.
the trashmouth:
omw
when richie decided to bike a block to stan’s house, instead of walking because he didn’t wanna smell sweaty, was the moment he knew this wasn’t going to turn out good.
why was he even worrying about that right now?
he sent a quick message to stan, then pushed his bike softly, tossing a leg over the bike. he started the quick and easy 30 second bike-ride to stanley uris’ house.
yeah, richie. great fucking idea.
when stan’s house came into view, richie felt the pit in his stomach get significantly bigger — especially when he caught of glimpse of stan, who was already standing at the front door.
richie reached stan’s driveway and ditched his bike, letting it fall over as he walked up to the door.
“couldn’t wait to see me?” richie asked as he walked up the steps, a small smile appearing on stan’s face.
“i guess,” stan replied. richie stopped in front of stan, who stood with the door slightly cracked behind him. “come inside?”
richie nodded, and took a step forward.
suddenly — stan took a quick look back into the house, and then back at richie. without hesitation, stan leaned forward and kissed him. it wasn’t rushed or dramatic. it was sure. intentional.
richie froze for half a second, his eyes fluttering shut only after he processed the warmth of stan’s mouth, the steady hand that came up to his jaw. his heart was thudding so loud he was sure the birds stopped chirping to listen.
when stan pulled back, barely an inch, richie blinked, dazed. he had never seen stan so bold. “hello to you too,” he breathed.
stan chuckled softly like it was no big deal, even though his cheeks were pink. “i didn’t sleep afterwards,” he said quietly. “not really. i just… needed to see you again.”
richie blinked again. “okay, well, same, but—” he looked around wildly, then dropped his voice. “you just kissed me on your porch, aren’t your neighbors gonna see us?”
stan raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed. “it’s a friday morning. who’s watching? mrs. kaplan and her chihuahua?”
richie didn’t reply, which was quite unusual for him. he just stared, still stunned, buzzing from the kiss.
stan smirked slightly, then stepped aside and opened the door wider. “you coming in, or are you gonna keep standing there like you’ve got something in your ass?”
richie snapped out of it and followed him inside, cheeks burning but lips curved into a slow grin.
once the door shut behind them, richie exhaled. “just so you know,” he muttered as they walked toward the stairs, “if we kiss again i might actually stop breathing.”
stan glanced back, amused. “noted.”
stan’s room was neat, like always. bed made. books stacked. one window cracked open to let in the summer breeze.
richie stood awkwardly near the door at first, running a hand through his hair like it’d help calm him down… it didn’t.
stan sat on the bed and looked up at him with something unreadable in his eyes — nervousness, maybe. or just quiet. he always had a way of thinking too hard without saying anything.
“are you gonna sit?” stan questioned.
“shit— yeah, yeah,” quickly, richie shuffled to sit. “my bad,” he laughed awkwardly.
stan stifled a laugh. “why are you acting like you’ve never been in my room before?”
richie sighed and hid his face in the mattress. he didn’t know why he felt so… awkward right now. was it because the kiss? was it because of something else?
it was never this hard to be around stan. now? everything felt charged, meaningful… different. “i dunno,” he replied, his voice muffled by the mattress. “it feels… different now,” richie looked up at stan.
stan looked back at him, and stared into his eyes. with a gulp, he turned away to look out the window. “i thought you said it wouldn’t hurt… the kiss.”
richie sat up slowly, leaning his arms on his knees. “ouch,” he said, trying to make it sound like a joke, but it fell flat. “that sounded a lot like regret.”
stan didn’t laugh.
richie just blinked. “i mean… i thought it wouldn’t.”
stan’s mouth pressed into a line. “but it does. right?”
“not like that,” richie rushed out, heart starting to pick up speed. “i mean— it doesn’t hurt. i don’t want it to be weird. i like being your friend. that doesn’t have to stop.”
stan turned back to look at him. “but we kissed… and that’s what makes it feel different. right?”
richie opened his mouth. then closed it. then shrugged, helplessly. “yeah. i think because…. i liked it,” he admitted. “you did too, right?” stan didn’t say anything — he just nodded the littlest amount. and richie took that silence like a knife to the gut.
“look,” richie tried again, voice softer. “we don’t have to call it anything. friends can kiss. like, it’s not a thing — we’re not putting labels on it. it’s just…” he hesitated. “just something we do. if you want.”
“… so,” stan said slowly, “you’re saying we're friends.”
“yeah,” richie nodded, hopeful.
“but we kiss.”
“… also yeah.”
stan squinted, skeptical. “and that’s a normal thing?”
richie grinned, just a little. “probably not. but like— when have we ever been normal?”
that made stan’s lips twitch slightly, and richie took that as a win in his books. “so,” stan said, a little drier now, “we’re friends.”
richie nodded again. “friends. like we always have been.”
“who kiss.”
richie coughed. “yeah! casually. y’know? same as before, just…”
“right.”
there was a small silence. then richie broke it, with a mutter.
“so is that a yes to my idea, or…” he fell back onto the bed beside him, eyes on the ceiling.
stan sighed. then, quietly — almost too quietly.
“yeah. it’s a yes.”
two days later, they ended up in stan’s room again. it was late, the kind of summer night where the air was still warm even with the window cracked.
stan was lying on his back, comic open against his chest, eyes half on the page and half on the ceiling. richie had flopped across him at some point, stretched out on top like he had every right to be there.
his head was buried in the crook of stan’s neck, hair tickling his jaw. his weight was solid but not heavy, grounding in a way that stan would never admit out loud.
the last couple days they had been hanging out a lot more, alone — there was some kissing here and there, plus some cuddling — but nothing like the first night they kissed. somewhere inside of stan, there was a part of him waiting for it to happen again.
luckily, none of the losers had noticed their closeness, mostly because they didn’t really show it around them. they both agreed that telling them would make it… even more complicated.
richie tilted his head, peering up at the comic. “jesus, stan, you ever read something with color in it? i feel like i’m looking at a damn crossword puzzle.”
“if you’re gonna complain, stop looking at it,” stan muttered, not looking down at richie, keeping his eyes focused on the comic.
“can’t. i’m comfy.” richie’s voice dropped, more teasing than usual. he nuzzled himself into the crook of stan’s neck, and stan could feel his breath against his neck — and it was distracting.
stan stiffened for half a second, his eyes darting across the page without really processing the words. “… richie.”
“yeah?” richie murmured, lips ghosting against the curve of his throat.
stan’s breath caught. “you’re… distracting.”
“mm, maybe,” richie’s nose brushed along his neck, lips grazing over the spot without much thought. he hummed against his skin. “but, that’s the point.”
and before stan could come up with a comeback, he felt richie start to press small kisses on his neck — soft at first, almost testing. stan’s breath hitched immediately.
stan froze for a second, chest tightening as richie’s lips trailed along the sensitive skin of his neck. each brush of lips made his pulse spike, hands trembling slightly around the comic he wasn’t really reading anymore. “richie—” he sighed.
“what?” richie’s voice was lazy, like he wasn’t aware of what he was doing — or maybe like he was, and was waiting to see if stan would stop him.
stan didn’t.
richie tilted his head up just enough to press a kiss to the bottom on stan’s jaw, then another. slow, almost careful.
the comic slid off the bed as stan’s hand found its way into richie’s hair, holding him there without thinking. richie hummed low, a soft, lazy sound that made stan’s knees feel weak. his fingers threaded through richie’s hair, tugging just a little, unsure if he was telling him to stop or to keep going.
richie shifted, propping himself up just enough to catch stan’s mouth — lips brushing against stan’s in a tentative, teasing kiss — and suddenly the room felt hotter, heavier.
stan melted into it immediately, bringing his hands down to grip richie’s shoulders as if holding onto him would keep him there forever.
richie’s lips were soft but insistent, shifting, exploring, and stan found himself matching him, moving closer, letting the kiss deepen.
it wasn’t rushed. it was slow, messy in the best way, teeth occasionally grazing, lips parting, breaths mingling. stan’s hands found their way into richie’s hair again, tugging gently, and richie groaned low against him, a sound that sent shivers straight down stan’s spine.
richie wrapped one arm around stan’s waist, the other holding him up — pulling him closer, pressing them closer.
wow. okay. richie seemed… really needy today. but he wasn’t gonna complain. not one bit.
their mouths moved together, urgent but in the most gentle way. lips and teeth and tongues dancing in that delicious, dizzying rhythm.
richie pulled back just slightly, forehead still resting against stan’s. then, without warning, he slid down slowly, making his way to stan’s neck again. he nipped gently at the soft skin of, teeth pressing just enough to leave a mark.
stan froze, a startled gasp escaping him, and his hands tugged at the dark curls harsher than intended.
“what—” stan started, breath shaky, heart hammering, “richie—”
“shh,” richie murmured against his skin, lips brushing lower, teeth grazing again, deliberate and lazy.
stan’s chest tightened, warmth flooding the spot richie was teasing, and he could feel his face heating up, ears burning. his hands were still tugging at richie's hair, grounding himself while richie continued, slow, soft, and possessive.
richie sucked on the part of stan’s skin he was just biting, forming a dark hickey on his neck. he hummed low, lips brushing over the mark he was leaving, satisfied with the way stan shivered under him. “perfect.”
stan couldn’t even say anything. couldn’t even try. all he could do was cling to richie, letting the messy sucking continue, chest heaving, mind dizzy, as the mark — a little dark, a little bold — blossomed on his neck.
and richie just grinned against him, teeth grazing once more before he pulled back slightly, eyes shining, lazy and triumphant.
stan groaned softly, burying his face in richie’s shoulder, heart hammering. “you’re the worst,” he whispered.
richie’s grin spread wider, lazy and teasing, as he leaned back in just enough to look stan in the eyes — chest heaving, lips still glistening from the last kiss. “mm… and you’re mine,” he murmured, voice low, playful, dangerous.
stan’s heart skipped a beat or two. “richie—” he gasped, but richie silenced him instantly, lips crashing down again. this time deeper, harder, hands tangling in stan’s hair, tugging gently, possessively.
stan responded without thinking, hands sliding down to richie’s neck, pulling him closer. every brush of richie’s lips made his stomach twist, pulse spike, heat crawling up his neck where the hickey already bloomed.
richie’s kisses moved from stan’s lips back down to his neck, teeth grazing softly, tongue tracing the mark he’d left, making stan shiver and whimper. “richie… god—” stan’s words came out ragged, breathless, as richie hummed against him, a low, satisfied sound that vibrated through stan’s chest.
hands wandered, explorative, clumsy with desire — stan’s at the back of richie’s neck, one of richie’s hands under stan’s shirt and the other holding him close. every touch, every press, every kiss was electric, messy, overwhelming in the best way.
stan’s head fell back, giving richie full access, and richie didn’t hesitate — lips on neck, nipping, sucking, claiming, as if the mark he left wasn’t enough. stan’s back arched, breath hitching, fingers clutching the back of richie's hair, trying to keep hold while letting go.
their breaths mingled, ragged and hot, hearts hammering together. richie finally paused, his head resting in stan’s neck. “you might have to wear turtlenecks for a couple days,” he whispered, tired.
stan could barely form words. he huffed a laugh, voice trembling. “great.”
stan and richie walked into the clubhouse, low music humming from the speakers, pillows pushed together like some half-assed living room setup. the usual crew was scattered around — bev on her phone, bill leaning against the wall, eddie in the hammock.
stan tried to act casual, sliding onto the pillows beside richie, but every time he moved, the skin on his neck rubbed against his collar and made him wince internally. the hickies from a couple days ago were still tender — and pretty damn visible. he didn’t know how his parents still haven’t noticed — but maybe a few others might.
“hey guys!” mike greeted them, sitting next to richie and stan. stan just gave him a quick smile.
stan was sitting stiffly, trying to tug his collar up as high as it would go without looking ridiculous, cheeks flaming. every small movement made the skin on his neck stretch, revealing just a hint of the marks richie had left.
bev, sitting across from them with her phone forgotten in her lap, squinted. “wait— oh my god… are those hickies?” she practically squealed, pointing at stan’s neck like she’d just discovered a national scandal.
stan froze. freeze. freeze. freeze. “no— no! they’re… uh…” his hands clawed at the collar, trying to cover more, fumbling, turning his head away.
eddie heard all the yelling and dropped his comic on his chest, looking over. “wait… yeah. what are those?”
“it’s… it’s nothing!” his voice came out higher than intended, and he felt heat crawl up his face.
bill, leaning against the wall with a smirk he swore he wasn’t trying to hide, raised an eyebrow. “uh-huh. nothing, sure.”
“oh my god, who’s the lucky girl, stan!” bev exclaimed. she sounded really excited. like she was happy for stan. and while that was nice and all — the interrogating wasn’t good. because there wasn’t a girl.
stan groaned inwardly. he could feel richie sitting beside him, his eyes on him, subtle but steady. richie didn’t say a word — he just let stan do all the panicking, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips that stan didn’t notice because he was too busy tugging at his collar.
“guys,” richie started with a laugh. “leave stan the man alone. maybe it’s a secret!” he said, and to stan’s surprise — he sounded quite calm. but he could still feel richie’s nerves under his skin.
“well frankly, i don’t care,” bev rolled his eyes. she leaned forward, practically bouncing up and down. “i’m serious, stan! who is it? you have to tell us!”
eddie snorted. “yeah, come on. we won’t judge… that much.”
stan groaned, wishing he could just vanish into the couch. he grabbed at his collar again like it could magically cover the evidence.
finally, richie raised his hands in mock surrender, grin wide and teasing. “alright, alright, okay… i think we should leave him alone. mystery marks, secrets, whatever— let’s not torture him anymore, huh? cool! case closed. move along, people.”
bev groaned, mock-defeated, but eased back, and eddie muttered something about richie being the “world’s best distraction.”
stan slumped into the couch, chest still racing, relief flooding him, while richie gave him the smallest, subtle squeeze on the knee — quiet, casual, like nothing had happened.
bill’s basement was dim. the losers usually brought down a couch, pillows, blankets, and a tv to make a fort down there.
the whole hickey situation happened around a week ago, and now that stan’s hickies were fully gone? they didn’t really talk about it anymore — well, except bev, who tried to bring it up to stan a lot.
the glow of the tv flickering across the walls brightened up the basement for them. popcorn scattered across the table they had dragged down there, soda cans tipped over, and the faint smell of snacks hung in the air.
everyone else had run upstairs for a snack run — ben said he was making popcorn and bill said he was probably going to order pizza. beverly doing god knows what — leaving stan and richie alone.
stan sat on the couch, legs pulled up, hugging a pillow. richie slouched beside him, half-grinning, eyes never leaving stan. the silence was thick, warm, electric.
then richie leaned just a fraction closer, elbow brushing stan’s as if by accident. stan knew what richie was doing. he always did lately.
“you know… it’s kind of nice,” richie murmured, voice low, “just… us.”
stan just laughed softly. “yeah. it is.”
richie didn’t wait for more. his lips were on stan’s before he could think, soft and teasing at first, brushing over his mouth in slow, careful movements. stan froze — then melted, hand shifting up to richie’s hair, pulling him closer.
the kiss deepened like it always did now — hungry, messy in the best way. richie’s arms wrapped around stan, pulling him flush against his chest, lips moving over his jaw, teasing, nipping softly. stan’s hands roamed, gripping richie’s shoulders, sliding down his back, feeling every inch of warmth.
the glow of the tv painted their faces in flickering light, shadows dancing over stan’s flushed cheeks. neither wanted to stop, the room quiet except for the low hum of the movie — a perfect cover for the soft groans, the frantic breaths, the quiet laughter breaking through as richie pulled back just enough to whisper, “mmh. you taste way too good.”
stan shivered, chest heaving, voice shaky. “richie… we should… uh…”
“nah,” richie murmured, forehead resting against stan’s, smirk playing on his lips. “we have like… five minutes before anyone comes back. let’s enjoy it.”
stan’s opened his mouth to say something back, but he just leaned into richie instead, letting the kisses continue, slow, messy, and perfect.
richie’s hands slid down stan’s sides, fingers tracing over the hem of his shirt, teasing, testing, making stan squirm against him. stan’s own hands tangled in richie’s hair, pulling him closer, lips pressing harder, teeth grazing softly, leaving just enough friction to make stan gasp.
the sound of laughter from the movie mingled with their soft moans, masking the urgency and the heat building between them.
“richie…” stan whispered into the kiss. “someone’s gonna come back!”
“then we’re just gonna have to be faster, stanny,” richie murmured, eyes dark, lips brushing over stan’s once more before pressing them back together.
stan’s hands were tangled in richie’s hair, pulling him closer, lips pressing desperately against each other. richie’s hands were on stan’s sides, fingers digging lightly, teeth grazing softly, the kind of kiss that made stan never want to stop.
they were so wrapped up in each other that neither of them even heard the creak of the stairs, the soft click of the door opening behind them.
stan’s hands were still clutched in richie’s hair, cheeks blazing, when bev’s voice ripped through the room.
“ohmygodohmy—” bev’s voice screeched before they even registered it, and suddenly stan froze mid-kiss, forehead bumping against richie’s. bev froze too, hands covering her mouth, eyes literally wide enough to see the tv reflection in her irises. “what is happening?!”
richie literally jumped, nearly falling off of the couch, hands flailing. “bev! uh— what’re doing here?” his voice cracked. “it’s—”
stan’s face was glowing red. “i-it’s… it’s not what it looks like!”
“i think it is!” beverly said, pressing her hand against her hips. “oh my god! the hickies— richie standing up for you. it all makes sense now!”
stan just hid his face in his hands — like that would make the whole situation go away,
“you guys are such a cute couple,” she sighed. “when did this even happen?”
stan and richie just stared at her. “i— uh…” stan muttered, face bright red, looking anywhere but bev. “we aren’t a couple.”
bev rolled her eyes. “yeah, right,” she laughed, like she thought they were joking.
but neither richie or stan was laughing.
“oh,” bev blinked. “you’re being serious?”
richie scratched the back of his neck, trying to play it cool, but his cheeks were warm too. “yeah…”
bev laughed softly, shaking her head. “you guys are stupid. i’m just saying… you two are cute together."
richie just huffed a laugh, looking down at stan’s flushed face.
“okay i’ll… leave you guys alone,” bev smirked, backing up towards the stairs again.
richie’s eyes went wide the second bev started backing up, smirk still plastered on her face. “bev— listen— you cannot tell anyone about this. got it? no one. i mean it.”
bev raised an eyebrow, scoffing. “oh, come on, richie—”
“i’m serious!” richie cut her off, waving his hands like it was life or death. “promise me you won’t tell anyone.”
bev just sighed, realizing how serious richie was being. bev laughed softly, but held up her hands like she was giving in. “fine. promise,” she rolled her eyes and walked up the steps. “your secret’s safe with me,” she said finally, before closing the basement door behind her.
richie exhaled, running a hand through his hair, still wide-eyed, and muttered under his breath, “thank god. absolute chaos avoided… barely.”
stan just sank into the couch, face still red, letting richie’s hand brush against his, the adrenaline of being caught mingling with the thrill of what bev had said.
“you guys are such a cute couple.”
yeah, richie had called stan his before, and done lots of other coupley stuff but— they were just friends, right?
that’s what they’d agreed on, but then why couldn’t stan help but feel disappointed about that? was that wrong?
“stan?” richie said beside him, snapping him out of his thoughts. “you okay?”
stan blinked, cheeks still warm, and shook his head slightly. “ye— yeah… i’m fine. just a little… taken aback.”
richie just laughed, and scooted closer. “okay. if you say so. just making sure. don’t want you having a heart attack on me.”
stan let out a small, shaky laugh, and for a moment, the tension faded. richie pressed his head to stan’s shoulder, and the two of them just sat there, letting the quiet settle over them — warm, a little charged, and utterly theirs.
the last couple days have been confusing.
stan and richie have barely hung out or even talked, outside of group things. stan hasn’t texted richie. and richie hasn’t texted stan.
he doesn’t know why. and he doesn’t want to ask.
ever since bev found out, things have felt weird. different.
because everytime he’s with richie, or he even remotely thinks about him, bev’s words replay in his ears — “you guys are such a cute couple.”
he groaned, pressing his head into his pillow, like that would make him forget. thinking about what bev said was scary.
they were supposed to be just friends. just friends. and he was supposed to be okay with that.
so why is it when bev said that, his whole damn view on it changed?
even though he was the cause of all his worries right now — the only person he wanted to see right now was richie. he hated that they were ignoring each other. it felt like hell.
all he wanted was richie. his embrace. his smell. his stupid, large glasses. his messy, tangled curls. his mouth—
okay, that’s enough stan. get your head out of the gutter.
a sharp tap-tap-tap on stan’s window jolted him out of his thoughts and upright, heart immediately skipping a beat. he scrambled over, pulling back the curtain — and nearly faceplanted when he saw richie, with a handful of small rocks, tossing a pebble toward his window.
“richie?” stan whisper-yelled, half exasperated, half relieved. “what are you— how did you— it’s 10pm!”
richie waved awkwardly, face red, hair sticking up in every direction. “uh, hi. hi, stanny. i… i didn’t know how else to… um— talk to you.”
stan blinked, still pressed against the window frame. “talk to me?”
richie nodded frantically, biting his lip. “yeah… uh. can i come inside?”
stan hesitated for a heartbeat, then finally pushed the window open wide enough for richie to shimmy through.
richie climbed up with ease, the same route he’s always used up the side of stan’s house.
richie landed awkwardly on stan’s floor, knees bending comically, hair sticking up even more than usual. “phew… okay. made it,” he muttered, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off his jeans.
stan just stared at the boy. “richie… you didn’t have to sneak in. you should’ve texted.”
“yeah. yeah, i know,” richie sounded sad. regretful. “i mean… we haven’t talked. and i… didn’t want to wait… and— and…” he trailed off, scratching the back of his neck, eyes flicking nervously around the room.
stan blinked, heart racing, cheeks warming. “… and you just had to throw rocks at my window?"
richie gave a sheepish shrug, grinning nervously. “yeah. basically. figured it be romantic."
stan just laughed and sat on the edge of his bed, letting richie walk over and sit down next to him.
“so…” stan sighed. “what did you want to talk about?”
richie opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated. “um. i mean… we haven’t— you know. talked. in days. and i— uh… did i do something wrong? say something wrong? i— i don’t want to mess this up, stan.”
he sounded frantic, and before stan could even reply, richie started again. “i always mess everything up and— and, this is the one thing that i don’t want to mess up. so— so, i’m sorry. if i did.”
richie’s eyes were welling up with tears, and he looked at stan as if it was the end of the world.
stan’s chest tightened at how small and anxious richie looked. “… richie,” he started softly, “it’s not— i mean… you didn’t do anything.”
richie exhaled shakily, a hand running through his curls. “then tell me what’s wrong. tell me why— why we haven’t talked in what feels like years.”
stan just huffed a laugh at the hyberbole. “i— richie… you didn’t do anything. really. it’s… just been… weird, okay?”
“weird?” richie repeated. “i thought we talked about this—”
“we did,” stan cut him off, his breath shaky.
richie’s leg bounced restlessly where he sat, hands twisting in his lap. “… then why does it feel like you don’t even wanna look at me?” his voice cracked, softer than usual.
stan’s throat went dry. because he did want to look at him — he wanted to kiss him, touch him, everything. but bev’s voice was still in his head, echoing over and over again, making it impossible to ignore.
“bev,” stan muttered finally.
richie froze. “… bev?”
“she just—” stan exhaled hard, dragging a hand over his face, wiping his tears that he didn't even know started falling. “she called us a couple, that day she caught us. and— ever since then, i don’t know. it’s like— i can’t stop thinking about it.”
richie’s brows knit together, confusion flickering into something else. stan couldn’t read his expression exactly. “okay… is that… bad?”
stan’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “i don’t know.”
silence stretched between them, the hum of the night seeping through the cracked-open window.
richie leaned closer, voice trembling but steady enough. “because… if you’re asking me? it wouldn’t be bad. not even a little.”
stan’s breath caught, heat rising in his cheeks, eyes darting to richie’s lips before he could stop himself.
“… richie,” he whispered, like it was both a warning and a plea. “i thought we agreed. just friends. who—”
richie cut him off quickly. “but it doesn’t feel like that anymore, stan!” he exclaimed, his eyes were clasped shut.
stan just froze, his breath stuck in the back of his throat.
stan’s fingers curled into the blanket beneath him, nails biting into the fabric. richie’s words just… hung there, thick in the air, louder than anything either of them could say next.
richie swallowed, finally cracking his eyes open. they glistened in the dim light, raw and unguarded. “it doesn’t feel like friends anymore when i can’t stop thinking about you. when i can’t—” his voice faltered, then steadied again. “when i need you like this.”
stan’s pulse pounded in his ears. he wanted to move, to speak, but every nerve in his body was frozen.
richie gave a shaky laugh, though it came out more like a broken exhale. “god, listen to me. i sound like— like an idiot.” he pushed a hand through his curls again, trying to mask how much he was shaking. he stood up quickly. “forget it. just… forget i said anything. i should go.”
but stan couldn’t. he couldn’t unhear it. not when it echoed every thought he’d been trying so hard to push away.
richie sighed and started walking to the window. no. no no no. stan, stop him. he said to himself. this is everything you’ve ever wanted. stop him.
he finally managed to whisper, voice softer than he meant it to be. “what if i don’t want to forget?”
richie’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide, breath caught halfway in his throat.
“what?”
stan wasn’t looking at him. instead he was looking at the ground. “what if… i don’t want to forget, richie?” he said, finally flicking his gaze up to meet richie’s.
richie stepped closer like it was an instinct. richie’s hand twitched like he wanted to reach for him, but he kept it still, letting stan choose. “stan. please tell me if you’re being serious or not. because otherwise, i’m gonna kiss you.”
stan’s breath hitched, his pulse hammering so loudly it drowned out the cicadas outside. he looked up at richie who was standing in front of him, his words thrumming in the air between them.
“i’m not joking,” stan whispered, barely audible, but enough.
richie froze like he needed to hear it twice just to believe it. “you’re— you’re serious?”
stan’s lips twitched, almost a smile, but his eyes were trembling. “kiss me, richie.”
that was all it took. richie surged forward, closing the unbearable space, his lips crashing against stan’s in a kiss that was messy and desperate and long overdue. even though they had kissed like this before, this one felt different. this one felt… real.
stan’s hands fisted into the front of richie’s shirt, pulling him closer, while richie finally let his hand cup stan’s cheek, thumb brushing the hot, wet skin like he’d been dying to.
richie pulled back just an inch, foreheads pressed together, both of their eyes closed, breaths mingling. “so” he whispered, voice wrecked and shaky. “can we become boyfriends, now?”
stan just huffed and laugh and opened his eyes, just to look at richie. “straight to the point, aren’t you?”
richie smirked. “you know me, stanny.”
stan shook his head, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “you don’t even know what you’re asking for.”
“uh, yeah i do,” richie shot back immediately, grin crooked but eyes shining. “i’m asking. officially. like— boyfriends. no takebacks.”
stan rolled his eyes, but his chest was warm, his heart climbing into his throat. “… you’re unbelievable.”
richie leaned closer, their noses brushing. “unbelievably in love with you, yeah.”
stan’s laugh cracked into something breathless, and before he could stop himself, he kissed richie again — softer this time, lingering. when he pulled back, his voice was quiet but sure.
“fine. yes. but don’t make me regret it, trashmouth.”
richie’s grin split wide, brighter than stan had ever seen, and he flopped dramatically back on the bed like he’d just won the lottery. “oh my god. stan the man uris is my boyfriend! somebody pinch me.”
“i’ll do more than pinch you if you wake up my parents,” stan muttered, but he was smiling, cheeks still pink, and richie couldn’t stop looking at him like he hung the stars.
the losers were crammed in bill’s basement again, half of them sprawled on pillows on the floor, the other half fighting over who got the good couch spot.
richie and stan were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, not saying much, but not exactly… hiding, either.
they didn’t know how exactly to tell the losers, so they figured they’d let them figure it out themselves.
when richie casually laced their fingers together, eddie did a double take, nearly choking on his soda. “excuse me? excuse me?! what is this?” he pointed at their hands like they’d just committed a crime.
“looks like holding hands, eds,” richie said, smug, though his ears were pink. “you know, the thing boyfriends do.”
silence.
then the entire basement exploded.
“boyfriends?” mike questioned.
“holy shit!” ben laughed, eyes wide.
bill blinked, looking between them, and managed, “w-when did—?”
bev just leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at her lips. “finally! took you idiots long enough to make it official.”
richie just rolled his eyes at her.
“wait— you knew?!” eddie demanded.
bev shrugged. “caught them kissing in the basement like— last week.”
“you what?!” eddie yelled, just making richie burst out laughing. bill had a shocked look on his face, like he was trying to remember the day that bev was talking about.
“yeah, but they “weren’t” dating— or so they say,” bev rolled her eyes. “i’m happy you guys finally came to your senses,” she said to them with a smirk.
stan groaned, burying his face in his hands, while richie puffed his chest out. “that’s right, folks. stanley uris is officially my boyfriend. the applications are closed— the deal is sealed. and yes, i am the luckiest man alive.”
the room was loud with laughter, questions, and a couple cheers. but through it all, stan felt richie squeeze his hand, and despite the chaos, it didn’t feel scary at all.