things were getting better for stanley. he could admit that. he knew that things were much better than they had been a few months ago. he had friends again, he talked to them, they loved him, it was fine. he was friends with more than the losers, too, he talked to betty quite frequently and her friends had come around to him as one of their friends.
he had richie, the one thing he'd wanted so desperately. most nights recently, he made the long trek to richie's house so he could fall asleep in richie's arms. he got up early in the morning and left before richie could wake up. he spent his time at school being clingy and loving richie in a way that made his friends say "ew," even if a lot of people looked at him weird.
and people did look at them weird, and it wasn't uncommon for the two of them to get yelled at. of course, henry bowers was the major proponent of this, but he hadn't seemed to physically want to harm them in a while. so that was nice, he guessed.
he should be happy. and he was, sometimes.
but it wasn't great.
richie drove him home from school every day, dropping him off a block away, and he sat in his room until he wanted to sleep. he didn't really eat at home anymore, because his mother never invited him down to dinner. the two parents ate dinner in silence downstairs, and if stanley felt like it, he could get some later. but he never felt like it.
he didn't really do homework, as he didn't find it super important. his grades were a little better, and he wasn't failing classes, but he wasn't certain he'd get into any good university. he knew he'd ruined all potential he'd had. sometimes he cried about it at night.
most nights, though, he just smoked so that he wouldn't think about it. he hated smoking, but he sorta loved it, too. he got why richie smoked. and he knew that in doing this he was undoing all the criticism of richie he'd ever given, but it was sort of something he couldn't help anymore.
he tried to hide it from richie, but he knew richie knew. some days, they'd kiss and stanley knew the scent and taste of smoke was hitting richie in the way that his shoulders slumped. richie hadn't said anything yet, though. stanley was thankful.
he was sorta surprised his parents hadn't put some harry potter-esque lock on his window, because his dad knew he snuck out. stanley had been just leaving when his dad had opened the door. he'd looked at stanley, who had one leg of his pajamas out the window, ducked under the top of the frame. stanley had completely froze.
stanley's dad just sorta rubbed his eyes. he cleared his throat, "okay. stay safe." he didn't make eye contact with stanley, instead looking at his walls, where posters and photos of his friends hung. his dad inhaled, "and stop smoking. nasty habit. goodnight." and he shut the door. stanley continued out the window.
but his dad had never mentioned it to his mother, it seemed. so he could be thankful for that.
that, or she didn't care.
when stanley told richie about his home life, which he rarely did, richie furrowed his eyebrows and sighed through his nose, "i'm sorry."
"i want to move out. but there's nowhere to go." and richie would tuck a hair of stanley's behind his ear. stanley placed his head on richie's chest and listened to richie's heartbeat. richie kissed his head.
it wasn't that stanley didn't trust richie enough to tell him about his home life, but more that he felt stupid doing so. sometimes, he'd get worked up, tell him things, and feel like complete garbage by the time the morning came. he didn't really want to tell anyone anything.
he supposed that's why he didn't speak. he wasn't proving a point, like thirteen year old richie suspected. he just didn't want everyone to see him differently. he didn't want to open his mouth and every secret spill out of him. he feared richie wouldn't love him so if he knew everything about stanley. stanley didn't even know everything about stanley.
and the things he did know, he didn't really like.
something close to a week ago, stanley had been doing his nightly walk to richie's when he'd began to feel sick. he'd clutched his head like a cartoon character who had just bumped into a pole. he felt the cartoonish stars whizzing around his head, and suddenly couldn't see very well.
taking a moment to make sure he was on the sidewalk, he lowered himself down to the ground. it didn't help, everything was still spinning, and he had to lean up against a lamppost. a couple minutes later, he threw up, and he was certain it was only stomach acid.
he'd been in front of some poor soul's house, and seeing a blur of light turn on in the corner of his eye had scared him. he threw up again, making a loud retching noise as he grabbed at his stomach. god, could this be over yet?
"are you okay?" the person, a middle aged man stanley did not recognize (not that he could really see), opened his door to call out to stanley. stanley turned his head, vaguely shaking it. he went to respond, and retched a third time, followed by a bunch of coughing.
the man had grabbed a jacket from inside his house and shut his front door, hurrying over to where stanley was.
"are you drunk? do you need to go to the hospital?" the man asked. stanley noticed how dry his mouth felt, and looked at his tragic pile of stomach acid lying on the cement.
"not drunk. i just want to go home." stanley was not going to cry. he did want water, though. that might be nice. the man outstretched an arm, and stanley pulled himself up with it. he leaned against the lamppost for support, and the man placed an arm under stanley's.
"okay, i'll walk you home. where do you live, kid?" he held the majority of stanley's weight, not that that was much at all. stanley sighed.
"far." was all he replied, and the man nodded.
"okay, i can drive you. c'mon," he carried stanley, the two of them hobbling, over to his car, using his other hand to unlock the door. he helped stanley get into the passenger seat, and it occurred to stanley that this was a hell of a way to get kidnapped. i mean, the timing alone would be impressive, if this was a kidnapping.
"take this, and drink it. it tastes bad at first, i know, but it'll make it better." he started his car and stanley took a water bottle from him. who was this guy? stanley took another look at the man, but didn't recognize him. could humans just be this kind? or was he about to get murdered? either way, he drank the water.
when the man asked which way stanley's home was, stanley started crying.
his real home was just a little further forward, about ten minutes driving, and in richie's arms he'd feel fine and he'd feel safe.
instead, stanley pointed in the opposite direction. the two drove for many awkward minutes, stanley staring out the window as soft cell played on the radio.
"here," stanley pointed, and the guy slowed his car down.
he unlocked the car and turned to stanley, "you shouldn't be out so late. not walkin' that far. take care, kid." the man said, stanley opening the door. he felt slightly better, but wasn't looking forward towards climbing into his room.
he nodded at the man, and the guy drove away.
