Work Text:
Often I am upset
that I cannot fall in love
But I guess
this avoids the stress of
falling out of it.
- Mounika, Cut My Hair (feat. Cavetown)
Stanley Uris is seventeen the first time he dyes his hair. Unlike all other things in his life, it isn’t something that he thinks through and plans out. In fact, it’s probably one of the most spontaneous things he’s ever done (aside from fighting an evil sewer clown, of course).
It’s close to midnight and he had a fight with his father and he’s locked himself in the bathroom. He had come in here to take a bath and cry till he felt less terrible about himself like he typically does after the bad fights but as soon as the door was closed he just felt too tired to consider preparing a bath.
Instead, his eyes had wandered to the cabinet above the sink, where he knew his father’s old pain meds were from back when he twisted his ankle in a fall.
He opened the cabinet and spent what felt like hours staring at the bright orange bottle. He considered how many he’d have to take for it to be too many . He thought about the way he had started secretly taking them for a while five years ago because even if the scars around his face weren’t visible to anyone else (aside from his friends), they still hurt like a bitch.
That made him think about what had gone down that day in the sewers and he instantly felt sick. He tore his eyes away from the pills and that’s when he noticed the bottle of hair dye that was beside them. His mother had started dying her hair to cover up greys a few months ago. He picked up the hair dye and closed the cabinet door, staring into the mirror that was on the other side of it.
His hair had always been the lightest of everyone in his family. His parents had always been proud of that for some stupid reason. His father had always threaded his fingers through Stan’s curls and remarked how they almost looked blonde in the sunlight.
Now that he thinks about it, it’s probably got to do with the way the light hair managed to make him appear so innocent and meek. The perfect golden boy. The rabbi’s son.
So when he uncapped the bottle and squeezed some of the dye onto his fingers, he felt almost euphoric as he smeared it onto his curls, watching as they immediately lost their golden tint in exchange for a dull black. It’s not an insane difference, but it’s enough.
He was quick to apply the dye to the rest of his head till there was no brown left, all covered up and plastered to his head.
Now, with a satisfied nod at the reflection staring back at him, he finally runs the bath he came here for, sitting in the warm water while he waits the allotted time for the dye to set in.
He thinks about how his father will react. He smiles.
Once it seems to have been long enough, he submerges himself into the water, strangely enjoying the way the bathwater instantly turns black with the color of the dye.
It feels like a twisted baptism .
When he awakes the next morning for school, he passes by his mirror and does a doubletake. He had almost forgotten what he’d done, had passed it off as a fever dream. He instantly feels ashamed, embarrassed that he’d let his emotions get the best of him but then he thinks about the fact that he could have reached for the pill bottle instead and he doesn’t feel so bad.
He thanks God for the fact that his father seems to have left early to head to the Synagogue, not waiting to ensure Stanley woke up for school like usual.
He quickly gets dressed and prepares his bag for school and when he passes his reflection again, he stops to stare, really taken in the change. His eyes look lighter now, almost hazel. It’s funny in a way how darkening one feature made the other brighter. He thinks that there’s a metaphor in there somewhere but isn’t in the right place to find it.
He gets to school early like he usually does and as he goes through all his classes he can feel the stares, sees the way some of his teachers scrunch up their noses at his new look. In a weird way, he enjoys the way they all seem to hate it.
Greta Keene is the first to openly comment on it. They (sadly) sit beside each other in calculus and as soon as the teacher’s back is turned to them, she leans over close.
“You look like a prick.”
Stan turns to her, not at all amused by the insult. She blows a bubble at him, before chowing down obnoxiously on her gum.
Typically he’d say nothing but his new hair seems to also have given him some newfound confidence so he shrugs and replies, “And you look like an insecure brat but you also look like that every day, so…”
She goes quiet, even pausing her chewing to look at him in wide-eyed shock.
He feels satisfied when she doesn’t talk to him for the rest of the class.
As soon as the bell signaling the end of the period rings though, nerves set in as he realizes it's time for lunch and he’ll have to face his friends for the first time today. It’s not that he thinks they’ll be mean about it. Even if they hate it, they’ll give him fake smiles and compliments to avoid hurting his feelings.
No, he’s more worried about them asking why he did it. Because he’s not quite sure he’s ready to tell them about that orange pill bottle but he’s also never been very good at lying.
When he gets to their usual lunch table, Bill is already sitting there in the middle of analyzing his lunch tray with a look of distaste. His nose is all scrunched up and his eyes are narrowed at the blob of meatloaf on his plate and Stan suddenly feels his heartbeat in his throat.
He steps hesitantly towards the table and takes a seat causing Bill to finally look up and…
Before either can say anything Richie is crashing their moment, slamming his tray down dramatically on the table.
“Guys I think I just failed my math quiz!” He announces taking a seat beside Stan without even seeming to notice the change. Stan doesn’t take offense to it since Richie always seems to be on another planet.
“Maybe you should have spent more time studying and less time getting high with Beverly then,” Stan replies, running a hand through his hair as he talks in hopes of Richie actually noticing it.
Which he...still doesn’t, instead going into a rant about how weed is very good for the brain and is more beneficial than studying while simultaneously beginning to shovel meatloaf into his mouth (it’s as gross to watch as it sounds).
Stan rolls his eyes at this, tuning out the rant as he resolutely sweeps some of his hair away from his eyes. He then realizes that Richie had actually interrupted something and when he looks back over to Bill he discovers that his eyes are comically wide, tracking the movement of Stan’s hand through his hair.
“Stan, y-your hair…” He says, finally meeting Stan’s eyes.
It vaguely reminds Stan of being back at the quarry four summers ago when Bill had taken note of Beverly’s new hair cut. He also vaguely remembers wishing it was him Bill was looking at with such wonder.
He sees that same wonder in Bill’s eyes right now and he feels his body fill with a prickly warmth at that realization.
“Oh my god, Stan the Man you went emo on us!” Richie shouts, finally catching up with what's happening.
“Do you like it?” Stan questions, eyes locked on Bill.
“Yeah, I, um, love it,” Bill says, breaking the eye contact to stare at his food. And Stan might just be imagining things here but he could swear that Bill is blushing .
“Yeah, it’s almost as hot as your mom!” Richie commends, which is very high praise coming from Richie.
Stan rolls his eyes but can’t help smiling. “Thanks, guys.”
The rest of the group takes it just as well. Bev complains that Stan should have let her do it for him (“ You can do it next time, Bev!” ), Eddie rambles about how the chemicals in hair dye are really bad for you and how he hopes Stan had the room well ventilated while he did it ( “Yes, Eddie, the window was open”), Mike says it looks super cool and suggests Stanley should get a leather jacket now to complete the look (“ Guess we’re gonna have to go shopping, guys”), and Ben simply smiles and tells Stan that the color suits him (“ Thanks, Ben!”).
Bill remains quiet throughout most of it, seeming to find his lunch very interesting all of a sudden. His silence starts to make Stan worry. Maybe he didn’t like it. Maybe he thought it was weird or too dark. Maybe he thought Stan was trying to be someone he wasn’t. Maybe he didn’t want to be friends with a black-haired Stan.
But that was all ridiculous to think. Bill wouldn’t cut him off because of the color of his hair .
Still, it causes Stan enough stress that he offers to walk Bill to his next class. They walk in silence at first, Bill’s eyes laser-focused on the lockers they pass till Stan eventually can’t take it.
“You hate it don’t you!” He snaps out, pausing his walking in the middle of the halls. Bill seems surprised and stumbles to a stop as well, turning to face him.
“W-what? No, I don’t!”
Stan notices the return of the stutter which Bill spent all of Freshman year working to get rid of with a private speech therapist his parents hired. It only seems to come out now when Bill gets really nervous.
Why the hell is he so nervous right now?
“Then why have you been acting all weird?” Stan questions, readjusting his hold on the textbooks he’s been lugging around.
The same blush from earlier appears on Bill’s cheeks again and he shifts awkwardly, not meeting Stan’s eyes as he struggles to reply, “It’s just...I…”
“You what , Bill?”
“I just think the hair looks really nice and the dark color suits you really well and it makes your eyes shine in this really fucking pretty way and the fact that you probably did this against your father’s wishes is just kind of badass and sort of hot and I really like you, Stan and...and the way I feel about you just really makes me nervous sometimes, okay?”
“Oh.” He replies dumbly.
Well that was...not what he had expected.
Before he can further address the issue the bell rings and Bill mutters something about how he needs to get to class, quickly rushing past Stan and down the hall.
Meanwhile, Stan just sort of stands there in the hall with dwindling students because…
what
the
fuck
just happened?
He wants to ignore it all, pretend it didn’t even happen but as he goes through the rest of his classes he can’t stop replaying Bill’s words in his head.
The way I feel about you just really makes me nervous sometimes.
It was rare that he ever saw Bill being nervous . In fact, even when they had gone down into those sewers Bill had never looked scared once. Brave Bill, that’s what the Losers sometimes jokingly called him. And now Stan of all people made him nervous? God, had Bill called him hot ?
It was towards the end of his last period class (World History, insanely boring) that he finally allowed himself to consider what this meant. To acknowledge that maybe just maybe, Bill Denbrough liked him in a way that a friend didn’t normally like a friend. In a way that boys didn’t normally like boys (unless they wanted to be ostracized from society that is).
And well, Stan wasn’t exactly nauseated by the thought…
Fuck, what an understatement, the thought sent electricity down his spine and warmth seemed to flood his body as he thought about the way Bill made him feel
He just sort of hates that he didn’t come to terms with it sooner.
After school he does his best to find Bill but Beverly informs him he’s too late when he greets her in the parking lot.
“Sorry Stan, you just missed him.”
“Did he say where he was headed?”
“Pretty sure he was going home. Is everything okay?”
Stan doesn’t answer just gives her a nod and gets on his bike, starting off in the direction of Bill’s house.
The ride typically takes ten minutes but he makes it in five, adrenaline pushing him to get there before he loses his courage.
As soon as he arrives he drops his bike on the lawn not even bothering to use the kickstand for once and races to the door knocking once then twice then a third time before-
“Oh, Stanley, what a pleasant surprise!” Bill’s mother smiles politely at him and he offers her a brief smile back.
“Is Bill here? I need to talk to him about the, um, homework.”
She nods, stepping aside to let him in. “He’s in his room.”
Stan enters the house never failing to notice how different it looks from his own but he doesn’t spend time dwelling on it as he mumbles a thank you to Bill’s mom and does his best to not noticeably race up the stairs.
Once he reaches the room he barges in, not bothering to knock like he usually does. Bill’s head shoots up startled from where he sits at his desk, a pencil in hand. He was always writing lately.
“Stan-“
“Me too.” Stan bites out, closing the door behind him and hoping Bill gets what he’s saying.
“What ?”
Okay, apparently he doesn’t get it. Option 2 it is.
“What you were saying earlier. I...I feel the same way.”
“You also think your hair looks really nice?” Bill questions with a teasing smile and fuck him (Stan realizes he wants to) because now is not the time for jokes.
“Shut up. You know what I mean.”
“Could you maybe elaborate?”
Stan lets out a heavy sigh. Bill really isn’t going to make this easy for him.
“I like you, Bill. Like a lot-“
“You don’t have to say that just because I did, you know. It’s fine, Stan, I know it’s weird but I promise I’ll try to get over it.” Bill announces, cutting him off in the middle of his love declaration which is very fucking rude, mind you.
“No , Bill. I'm not just saying it, I really do like you. Haven’t you noticed how I don’t let anyone else come bird watching with me? The others have all offered at some point but I always turn them down because going to watch those birds is sometimes the only time I can clear my mind and really relax. It’s my happy place. But that first time that I let you come, I realized that having you there made it so much happier, and I really don’t know a lot about love, Bill, but I think that’s gotta mean something.”
Bill stares at him, mouth agape and Stan starts to worry he’s said too much, taken it too far. Bill had never dropped the L-word . He’s prepared to take it all back or maybe to just turn around and run out of the house but then Bill’s standing up from his desk, chair rolling across the floor due to the sheer rashness of the action.
And then he’s crossing the room in two quick strides and cupping Stan’s face, pulling him into a kiss.
It’s Stan’s first kiss and he quickly realizes he has no idea how kissing is supposed to go and it feels sort of weird but one of Bill’s hands has started to card through his hair and that feels nice enough for him to relax into the kiss, bringing his own hands to Bill’s shoulders to tug him in closer.
Much too quickly for his liking the kiss is over and Bill pulls back just enough to stare into Stan’s eyes and wow, Bill’s eyes are really fucking blue.
Stan breaks into a smile at that and Bill almost instantly smiles back and soon enough they’re both giggling like they’re kids again.
“Bill?” Stan says once the laughter dies out.
“Yeah?”
“Are we going to acknowledge the fact that you got turned on by my dyed hair?”
Bill rolls his eyes and Stan starts to laugh but Bill quickly cuts it off with another kiss and, well, Stan doesn’t mind.
Later that night, when Stan is cuddling with Bill in his bed (something he never thought he’d get the chance to do), Bill turns to him, eyes sparkling.
“Promise me you’ll keep dyeing it? Even if your dad doesn’t like it when he sees it tonight.”
And with the pleading look Bill gives him, he can’t exactly say no.
And so, nine weeks later when the dye starts to fade, Stan buys another box and this time he lets Bev do it for him as promised.
And nine weeks after that, he lets Bill do it and while they wait for the dye to settle in, they make out on Stan’s bathroom floor.
And soon enough months go by and Stan’s hair stays dyed jet black. He never gets tired of the way Bill looks at him when it’s freshly dyed. He also never gets tired of the hungry way that Bill kisses him, as if he’s a drowning man and Stan is his oxygen.
Eventually, though, Bill’s no longer there to help him dye it and neither is Bev or Richie or Eddie or Mike or Ben for that matter. Because Stan is in college far from Derry and now he’s back to doing it himself. He doesn’t mind it though, because after a while, he can’t really remember having had anyone else do it for him.
And soon enough, he can’t even really remember why he’s still dyeing it. As the years pass by it seems ridiculous to continue wasting money on dye. One of his girlfriends begs him to leave it natural once after the dye has started fading and she notices his light brown curls.
“Oh, Stan, your natural color is so nice, why would you mess it up!” She chides, twirling one of the curls around her finger.
“I don’t know, I guess I just like it better black,” Stan replies but he’s really not sure why . He has nightmares that night about a dark and cold and wet place but he remembers the safety of someone’s arms too and it makes it kind of worth it.
Eventually he breaks up with the girl because she’s found someone else but it’s okay because a week later he meets Patty Uris in one of his math classes.
She’s gorgeous and she’s smart and she’s caring and she likes his black hair, even offers to help him dye it.
He likes her a lot.
So they get married. And they start a life and they’re actually genuinely happy, even if Stan does still feel something tugging at him inside every time he sees a red balloon at a party or when he passes by a row of books in the store written by a William Denbrough.
Still, they’re happy .
But then one afternoon when he’s sitting on his couch doing a puzzle and Patty is booking them plane tickets to Buenos Aires things change.
His phone rings and he answers it and he hears Mike and he’s told that it’s been 27 years and he knows what that means, knows what’s being asked.
And the spiral begins.
He doesn’t bother finishing the puzzle, instead informing Patty that he’s going to go to his office, has some last-minute things he needs to write up in order for him to take time off for that trip she just booked.
He writes two letters, one for her and one for them.
And when he finally sets the pen down, he’s sure that what he’s about to do needs to happen.
So he goes to the bathroom and he takes off his clothes and he neatly folds them, setting them down on the toilet seat while the water runs, filling up the tub and fogging up the room a bit.
He almost doesn’t see his reflection in the mirror. Almost. But he does, and he notices the way the black of his curls has started fading a bit. He stares at the bottle of dye that’s sitting on the corner of the sink for a long time, as memories wash over him like a tidal wave.
He remembers Bill’s lips on his. He remembers the way they cried when they said goodbye. He remembers the way Bill looked when he first saw Stan’s dyed hair. Remembers the way he kept looking after. And then he remembers that night that he dyed it for the very first time.
Remembers the way he had picked the dye over the pills. Had chosen to live rather than…
He doesn’t pick the bottle of dye up this time.
And when he gets in the tub, he knows he’s breaking more than one promise.