Chapter Text
It was difficult, Stan could admit that, but never outloud. He was struggling, he knew that. But saying that outloud? No that would mean it was real, and Stan had a little issue with facing the consequences of reality.
When anything went wrong, which seemed to be more often than not, he would just imagine that he wasn't really himself, and this wasn't really his life. He was just a character in a book or a movie or a show. That none of it was real, and if it was, how did it matter? But fuck it. He'd just save it for the fucking memoirs, pull out a small book or something when people asked how his life got so fucked, well...here you see exibite B.
Stan didn't like it, this whole growing up thing. Well there wasn't many things he disliked about it, just a few that he could fit on the palm of his hand...if he carved or burned the words deep in his skin. He didn't have to, it was engraved in his mind, it would spirall through his body and slip past his tongue as he whispered the ghosts that haunted him outloud.
It wasn't like he was physically abused or had a shortage of clean water or was molested by a family member, so through life he learned not to complain, well not outloud anyway.
Stan couldn't explain it, the way he felt, other than it felt like he was empty, dead, whatever that was left of his spirit, soul or life inside of his was slipping away. His first thought? About fucking time.
But then he realised no one could appreciate my dark humour when he was actually dead. He knew he had been falling.
Falling through a distorted perception of time, where everything strains to a pause but sprints past and swallows him whole.
His hands tried to reach out to touch the sky and grasp the endless crevasse of tinted blue once, but to say the least, it didn't work. Stan didn't like to talk about it.
Everything was a blur, a blur swirled out of existence. Whilst suspended in the air, he often closed his eyes to surrender myself to the infinite sky above.
But instead the fear dissolves as serenity paints a calming thought, with soft brush strokes and damp cotton, the soul that will contaminate his heart and thoughts for seemingly forever.
But it was moments like this, that were painted realistically by the world. Because there was only one question that circulated his brain and he couldn't get rid of it.
How the fuck did I get here?
So everything he ever felt, experienced, loved and wished flooded through him, coursing beneath my skin. As if it was trying to recreate enough energy to give him life.
Stan didn't remember much between the ages of eight and twelve. Just that the world moved slow and his brain moved too fast.
Everything was so fucking boring, he'd find something that would catch up with his mind, momentarily like first learning to ride a bike or just fucking running. But eventually that would wear thin and fall slow again.
He could remember his first anxiety attack, like he would ever forget. He collapsed in the middle of class because he couldn't fucking breathe, which was embarassing enough, it got worse when he had to be taken to hospital afterwards. Stan thought that was stupid, he would've been saved the embarassment and the panic if they just let him finish counting the tiles on the celing.
It was clear after that he was kind of fucked up. Whilst he was waiting outside the doctor's office he was given a couple of puzzles. That's when he figured out that he was fucking brilliant at that shit. It could keep up with hin, challenging sometimes.
It was also the night he was told he had mild OCD, general anxiety and whatever the fuck he didn't listen nor care, his parents did and they were the ones who sorted of all the sort of shit out for him. Why would he want to know the extent of how he was fucked? It was all just a fucking excuse.
He grew up only knowing two things: no matter how much sleep he got he would always be fucking exhausted and every now and then, if he focused too closely on the way I breathed, he'd die.
Until every second of every day, he found find myself trying to outrun anxiety. But like gave up, because complaining about shit was easier than doing anything about it.
So when he found himself counting the tiles on his celing, or organizing the pencils on his desk, again and again until his fingers chapped raw, callusing over his fingertips, he knew he couldn't complain, because he was surrounded by people...people who had it worse of than him, people who would compare their trauma and people who would feel bad for him.
And if there was one thing, in that little list of things he wish would just go fuck itself. It was that, pity.
He saw it in his parents eyes whenever they saw him panicking because someone thought it would be a good idea to 'tidy' his room. Seriously, it pained him to get pissed off.
To put it plainly, Stan was just bored. He wanted more in his life than going to school, procrastinating and listening to Richie's jokes. He had read books, he wanted what they had, the characters had. The adventures, the dangers, the love-he guessed that wouldn't be too bad either.
If there was one thing that Stan knew he wanted it was that. To feel a little reckless than he was, to have something more to him, than just Stan.
"Hey Stanthony" His bestfriend and to put it simply-one of his only close friends. Stan talked to a lot of people, most people did that, but those he was close with, like went to hang out with, had sleepovers with were limited to a few pleasant faces.
That's what he meant when he said he didn't have many friends. He meant people who he loves unconditionally, even if they make terrible jokes.
"What can I do you for Rich?" Stan asked, lowering his History text book and looked over at his loud friend.
"Oof, starting a new strategy, I'm flattered. For you no price, but I'm a little busy most nights with you mum" Richie said with a wink, causing Stan to roll his eyes which he found himself doing a lot around Richie, it was a miracle he hadn't rolled his eyes out of his sockets at this point.
"Fuck you- wait no, just what do you want?" Stan asked and Richie grinned, that kind of grin which said 'I'm going to ask something big of you, that is going to benefit me hugely and I'm going to try to convince you that being uncomfortable what be the only thing you'll get out of it' and Stan bated those grins.
"Well I was wondering you know how you've always really wanted to be friends with that Mike guy-"
"That's something that you want" Stan reminded him, tapping the edge of his book in repeative patterns, Richie ignored him and continued anyway.
"He's hosting a party and I was wondering if you wanted to go" Richie said quickly and Stan dropped his book completly.
"Sure"He said without hesistating.
"There isn't even going to be that many people, I mean come on Stamn-wait what?" Richie asked and Stan smirked, enjoying seeing Richie confused a little too much.
"I'll go with you" Stan said and Richie's moment of shock passed over nearly ad quickly as it started and he began rambling on about it at a million miles per hour.
It was a moment Stan was waiting for, most of the time. It wasn't like he had never been to one before but most of the time they were too shit to stay much longer. But a party, by Mike, probably the most friendly kid at the school who everyone loved.That, that was something Stan could stick around for.
He had always wanted to go to a proper party, where there is too much alcohol and he could do something that regular Stan was too scared to do. Which he knew was bullshit as the alchol at teen parties were weak shit as no one actually liked beer or vodka yet, so it would take a lot, a lot of cider, or WCKD, White Lighting etc, to make you pissed. Stan liked to daydream about a more excitable side effect of alcohol that wasn't him just getting more tired and disoriented.
Maybe people would actually do some interesting shit that they wouldn't remember in the morning. Every time they go to a party, they wake up hugover but didn't drink enough to do something reckless and not remember. What the fuck was the point?Not matter what Stan did it never seemed to be like the books.
Would he ever be under the influence and accidently kiss someone else other than the main love interest and create a love triangle? The answer: no he wouldn't because even when pissed he was still just that fucking boring.
To be honest, Stan never understood the huge stigma around parties. People either loved them or depised them and even if they said they loved them, it was usually a lie.
He didn't have enough of an emotional connection with them to have much of an opinion of them. He just thought they were overated, whether you were praising them or critiscing them, you were only doing so to sound edgy.
The only reason most people even went was because it was a time to socialise and pretend they were doing something with their life other than homework and getting emotionally invested in TV shows.
He decided to go to the party in his regular clothes, as he had no other confidence to do much else. But he did take a coat, you know, just in case it got a bit cold outside.
Also because he was certain his mother had super powers that just knew whenever he wasn't wearing it. He could be drug addict for all she cared, but it as long as he was wearing a coat, it didn't matter.
He met Bev on the way there and Ben, who he had a small bet on, without actual money in a , 'Will they?or won't they? Losers edition'
"So what are we even going to be doing there?" Bev asked as they turned to the next street.
"Pretending to like the taste of alchol whilst pretending to like everyone there" Ben said cynically causing the other three to laugh.
"Don't really care what's happening, as long as there isn't a karaoke machine" Stan shuddered, remembering the horrors of Richie's Miley Cyrus cover-he was complety sober.
The door was already open when they arrived and all Stan could think about was that couldn't be safe of practical.
It would bring an awful draft in, what if we get cold?
But this thought was discarded as soon as they walked in as with the burning lights and sweaty bodies against the walls, he stood corrected.
"Took you guys long enough" Mike said as he joined the four of them, with a smirk on his face, or a smile. Stan couldn't tell due to the lighting.
"Bev took us the wrong way" Stan said. "Had Google maps the wrong way round"
"Neither of you pointed that out whilst we were following it" Bev noted, causing them to laugh.
After about twenty minutes of hiding the karoke machine from Richie, Stan found himself at the 'bar' which was really just a kitchen table and a chalkboard with incorrect spelling on it which made Stan cringe.
He was handed plenty of plastic cups filled with, what looked like to Thomas filled with death and regret, but drank it anyway.
"Yess I love this song" Bev said cheering as a Katy Perry song came on. She grabbed Ben's arm who grabbed Richue who grabbed Stan, onto the dancefloor.
They continued to swing their arms around and shuffle awkwardly to the next couple of songs, but eventually Stan grew tired and as he wasn't drinking at such a speed as the others he needed to sit down, the flashing lights not doing well for Stan's newly formed headache. At one point he was scared he was having seizure.
"How are you doing Stan?" The 'bar attender' Conner said, who sat next to him in maths. Yet again another person he spoke to, but he wasn't sure if they were friends friends.
"Been a pretty boring night, almost exactly as I expected it would be, except there hasn't been a game truth or dare where I have to kiss a really cute guy" He joked causing them both to laugh.
"Oh you just missed it that was in the other room" Another voice said, his tongue twirled with an elusive nature that formed a thin glass of tension, as words rolled through his lips slowly and impulsive, each word as piercing as a heel stepping into that ice, causing spirals of fear and confusion almost breaking with the tension.
Stan turned to face whoever had spoken, but sadly after a few the lights were making it impossible to see anything, he squinted in the general direction of the voice.
Fuck I'm not pissed enough for this. He thought, he quickly chugged the next cup of Smirdoff Ice, which was another shit party drink. Seriously if anyone was acting out tonighy they were faking it.
"Or everyone beong really drunk after being here for only five minutes" Stan said.
"We haven't had a random pervert that I have to save you from either" The stranger added and he laughed, nodding, liking the way his voice
tasted like syrup, but words curled through a manner understrain, as if being slowed down sensually by a thick layer of soulless black treacle, sliding through his deceiving lips.
Stan was unable to panic when the boy shifted towards him, taking a seat next to him, he was too tired.
"You're a bit too cynical, I thought you wouldn't come to parties" Stan said, instantly cursing his tongue as he did so.
The boy turned to him slowly "I don't"
"Then what changed?" Stan asked, hating his newly found confidence.
The boy tilted his head, as if it interested him how someone would be so interested in him "I'm looking out for my friend, Bev"
"You know she's pretty strong right? She can look after herself" Stan said, nit suprised that Bev had yet another friend he didn't know about. She had way too many, he couldn't be jealous.
"Of course, but no harm in helping. But I had another motive as well" The boy said stirring his drink with a straw.
"Really? Do parties include fun new ways of flirting with people?" Stan asked quickly biting his tongue after he did so. They weren't flirting, were they? Was this what flirting was? Did it mean something different pissed? Why do books never tell you this shit?
To his suprise the bkt chuckled "I'll have whatever he's having, I'm guessing it's pretty strong" He told Conner
"Very funny...do you have a name or do you just sit there annyoying people?" Stan asked and through the red light, he could see a smirk fall through the boy's lips.
"What do you want my number with that as well?" He laughed and Stan rolled his eyes. That wasn't what he meant!
"And I'll have whatever he's having, because it's got to be a lot stronger than mine, to think I want a stranger's number" Stan said, but not exactly to the 'bar attender', he was more standing up and shouting to no one in particular.
"It's the same drink dumbass" The boy said and Stan thought he heard a faint giggle, but decided it was just the drinks.
With his eyes syncing with the light patterns, a purple hue that grew bright ans illuminated the side of the boy's face, but not enough for Stan to actually see it, as he thought he was going tempoarily blind with all of these fucking lights.
"You're so cyncial about me, you don't seem like you want to be here either" The boy said and Stan sighed heavily.
"I would be if I wasn't such a fucking disaster-" He began but was cut off by Richie who had appeared behind him.
"Yeah, yeah come on Disaster we have to get going I may or may not have smashed the TV with a Wii remote" Richie said, dragging Stan away from the bar.
"No, wait"He turned around, still able to see the figure of the boy he had been talking to. "That's not my name" He shouted back to him, which he deeply regreted that he didn't just tell him his name was Stan, especially as Richie wouldn't stop singing 'That's Not My Name' on the way home.
"Fuck you Richie I actually met a decent person and because of you I didn't get a name" Stan muttered angrily.
"What do you mean you didn't get a name?" Richie asked and Stan glared at him.
"Well I didn't exactly get a face either...oh fuck"