ONLY IF IT'S YOU (STOZIER)

September 14th

It was just after midnight when Stan's roommate finally returned. Stan could have been blissfully unaware, he wished he had been blissfully unaware, but the door slammed against the desk behind it just to let him know. Not only that, the roommate announced himself by whisper-shouting, "Stan! I'm back!" As if he'd been awaiting his return... He had just fallen asleep.

Stan tried to ignore the other's presence, keeping his eyes closed and laying completely still besides his grinding teeth. He heard a sigh and the click of the closing door and thought he was successful, but then the light flicked on and Stan instinctively clutched his pillow to his face to block out the brightness. In his blind state he couldn't protect himself from the ball of fabric hurdling at him. It struck his side with a slightly alarming amount of force and he groaned in annoyance.

"I know you're awake."

"Yeah, Bill, you woke me up!" His response only earned a shrug.

"Don't you want to hear about my night?" Bill teased as he pulled his jeans off in the corner, sparing Stan this time and throwing them in the laundry basket. Though he didn't spare him of everything as he proceeded to walk on over to his bed and take a seat beside him. Stan begrudgingly sat up and rubbed his eyes, shaking his head and mumbling, "Not really." But Bill knew that him sitting up meant he was ready to listen.

"You should've come with me, it was so much fun." He complained. When he spoke to him up close like this Stan could smell the alcohol on his breath. Stan was sure Bill did have fun but he did not feel like he might've missed out. He liked his alone time. Bill usually did, too, but lately the guy had been trying to put himself out there more or whatever. He wanted to meet new people, get the full college experience, etcetera. The two had been nothing but very hardworking and dedicated students their freshman year, and this year was going to be different - for one of them.

"What did I miss?" Stan asked. He could pretend he cared but he could not fake enthusiasm in his voice. It still showed that he cared, at least, and that made Bill smile.

"There was this band there, they were called... they were called..." He narrowed his eyes as he tried to concentrate.

"Well they can't have been that good if you forgot the name." Stan smirked.

"Shut up, they were good! They said it once... Fucking... Right! Loser's Club." A weight was lifted off of his shoulders.

"That's kind of corny." Stan observed under his breath. He didn't hate it, though. He either went ignored or unheard.

"I liked their music, but I noticed there was no one on the keyboard. Just a drummer and a guitarist - which works! Still, I couldn't help but think... wouldn't it be so cool to be in a band?" Bill explained, and Stan caught on. Bill really was putting himself out there... He hadn't taken him seriously. See, this wasn't the first time Bill said he would do that. He'd been through this phase in the seventh grade, then the ninth grade, then the summer after senior year, and now. Perhaps the fourth time's a charm. And maybe liquid courage helps.

"Yeah?" Was all Stan could say. His friend had played piano all his life but he never pictured him in a band.

"So I went up to the guitarist - his name is Richie, he also sings - and I talked to him for a while. He's kind of weird, actually... That's not important."

"Then why are you telling me that?"

"Eventually I ask if they're looking for someone to play the keyboard. And he says yes. Apparently they've only been playing for a couple months so they haven't found anyone yet. I tell him I've been playing all my life, he asks for my number and tells me he'd love to see how we sound together, and on my way here he texted me to say that they... they're meeting Sunday night." His excitement has only been growing as he recounted these events, reaching its peak at this moment. Stan can't help but smile. He still can't picture it, but he's happy for his friend nonetheless.

"Seriously? That's great!"

"Right?" Bill was grinning ear to ear while he finally stood up and walked over to his bed, collapsing on the mattress. "Remind me to come up with something to play in the morning." He sighed as he closed his eyes.

"Turn off the light." Stan demanded, and Bill clumsily got up and did as he was told before going to sleep. Typical. Alcohol always made him sleepy.

Stan couldn't sleep now. All he could do was lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, trying to imagine this world in which Bill was part of a band. What did the band sound like? What were his fellow members like? This Richie person was apparently weird... So what compelled Bill to say he could play keyboard for them? Bill only ever played classical arrangements, anyways. It didn't make sense. Stan hit himself in the head and rolled over onto his side, as if turning his back on his thoughts.

Bill could do whatever he set his mind to. Stan knew this. He'd witnessed it many times. And he knew Bill was really good at playing the piano. He'd spent many hours in their dorm writing essays at his desk to the sounds of Bill playing his Yamaha keyboard in the corner, and hours before that writing essays in Bill's living room by the grand piano. So why was this so hard to imagine, exactly? It was almost as if he just didn't want to...

That was ridiculous. There was no reason for him not to want this for Bill. This was great. Bill was going to make more friends. Maybe he'd visit them and wake them up instead. Maybe he'd visit them and wake them up instead...

Stan liked being alone. He swore it.