festival of lights : stozier

5

that night, while getting into bed, richie took note of how little stanley had spoken. he'd brushed his teeth in silence, instead of chatting about richie's mom's cooking like he had the previous days. he flipped the cover out to climb inside, listening for any sign of conversation from stanley.

but stanley entered the room soon after, scratching at his hand and staring down at the floor. his shoulders were slumped, and richie sat up against the headboard, watching as stanley got in the bed himself.

"are you okay?" richie asked, turning the lamp out on his side of the bed. god, the mundanity of their conversations and fake affection really had him feeling like he'd married stanley. he wasn't so sure he minded.

"yeah, i'm-i'm fine" stanley answered the question like he'd prepared for it, scratching hard enough to now leave white lines up his hand. he finally noticed what he was doing and turned to grab his glass of water.

richie watched as he took a sip, stanley struggling to swallow, like he was choking, almost.

"if you say so. have i shown you what's etched behind the bed, by the way?" richie changed the topic, clambouring so he was on his knees, grabbing his phone off the nightstand. stanley furrowed his eyebrows, putting the water glass down and watching as richie returned with a photo.

"no way you carved 'radiohead' behind your bed," stanley scoffed, richie laughing a little as stanley shoved him. stanley's hands now occupied with richie, no longer scratched at himself, and richie intended to keep it that way.

"yessir, i did. and my parents still do not know," soon they were whispering like school-children, giggling and hushed recanting stories of their high-school years.

at one point, stanley laughed and his nails reached for his hand. unthinkingly, richie closed the ever-decreasing distance between their hands and took stanley's in his own. relaxing his fingers, stanley took it.

"that's unfair," stanley said suddenly, unrelated to anything richie could recall talking about. raising an eyebrow, he shuffled down, lying down. stanley followed him, and soon the two were separated only by their connected hand and the gap between their pillows.

"what?" richie wanted to shuffle closer, but stanley broke the connection between their fingers, his hand slipping out of richie's grip as he shuffled backwards.

"your eyes are too nice. lucky bastard." stanley said the words with such ease that it took a moment for the sound to register in richie's ears.

"what? your eyes are fine! brown eye supremacy, i say. hazel eyes are shit anyway, like literal vomit, i swear—" richie went on, stanley only rolling his eyes as he rolled to his other side, reaching for the light switch.

"goodnight, richie."

-

"i didn't know you were a morning person, mr. tozier," stanley hadn't expected anyone else to be awake at five am, let alone the man stanley had seen the least of in the house in the past few days. wentworth turned around, blinking a couple times in surprise.

"we're all mr. toziers in this house. wentworth is fine. and anyway, i like to have my coffee before maggie can chastise me for it. bad for my blood sugars, you know." his voice was deep, but kind. it was apparent that richie's need for glasses came from his father, wentworth's eyes magnified by his thick lens glasses. "how on earth do you go to sleep at the same time as richie and still wake up early?"

"magic. or so i'm told." stanley replied, stepping beside wentworth to grab a mug.

"oh, i'll make two mugs worth then," wentworth noted, shoveling an extra spoonful into his press. stanley went to sit at the counter, circling the kitchen to do so. wentworth glanced over to him, a silence sitting in the air.

it was still dark outside, the way it would be until three hours later, but stanley had always enjoyed the mornings. normally he spent them alone, but he didn't find this unbearable, so perhaps he had room to change. he felt a lump in his throat. perhaps it was time to change.

"you know, richie's a special boy." wentworth suddenly spoke, still making the coffee. stanley watched him, the precision in his movements. both of richie's parents were so precise, and yet richie himself had the forethought of a fish with short-term memory loss. "we always thought maybe he... had something. he didn't used to have many friends in elementary school or high school, though it wasn't for a lack of trying. he picked up a lot but he never really stayed with much."

"we weren't sure he'd make it to a college, though we knew we'd support him either way. i'm happy to say that when he came out we accepted him, of course. you know, we've made it very clear that anyone who doesn't isn't welcome in our family. but he's..." wentworth trailed off, and stanley stopped his mindless nodding along.

"i love him." stanley said aloud, to himself and the world sitting with him inside the kitchen. he felt his face heat up in the cold room. he was staring ahead at the mug in front of him, and the sound as wentworth pushed the plunger of the coffee press down hardly affected stanley at all.

"i know that, son." wentworth was suddenly in front of him, pouring the hot coffee into stanley's mug, "do you leave room for milk?"

stanley shook his head, and wentworth filled the cup to the brim. he filled his own cup, then leaned against the counter.

"you know, when he's dedicated, he's dedicated. he had one friend in high school, do you know beverly?" wentworth went on, stanley nodding, "i reckon she must have been getting bullied too. you know how the world is to girls. but he loved her like they'd been born together. he bought cords to technology he didn't even own so she could charge hers. he bought her plants that she—poor girl—could never keep alive. he's a good friend. he's a good boy, you got there. i'm proud of him."

"i've tried to be good with him. it's hard. you see, i never saw my dad feel any of his emotions. so i cried in front of richie. never big stuff, i didn't let things like expenses or real life weigh on him, but i let him see me feel. my dad never apologized. i think between i love you and i'm sorry, my vocabulary isn't very large otherwise. what i'm trying to say is he might have room for improvement, but he's got room for forgiveness, too."

"i can't say you don't deserve him, 'cause frankly i don't know you very well yet. but if he likes you, i trust you." wentworth pushed the glasses up his nose before he took a sip, and stanley could just barely see the glint of richie reflecting back at him.

"thanks, went." stanley took a sip of the coffee. it was delightful.

richie was a loyal friend. he'd always been a loyal friend.

"well, if you'll excuse me, i've got to get ready for work. i'll see you tomorrow, stan." and just like that, wentworth was off, smoothing over his hair with his hand and disappearing into a hallway.

"see you," stanley mumbled, watching a purple finch hop around in the snow outside of a window. it nearly looked stanley right in the eye, like it was listening.

suddenly, stanley felt the need to clutch at his chest. he couldn't take this. he couldn't stand admitting to richie's dad (not even himself) that he did love richie, let alone listen to richie's dad speak to him so gently.

he needed a smoke, is what he needed. instead, he drank the cup of coffee, stifling a yawn as he watched the finch.