festival of lights : stozier

8

the moment richie caught a glimpse of stanley returning, even if he went straight to the bedroom, richie ran to grab a mug.

the door creaked open to reveal stanley, a blanket draped over his shoulders and his head in his hands, sitting on his edge of the bed. it reminded richie of a time he'd been with his dad once.

"stan?" he said softly, though stanley already knew he was there, staying still. richie approached, the mug steaming in his hands. "uh, i made mulled apple juice. we didn't have cider."

he sat down beside stanley, who was still showing no signs of moving other than his back rising and falling as he breathed shakily. he reeked of smoke. richie reached his hands out, letting the hot steam rise into stanley's blanket.

gently, as if opening to the world like a flower blooming, stanley took his head from his hands, welcoming the mug into them. they were bright red and cracked, from being outside for so long. richie touched his fingertips and tried to warm them.

"i'm sorry," was all stanley chose to say. the steam defrosted his nose and his eyelashes, and he felt his nose begin to run again. he thought of the snow angels out back, now definitely covered up by more snow and the tracks of the dog.

"nothin' to be sorry for. tell me what's wrong?" richie stroked a hand down stanley's hair, like his mother did for him when he was a kid.

"it's ssso cute, none of you pronounce the g's," stanley slurred the s, his teeth chattering a little. "you and your parents. you don't say the g part of your i-n-g words." he explained, richie shaking his head.

"no one does, stan. you don't say nothin-guh, do you?" there was a sense of disbelief in his voice, and stanley sat up slightly as he rolled his eyes.

"no, but you say nothing. ing. you guys say nothin. it's cute, that's all." stanley finally took a sip out of the mug, and richie continued to stroke his hair.

"daw, you think i'm cute." richie watched, pleased as a semblance of a smile grew on stanley's face. stanley continued to stare into the mug, the heat returning his complexion.

"you're the worst, is what you are." stanley hesitantly leaned his head on richie's shoulder, looking out the window towards the snow. he wondered when the curtains had been opened; if richie was the kind of person to unsheathe the day with the drawing of the curtains. "your family is nice though," his breath hitched.

"yeah, they're cool. they like you. sarah basically admitted she'd betray me for you. told ya." richie used his hand to scratch stanley's thigh gently. stanley took richie's hand, and the gap between his grasp and their touch was filled with desire, if only for a moment.

they both sat in silence for a moment, the awe of their silent admittance sitting between them.

"it's weird, comin' home to a house i didn't really grow up in." richie mused, his thumb rubbing back and forth over stanley's. the mug in stanley's right hand was now mostly resting on his leg, his hand there for bracing it.

"what? but you carved radiohead in the wall," stanley said, teasing only a little; he couldn't help himself.

"oh, that was in senior year. no, we moved here halfway through my junior year. i don't really think of this as where i was raised. it was in this town, just in a different house." richie went on, staring not at the window but the curtains. they were decorated with flowers, like an old grandma's room.

"sorry, you were seventeen when you carved radiohead into the wall?" now stanley was laughing, and richie squeezed stanley's hand. he was at least glad to hear a laugh.

"eighteen, actually. okay, you know what, forget it," he shuffled around a bit, but stanley placed their hands on richie's thigh. a touch that meant stay. tell.

"no, no, i want to hear it. tell me about your old place." stanley put his head back onto richie's shoulder, and richie relaxed.

"i mean, it was like, the perfect place to hang out after school. i didn't really have a lot of friends to do that with, but it would've been. the couches were covered in those patchwork blankets, 'cause my mom made a bunch of those when she was in college. those burnt in the fire, though.." richie mused, scratching at his nails. he glanced over at stanley's hands, which had more colour in them now that they were warm again.

"fire?"

"yeah. the place burnt down. we were able to save some stuff but that's why we moved. besides, dick of a landlord." richie shrugged it off like it was nothing. stanley was looking up at him, curious.

"mmh."

"anyway, i miss that old place. my walls were painted blue. what was your childhood home like? i don't think you've ever talked about it." richie asked the question that stanley had been fearing. richie watched as stanley took a long look into his cup, contemplating.

"boring. probably haunted."

"ghosts, how exciting!" richie said. stanley didn't have the heart to tell him that wasn't what he meant. a house can be haunted by the people still living inside.