tw: suicidal thought(s), thoughts of death and stuff, f slur
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when bill denbrough is tired, he gets a bit delusional. his sweet stutters turn into "your hair l-looks like instant noodles." his dumb jokes turn into meaninglessly deep conversations that make no sense. his dumb nicknames become compliments that are impossible to determine the sincerity of. it's like if bill denbrough had the non-existent filter of richie tozier.
his head is placed in my lap while he runs his fingers along the bottom seams of my/his chunky sweater.
"h-hey stan?"
"yeah?"
"d-do you like d-ducks?"
"yes, and i also like when you get some sleep."
bill started very quietly booing me whilst he grabbed some weird magazine just to show me a photo of a duck in a raincoat. what magazine even is this?
"lllllook!" he said hazily.
i give him a nod and a smile, he's adorable.
i'm straight
i'm straight
i'm straight
bill reaches his hand up to my face and places a finger on the tip of my nose.
"boop."
i can't help but let out a laugh.
"w-what's so f-f-funny?"
"you." i whisper, and "boop" his nose back.
"d-dork." he laughs.
i roll my eyes.
"s-stan?" he asks.
"hm?"
"could you get the lights?"
no, i want to say. i don't want to touch the light switch. i can't be near it. i don't want bill to have to watch me flip the switch three-thousand times, just because it doesn't feel right. i don't want him to see the fear and exhaustion in my face. i don't want to be able to blame everything bad that happens on the amount of times i flipped a switch.
i don't want him to see me.
"sure. you're gonna have to move your egg-head off of my lap, though."
"not an egg-head, d-dumbass." he muttered.
"whatever helps you sleep at night." i joked whilst gently lifting his head up so i could move.
i stand up and flick the lightswitch off. once. i do it once. i try to fight the urge to do it twice more. i remind myself that nothing is gonna happen if i only do it once. no, i'm not gonna die in my sleep. no, bill isnt gonna die. no, i'm not going to get hit by a car tomorrow. no, i'm not going to cause a hurricane thats kills thousands, just because i flipped the switch only once.
unfortunately, i can't be completely sure that those things won't happen. so, i flip it on and off two more times.
three times in total.
i lay back down beside a very sleepy bill denbrough. he looks like he's high. he rolls over to face me, and gives me what looks like a smile, though, it's hard to tell, since the lights are off.
"p-pretty." he mumbled.
"hm? what-"
"y-you."
"i'm not understanding."
"y-you're pretty."
oh, okay. so maybe straight guys do call other guys pretty.
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that morning, i woke up on the floor of bill denbrough's bedroom. and beside me? bill denbrough himself, his leg draped over mine.
oh no.
he's touching me.
no, no, no.
the two sides of my brain are at battle right now. one side wants to convince me to cherish this moment with the boy i love, and the other?
dirty fag.
disgusting.
your father would be disappointed.
this happens often. and usually, the side that wins is never the sweet and positive one.
but that's normal. i am normal.
i take a deep breathe. i feel bill's cold, bare leg move away from mine. i make sure to try and keep my eyes closed, so he thinks that i hadn't noticed how close we were. i don't want him to think-
click!
a camera.
i immediately open my eyes and start sitting up.
"what the f-"
"f-fuck." bill interrupts me.
i rest my hands on my hips and give him a very concerned and questioning look.
"didn't know you were such a photographer." i chuckled.
"i-i only took a ph-phot-photo because you luh-looked dumb as h-h-hell." he said defensively.
"yup, of course."
"sh-shut up." he grumbled.
"don't speak to your muse like that, william!" i joke.
he gives me a gentle shove.
"y-you aren't my m-m-muse, dumbass."
he stands up and walks out of the room. then yells, "stan! rich is on the phone. he wants to talk to you, so good luck!"
i scramble up and run to the kitchen, and i grab the landline from bill's hand.
before i can even speak, richie blurts out, "i asked him out."
YOU ARE READING
˚ʚ my heart beats for you in threes - stenbrough ɞ˚
Teen Fiction"and just like that, i wasn't a loser anymore. i was just a loser, and god, that was the one thing that hurt me more than myself or my thoughts. i was just a plain old loser. i was just a plain old loser, and i always fucking would be."
