ethereal : it oneshots

like a vulture and the dead

pairing: stozier. ish.

i will pick and pick and pick and nibble with the little i can fit in my hands, but i will always leave alive and it will always stay dead.

stanley picked up the phone, fooling himself into believing he didn't know the number flashing on the screen. somewhere in his brain he knew that the phone number would forever be a part of him, the way the orange throws away the peel.

"i neeed you to pick me up," richie spoke before stanley even really answered, his voice disjointed and his words long, like he knew the grief he was causing stan. stan sighed; richie was drunk. it had been eight months since they'd spoken, the cold hard breakup that stan knew they needed.

stanley had told him: no, they couldn't still be friends. if they were going to end things, there was no way things would ever return to normal. stanley couldn't let go of the pain in his heart if richie was going to be around, reminding him of what he had left.

and still, richie had kept his phone number.

"call someone else," stan replied, rubbing his eyes as he got out of bed. his body was betraying the words coming out of his mouth, but he'd never been particularly good at saying no to richie. stanley was putting his watch on, marvelling at the fact that he'd even been awake when richie had called.

"i can't. no one is answering 'nd i don't have money for a cab," richie was still slurring his words, a little twinge of guilt pulling at stan's heartstrings. he made a noise like a whine, "my phone's almost dead."

"christ," stan mumbled, struggling to get a jacket on, still unbelieving that he'd recognized richie's number so quickly. to be over someone was to let go, and stanley knew he hadn't let go of richie tozier. a part of him wasn't too sure that he ever could.

"i wouldn't have called if i didn't have to, stanley," richie said, quietly. like he was just as ashamed of calling as stanley was of picking up. something about the use of his full name from richie made stan shiver.

stanley had known their relationship was going to end long before it did; he'd always known richie would have to leave. it had been imparted on stan from the beginning; this overarching grief for a thing he still had.

but his body had ached so much without richie around, it felt natural to come back to richie the way a boomerang returned. no, he wasn't going back to richie. he was helping him out in a desperate moment. it was different (was it?)

"okay, fine, where are you," stanley already had his shoes on when he asked the question, his car keys in hand and his house key in his fingers, jimmied in the lock on his front door.

"fifth. the bar on fifth. thank you." richie coughed away from the phone, it echoing softly into stan's ears. he was surprised; richie hadn't known how to say thank you their entire relationship. "i—oh, fuck," and then richie's voice cut out. his phone had died.

stan sighed through his nose, hurrying down to his car faster than he'd have liked.

richie, outside the bar, cigarette in hand, was easier to spot than stanley had hoped. even with his hood on, hat on, stanley recognized his slump, the way he hunched over his cigarette, threatening to put it out on his knees. when he heard stan's car, clunking as he shifted into neutral to wait for richie to get in, he brushed his hood off his head, stomping his cigarette on the ground.

he stood, wobbling only a little as he grasped the passenger seat handle. stanley watched as he, very focused, got into the car silently.

"sorry. 'm very drunk," richie spoke once he was in the seat, reaching for the door to pull it shut. stanley watched him, trying not to let the grief for their relationship submerge him. he was overwhelmed by the feeling that he'd wasted the last eight months not hunting richie down to beg for him back.