cue: confusion [IT FANFICTION]

i am a conscious meat sack

Like most protagonists, my social life was mostly defined by my fairly conventional family.

The clatter of silverware and the warm aroma of roasted chicken filled the famed Denbrough kitchen as I settled into my usual spot at the table. My parents greeted me with small nods while Georgie animatedly shared stories from school.

"...and then I told Ms. Rogers that if we didn't get more recess, I'd protest!" Georgie exclaimed, his eyes wide with excitement.

I laughed softly in response, sitting down next to Georgie. My father, seated at the head of the table, smiled indulgently, but I knew if Georgie actually were to protest at school my dad would probably shrivel up and become a raisin out of embarrassment.

"Sounds like you've got a plan, buddy," my mom said, a hint of pride in his voice. Then, as if recalling something, she glanced at me. "It was nice seeing Stan around again, huh?"

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. "It's j-just for schoolwork."

"Right, schoolwork," Mom said, giving a slight nod but still looking curious. "What happened between you two anyway? You used to be practically inseparable."

I picked at my food, avoiding making eye contact. "We just d-d-drifted apart. He got more invested in theater, I g-guess?"

My dad nodded slightly. "He did always seem like the type."

Georgie piped up, "He's gonna be in the play with you, right?"

I froze for a moment, my fork halfway to my mouth. "Uh, y-yeah, he is," I replied, trying to sound casual.

"Is this right?" Dad said, an amused smile creeping across his face. "And what got you into... theater? It's a bit different from what you usually go for."

"What do you m-m-mean?" I asked, still oblivious to what he might be implying.

My dad leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Well, you know how people talk about theater and... the types of boys who like to perform. It can get people wondering."

"Dad, it's j-just a play," I said firmly, a hint of irritation creeping into my voice. "It d-d-doesn't mean anything."

Georgie looked back and forth between us, confusion etched on his small face. "Wait, what's wrong with plays?"

"Nothing at all, Georgie," their mother interjected, her tone soothing. Her tone was a bit more firm "Some people just have old-fashioned ideas. What's important is that you're having fun, Bill."

"Right." I said, glancing at my mom with a grateful look before saying to my dad, "Besides, I'm only d-d-doing this because R-Richie dragged me into it.

"Richie, huh?" My dad said, glancing at me with a mix of curiosity and amusement. "I remember him. Kid's always running around like a peacock."

I scowled slightly at this, but Georgie, still blissfully ignorant, exclaimed, "He's always doing the funniest voices!"

"He's expressive, that's for sure." My dad muttered under his breath.

"What's that supposed to m-mean?" I replied, my voice a little more quiet but still laced with irritation.

He shrugged. "Hey, I'm just saying. He's always been more of the flamboyant type, more than your other friends."

I bit back a scathing response, pressing my lips together and looking back to my food.

"And if you're keen on hanging around kids like him and Stanley—" My dad cut himself off when my mom shot him a warning look.

"What we're trying to say," My mom began, a supportive smile on her face. "Is that we'll support however you want to express yourself. It's important to experiment like this in high school anyway."