ethereal : it oneshots

too long unchanged

pairing: stozier

it's weird to be in a room full of people you haven't seen since you were seventeen. all of them have grown up somehow, in only five years, and you feel like the same, uninteresting, sad, boring one of the bunch that you were back then. now, of course, you can put words to the thoughts that plague your head like an unrelenting cough, but just because you can now say that you're depressed doesn't make the depression any less there.

"part of me never thought we'd get to hang out again," beverly says suddenly, interrupting the silence that had sat between all of them while stanley had been thinking.

"what? i knew we'd see each other again," bill says, and stan realizes how strange it is that he doesn't have a stutter anymore. stan's finger runs across the rim of his mug—god, time changes us all. has stan changed, too?

"no, i get what bev's saying, like, i kinda felt like that day at the quarry was gonna be our last time ever hanging out. it felt final. but i'm glad we're all here, you know?" mike chimes in, seemingly in as much deep thought as stan.

"did you think we would die?" richie laughs, and stan's throat closes up just a little.

see, this is weird enough. but it's weirder to be in a room with the man who used to be the boy that you used to be madly in love with. the man who used to be the boy that loved you back. but now five years have passed, and stanley isn't sure what richie feels, or how richie feels, or why or when or—and it doesn't matter. stanley wants to tell himself it doesn't matter. but time has not changed stanley. not in that department, anyway.

"that's not that crazy, people die all the time," eddie sighs, and richie laughs at him.

stanley and richie haven't spoken all night. stan has only allowed himself to glance at richie every so often, with glasses that finally fit his face, and hair that curls over his forehead like god blessed it so. time has passed and richie's hair is long now and stanley doesn't know what to do with his fingers other than run them around the rim of his mug.

"bev, can i make more hot chocolate?" ben asks, halfway out of his armchair. beverly nods, and sends him a smile that almost makes stanley jealous. he still loves all of his losers the way he did back then, when his heart knew how to beat and his mind knew how to think. his heart now feels like an overripe fruit, with bruises in the spots where all of these stupid idiots belong.

"i'm going for a smoke." richie announces, standing up dramatically. stanley lets his eyes follow richie's movement, and watch the way richie's fingers fiddle with his front pocket. "bev, is your fire escape fine or do i have to go downstairs?"

"fire escape's fine, just close the window after you."

and for reasons stanley can't explain—except that things are already weird, so why not—stan stands up after him. "can i bum one?" he asks, and richie turns to him. they meet eyes for the first real time since they'd all met richie at the airport.

and fuck, richie is still beautiful. and stan knew, i mean of course he knew, but richie is still beautiful, only older, and with slightly more pronounced bags under his eyes. time has been so good to you, stanley thinks absentmindedly.

a small smile appears on richie's face, almost as if he's been waiting for stanley to ask. his eyes seem to glitter like no time has passed between them. "o' course," he says, and beckons with his fingers for stanley to follow. stan does.

as the two of them climb out onto the fire escape, richie then stan, they realize it's been raining. the metal is slick, wetting the bottom of richie's jeans and stan's cotton socks.

richie laughs, "of course it's fuckin' raining," he reaches behind stan to close the window, and stanley decides to give in to the rain. he sits down on the metal bars, watching richie attempt to perch on the two inches or so of windowsill.