[Stozier is up there with Reddie for me so enjoy this!]
"Whatcha lookin', at, Stanny?" Richie pestered, leaning into the curly-haired-boy's shoulder with nonexistent grace. "See any hot girls through those things?" Richie grasped at Stan's binoculars with a childlike "gimme!" urgency, but Stan seemed to have a death grip on them.
"No, Richie, would you stop-" with a grunt, Stan yanked his binoculars away from Richie's hands and quickly put them back up to his eyes. "I hate you, Trashmouth. That was an indigo bunting you made me lose track of."
Richie paused for a brief moment before starting to make obnoxious beeping noises.
"Richie, seriously, what are you-"
"Sorry, Stan," Richie interrupted, genuine regret in his voice. Almost immediately after the apology left his mouth, a sly grin spread across Richie's face. "It's just, my virgin alert doesn't have an off switch."
Stan moved as if to throw his binoculars to the ground in frustration, but he stopped just before letting go - they had been a gift from his dad at his Bar mitzvah, and Stan cherished them deeply. Sighing heavily, Stan slung the binoculars' strap over his head and picked up his bird book, shaking off the dirt.
Shifting his position to face Richie, Stan set the book in his lap with a smack that made Richie jump. "Why do you always have to bug me, anyways? The only thing I've ever done to you is- I don't even know, be Jewish?"
Richie snorted at this and gently slapped his hand across Stan's knee. "Stan the man makes a joke for once in his life!" Richie laughed, but quickly stopped as he noticed that Stan wasn't smiling. Maybe that's it, Richie thought, I need a reaction out of him. He doesn't even crack a smile at his own jokes!
The two boys stared at each other for a moment, both seemingly deep in thought.
"Well damn, Stan, you might have to let me take a look in your Torah so I can see if it says anything about not being able to fuckin' laugh," Richie finally said, and, to Richie's utter delight, a small smile crept across Stan's face.
"I laugh plenty, Richie, you're just insufferable," Stan said, the grin still on his face.
"Jesus, is it just your personal goal in life to pretend not to like me? Because - and maybe this is just me - I feel like I'm growing on you. I'm right, right? This is just an elaborate act because you secretly want me to bother you, because maybe it pisses you off that I never clean my glasses and my shirt's always untucked, but you love me and you'd be lost without my wit and good look-" Richie ranted, watching Stan's face for a reaction.
Suddenly Stan was in Richie's face, touching his face, and his hands were in Richie's shaggy hair and their noses were bumping and their lips were together and then it was over, Richie wide-eyed, flushed, and breathless, Stan still smiling that same sly smile with only a hint of blush on his ears and nose.
"I really do hate you, Trashmouth," Stan said, his tone light and his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Keep trying, though. You flatter me." With a completely uncharacteristic wink, Stan picked up his bird book and stood, binoculars still swinging around his neck, and started crawling through the bushes out of the Barrens.
Richie sat in the dirt for what felt like hours, touching his face where Stan's curls had tickled his cheeks and furiously cleaning his glasses until not a single smudge remained. He had hope now, and a mission, and he would cling to that hope until Stan was in love with him.
