Stan's day wasn't going so great. All he really wanted to do was stay home with his birds and quiet reading, but no. His supposed best friend, the boy that was supposed to understand that he didn't like loud noises or too many people, had insisted, practically begged of him, to go to this party.
It wasn't so much that it was a party, Stan considered, it was the fact that Richie was one of the people playing it that made the noirette want him so badly to go to it. And it was because of this fact, that Stanley did end up giving in to him.
He stood in front of his mirror. His parents had a small enough family-he was the only child of theirs-that he could have a bathroom all to himself. He was rather grateful for that, as he knew that he hated the prospect of someone else having the ability to touch some of the more personal things in the bathroom. His toothbrush was his, and noone was going to lay a finger on it.
Stanley was trying desperately to brush down the curls that insisted on always sticking up somehow. He couldn't exactly part his hair just right, either, and that bugged him. Stan gave out a breathy sigh, "Whatever."
He was too tired to put too much effort into his hair today. He looked over at the clothes he'd picked out for himself. They laid in a neat little pile on top of a counter. Simple clothing. A pair of khaki's and an ironed, red, button down shirt. Simple. Because it was what he was comfortable in, and besides, what was one supposed to wear to a party, anyway?
Stan changed quickly, tucking his shirt in enough that the sides of it weren't hanging loosely over his pants like some people thought was okay-he found it to be disorderly.
Stan's mom was all too excited for him to be able to go to his first party. Stan knew that she was worried for him. She was always trying to push him to do more social things, while his father was always on the side of: Get work done, study your Torah, be a good kid. Dammit, Stan, you're the rabbi's son and you can't even memorize one section of the Torah.
Stan knew the damn thing. He wasn't stupid. He'd been taught Hebrew just as he'd been taught English. He just didn't connect to Judaism that much, maybe because it was what seemed to attract Henry Bowers' gang.
He shook the thought away, making his way downstairs. His father was in his office; his mother was watching TV. She gave him a pleasant-not exactly warm, but pleasant-smile, "Have fun, bubbi."
Stan forced himself to return the smile, despite the dread of the party lingering on his mind, and walked out of his house.
Luckily, though nothing was luck, he knew, he'd remembered to tuck his bird book into the pocket of his khaki's. It was comforting, just to have it there.
He biked his way to the address Richie had given him. It was just out past the quarry. 'Great,' Stan thought, 'Out in the middle of nowhere.'
Stan parked his bike where most of the teenagers parked their cars.
He looked around. "Richie?" He called out, trying to find his best friend-or any of his friends, really.
Finally, Richie found him, "Heya, Stan the Man! You showed up! I knew you would! Eds here had doubts, but ol' Richie knew better."
Richie slapped him on the back, grinning. Richie's other hand was holding Eddie's, who rolled his eyes, "I just know that Stan doesn't like shit like this, dude."
Richie stuck his tongue out at Eddie, "I think I know my bestie more than you, Spaghetti Man."
Eddie looked slightly annoyed, "Don't call me that."
"And don't use the term 'bestie', Rich," Stan added, making Richie pout a bit.
Richie bounced back, "Anywho, c'mon, Stanny, Benny made us a little stage this way!" Richie grabbed Stan's wrist-which made him wince for a reason he couldn't describe-and began leading him through the crowd of teenagers.
Stan heard Eddie say, "I can't believe your band actually got this popular, Rich. There's a whole bunch of people here."
Richie grinned, "Don't knock my talents on guitar, man!"
Stan had to admit that Richie's band was really good. They'd been practicing a lot.
Richie looked over his shoulder back to Stan, grinning, "We're starting in a bit. Right after this one guy does his set."
Stan nodded, "Cool. Is his band going to be as loud as you guys?" Stan was teasing, but he was also a bit serious. He really didn't want to sit through a few hours of pure yelling.
There were at the front of the crowd now, and Richie put his hand that wasn't holding Eddie's on his hip, "Nah. He's not even in a band. It's just him."
Stan's eyebrows raised, "Really? That's kinda brave."
Richie nodded, "Yeah. We needed a good balance for the show, and he played some shit. It was pretty damn good. Quiet, though. And his style is really...soft."
"Soft?"
"It's the only word I can think of to describe it," Richie set a hand on Stan's shoulder, "Anyway, have fun, my dude. I've got to be getting ready with the band. Seeya in a bit!"
Richie leaned down to peck Eddie's cheek, then tossled his hair before running back behind the little stage.
Eddie and Stan talked for a little bit before Beverly, another one of their friends, came up on the stage. She held the mic up just below her mouth, "Yo! How are we feeling, guys?"
The crowd's attention went to her, and they called out positive yells and whoots.
She laughed, short, fiery hair bouncing in smooth motion. Stan considered that she was somewhat brilliant in looks. He might have even liked her, if not for another crush he had.
She spoke again, energy in her somewhat deep voice, "The main act will be up in a bit, but while we wait for them to get set up, we have another very talented, lovely person for you guys tonight!"
Stan hadn't even noticed the chair that was on the stage, along with an acoustic guitar, and a mic stand.
Beverly was working the crowd; Stan knew that. Her energy level was making the crowd even more loud and worked up. Stan really didn't like it.
She went on, "This guy is one of my closest friends. You may know him as the quiet home schooled kid. Every one give it up for Mike!"
Stan's heart stopped for a moment that felt like forever. He whispered quietly, "No..."
Eddie looked up at him, "What's wrong, Stan?"
Stan shook his head, a genuine smile crossing his face for the first time that day. Mike was crossing the stage, and Beverly met him with a hug, handing him the mic.
Mike gave the crowd a nice smile, even waving. Stan's heart fluttered. Who, except Mike, would be so calm on stage that he can wave to the crowd as if waving to a lifelong friend?
Mike sat down, picking up his guitar and he began to strum it like a professional. Stan was transfixed. Beverly might be vibrant and beautiful in her fiery way, but Mike was ethereal. His face was kind and gentle. His smile brought warmth. It was like when he graced Stan with a grin, he was standing in the rays of the sun. There was noone else that brought that radiance to Stan.
Mike played his guitar with a flow that Stan had to admire. Then, he sang. Mike's voice was soft and sweet, just like him. It wasn't something the crowd could really dance to, but looking around, Stan saw that everyone was as impressed as he was.
Mike sang a song that Stan could've sworn he'd heard before somewhere. It brought him back to a summer when he'd spent a day at Mike's farm, having had nothing else to do. He'd asked Mike if he could help out, not wanting to just be in the way.
He'd been helping Mike feed his sheep, when he heard Mike hum for the very first time. It was this very song, but without words and just a light melody.
Now the words filled Stan's ears and he was tempted to hum along.
Mike hit a soft falsetto, and Stan melted. His eyes were lidded, and a light blush crossed his cheeks. The tip of his nose got so red when he blushed.
Stan's breath caught when he felt Eddie tapping lightly on his shoulder, "Stan, you okay? You look flushed? Are you sick?"
Stan shook his head, "No. I'm just... I'm enjoying myself."
"Oh!" Eddie's high pitched voice let out, "Good!"
Stan nodded slowly, "Yeah," and his attention was focused back on Mike. Mike's set was finished far too quickly, and he rose to his feet, waving at the crowd once more, "Thank you!"
Beverly rushed back out to hug him, say he did great, and took the mic back, "Give it up again for Mike Hanlon!" The crowd gave out more enthusiastic 'whoo's and calls.
Mike took his guitar, and the stagehands, who were just Ben and Bill, started setting up the stage for Rich's indie band.
Mike was off stage and was looking around, hoping to find his friends now that his time onstage was over. Stan felt himself running before the action was crossed his mind.
He heard Eddie call out, "Stan, where are you-" Stan ran straight to Mike, wrapping his arms around Mike's neck. Mike let out an 'oof' of surprise and hugged Stan back, patting his back, "Hey, man."
Stan's eyes were satellites, "Dude! I didn't know you were so beautiful! Or, uh, I mean-that you played so beautifully! You were...I mean, you did great, is what I'm trying to say."
Mike laughed, "Thanks, Stanley. That means a lot."
Stan grew more awkward as his brain caught up with his body's motions, "Yeah." Stan retracted his hands, feeling clumsy and embarrassed despite Mike's easy going personality and reassurances that he didn't mind Stan at all. "I just, wow. I could never do anything like that, you know?"
Mike waved that away, "You could."
Stan shook his head, admiration still shining in his eyes, "No. I couldn't. Nerves."
Mike gave off a soft 'hmm', then let the subject drop, but Stan could see an idea in his dark eyes. "I think Eddie is looking for you," Mike nodded over behind Stan to where Eddie was, trying to search him out.
Stan nodded, "Yeah, I left him when-" When I saw you. The words would never leave his brain. It seems he's too nervous to do more than just perform.
Mike, however, wasn't. He slung his guitar strap over his shoulder, "Mind if I come with you?"
Stan tucked a loose curl that was bothering him behind his ear, then nodded, "Of course, Mike."
Mike smiled, a hand holding onto the strap of his guitar and the other carefully slung around Stan's shoulders. Stan cast his gaze down, a smile lighting up his face.
They stood like that, always either bumping shoulders or leaning on one another the rest of the night, as Beverly sang in hers and Richie's band and Rich jammed on his guitar.
Just like that, Stan's day had gotten so much better.
