hidden ~ stenbrough

Chapter Three: Stan

"I'll be alright. One day. Someday. Just not today."

"Hey, Stan the man, wanna come to a party tonight? My parents are out of town," Richie explained as they walked out of their last period class.

Stan shrugged. "Sure. Who's going?"

"The Losers. Mike's coming."

"Okay, cool." Parties were at the bottom of Stan's wish-list, right there with watch Bill and Bev kiss, which would undoubtedly also occur at this party. Hm, two birds with one stone. Birds didn't deserve to be hit...

Of course, Stan hid his true feelings. He was getting pretty fucking pissed that he hid everything. And yet at some point along the line of lying to all his friends, he found he couldn't imagine a world in which he told the truth.

"What time should I come?" he asked, pulling himself from the underwater grave of his thoughts.

"Eight," the dark-haired boy replied. "Bring your mom."

"Shut up," Stan snapped jokingly, though it wasn't really a joke.

"Oh, that's what she said last night." His smile glowed with mischief. "She said she had a full mouth and didn't wanna talk."

Feeling as though he could have vomited for real, Stan pretended to throw up. "You're disgusting, Rich," he declared.

He shrugged. "I'll see ya at eight, 'kay?"

"Yep. I'll be there." As Richie turned to go home, Stan headed for his locker. He couldn't stop the unforgivable thoughts filling his mind. I'm always here. I'm just here, and nothing more. He wanted to scream, but it felt as if his feelings were being drowned by his hiding, and he was left a shell, an empty, broken shell wishing to be whole again.

The one who could fix him was busy sucking Bev's face.

•

"Stanley, where are you going?" his father, Donald, demanded as he headed to the door with his bike at seven forty-five.

He glanced over his shoulder and wondered what his father would say if he told him everything. "Uh, I'm hanging out at Richie's."

"Okay. Be home by eleven."

"Alright." Stan liked curfew. He could leave whatever undesirable place in which he'd found himself, and go home...to sit at his desk all night. Perfect, he thought with biting sarcasm. He didn't like curfew, he supposed, but really, what did he like? He liked living in his head, because in there, the only one who could judge and hurt him was himself.

What about a certain green-eyed boy?

Okay, yep, that worked. Despite all the birds in line for murder by thrown stones, and Stan's reluctance to sit around and watch the aforementioned birds during their gruesome and brutal murder (not wanting to watch birds? What was this madness?) he walked out the door and rode to Richie's house. At least Bill would be there...right? Maybe he and Bev wouldn't kiss too much. Who am I kidding?

Once he arrived, Stan left his bike by the steps and walked up. Eddie answered his knock, looking relieved to see Stan. The sounds of laughter and terrible, loud music slipped out from the doorway to another world.

"Hey, Stan."

"Hi, Eddie. Who's here?"

"Uh, everyone but Mike and Bill," he answered. "Come on in."

Stan locked his bike outside, noticing the line of bikes next to his. Silver, Bill's beloved bike, wasn't there. You already knew that, dumbass! You're not in love with a damn bike.

Silencing all those blasted 'feelings' people sometimes mentioned, the boy entered and found his friends sitting in Richie's living room. Two bowls of chips, some pop and some beer were on the table. What sounded like Led Zeppelin was playing from Richie's speaker.

"Hey," Stan greeted the Losers.

"Hi"s and "Hey"s echoed his. He sat down on the couch, next to a reluctant-looking Eddie. Ben was on the far side, while Bev took the cushioned chair and Richie sat on its arm.

"Heyyy, Stan the man," the host said exuberantly. "Want some beer?"

Stan narrowed his eyes. "You have beer?"

"Yep. My parents aren't here, remember?"

"Yeah, okay, I'll have one." There was Stan Uris, hiding his hatred of breaking the rules. He didn't even like beer. There was Stan Uris, wearing his black sweater on a hot autumn night, holding a can of disgusting beer.

"As soon as Mike and Bill show up, we're gonna play Seven Minutes in Heaven," Richie told everyone.

Eddie groaned. "Whyyyyy."

"It's fun," Bev piped up.

Ben and Stan exchanged a doubtful look.

There was suddenly a knock on the door. "Got it," Stan called out, closest to the entrance.

He regretted everything when he opened the door to find Bill.

"H-hey, St-Stan," the newcomer stuttered.

Was it just Stan, or were his green eyes the most beautiful fucking things in the world?

After a moment in which Stan registered that he hadn't answered, he said hastily, "Hi, Bill. Is Mike here?"

There were thumps on the stairs and Mike appeared next to Bill at the door.

"Hey Mike. Come on in, guys." Stan turned and led them to the party, where the other expectant Losers had grabbed a bottle and moved the coffee table so they could sit in a circle on the floor.

"Oooooh, are we playing Spin the Bottle?" Mike asked.

Richie nodded excitedly. "It's not kissing, though. You have to go in the closet for seven minutes. It's basically Seven Minutes in Heaven."

"Or hell," Eddie muttered darkly.

"F-fun," Bill added from behind Stan, oblivious to Eddie's comment.

The three boys joined the circle. Richie, across the circle from Stan, and next to Bev and Bill, smiled and grabbed the bottle. "I'll go first," he announced.

His spin took forever. When he landed on Ben, he raised an eyebrow. The energetic Richie and the nervous Ben disappeared in the closet for seven minutes before emerging seemingly fine. Ben blushed a little.

"Nothing happened," the larger boy explained hastily.

"Mhmm," Richie agreed, winking.

Ben rolled his eyes and laughed.

Ben went next, and for four hundred an twenty seconds he and Mike were in a tight space together. Mike spun Bev, and then Bev spun Bill.

As the partners got up, holding hands, Eddie nudged Stan and pretended to barf. Stan forced a smile, wishing that for even a single day, his smiles could be at least a little sincere.

After seven minutes, Richie got up to bang on the door as he always did. It took an extra minute for Bev and Bill to return, both red-faced and grinning like fools. Stan wanted to bang his head against a wall.

"Heheh," Bill laughed. He grabbed the bottle and spun it. Of course, fucking of course, it ended up pointing at Stan. What great luck.

"O-okay, Stan, l-let's go."

Once the door closed, a bitter wave of claustrophobia washed over Stan. And that was coming from someone who didn't have claustrophobia. Bill turned on the dim light and they stood face to face. Awkward, much.

Seven minutes with the boy I love...some people would get excited about this sort of thing. I'm not one of those people.