Stanley Uris, a boy with three secrets hidden beneath a thick sweater - one of them being his love for his best friend.
Bill Denbrough, a boy who spends every morning trying to convince himself he's not gay.
This is their tale, told through both of...
[a/n: this chapter is chock full of profanity, because I wrote it at 3 am with my vulgar best friend, and I actually kinda like it haha, but it actually had wayyyy more before I edited. plot summary at the bottom in case you're not comfortable with the language and mentions of sex. also, a very small trigger warning for self-harm. it's very little in this chapter]
"Please, for the sake of my shattered and exhausted heart, don't turn out to be like everybody else."
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Stan didn't know how to cope. Everything he'd spent months searching for had finally become his, and now its fragile presence was shattered in a single heartbeat. Stan bitterly hoped Bill and Richie were enjoying their fucking because that was all they'd ever have. His brain wound in circles, and with each restart, he remembered he was back in the Bad, back where he started, back at the start of the cycle.
Why did I put my heart out there? I was finally close to the leader of the Losers, the boy I love, and he goes and fucks one of our best friends! Fuck! Fuck that! Fuck trusting him, fuck loving him, fuck ever wanting to be with him! Fuck him! Oh, wait, I can't, he's too busy shoving his dick up Richie's ass.
Blood dribbled from the multiple thin cuts and a resentful satisfaction joined Stan intense pain. The razor, his arm, his own art that matched even a skilled artist such as Bill's. Fucking Bill Denbrough thought he was some brave leader who could go and be with three people? Bill Denbrough was a slut. Well, Stan could also be an artist. He could create intricate and lovely murals on his ceramic skin. Well, Stan could be brave too — at least he didn't have a string of boyfriends and girlfriends trailing behind him, hurt by his coming and going. At least Stan felt the pain he'd been given like any honourable human, instead of tucking it away in the folds of his lies, and getting it out through humping any hole that opened up beside him.
Another cut. Another steam of tears. Another web of swears knotting itself in Stan's mind. Bill was cheating on his three closest friends and hurting everyone along the way. Stan could imagine the pain on Bev's face when she found out her dedicated boyfriend was gay and with two other guys, in what was most definitely not an open relationship. And Richie, Richie probably knew about all of Bill's activities, for he was just as much of a slut.
Bill. Stan had loved him for so long, and now he hated the beautiful, tall, thin boy. He hated him with every fibre in his body. Stan Uris hated, absolutely hated, Bill Denbrough.
Stan grabbed the razor and created his own artwork, made of blood and skin and blades.
And then he put his face in his hands and screamed until every ounce of energy was drained from his broken body, and then he slumped onto his desk and let his blood seep into the wood. This was the stain he had left on the world, just as the pain in his chest was all Bill had left him.
[a/n oh my god this chapter is a train-wreck, oh well, that's what you get for writing at 3 in the morning.
not much even happened in thischapter. stan is not okay. he is having a lot of trouble coping with all that's going on.]
