stanley uris (male!oc /self insert)

1

stanley was a boy of habit, routine, order. he awoke as soon as he heard the birds chirping outside his window and fell asleep as soon as his head hit his pillow that night. he arrived at school at 9 o'clock in the morning, dressed in his usual attire, and made his way home again at 3 o'clock.

he took the same route in the morning as he did in the afternoon. the 10 minutes he had to himself, before the incessant bickering between his best friends richie tozier and eddie kaspbrak, the stuttering speech of bill denbrough, the optimistic chatter of beverly marsh, the constant whistling, humming or singing of farmer mike hanlon, who started public school after being homeschooled for so many years, the poetic drabbles of ben hanscom.

stanley relished every second of those 10 minutes, he took this time to say hello to the birds.

in the spring, when the soft breeze danced through the air, the smell of flowers and freshly cut grass. the smell brought a smile to stanley's face, he felt giddy as he thought of all the new baby birds that would hatch this season.

in the summer, when the hot sun was beating down onto him, lightly tanning his porcelain skin, a cluster of freckles collecting on his cheeks and his muted chestnut curls shining blond. stanley seen the most colourful birds in summer, the most beautiful blues, reds yellows and greens he'd ever seen. he burnt easily, his mother always dotted the rounded tip of his nose with sunscreen. it always ended up red and dry anyway.

in the autumn, when the pavements were decorated with fiery shades, the contrast with the crimson of the leaves and the dull grey of the pavement sometimes distracted stanley, he sometimes wondered if that was how he seemed to the outside world. contrasted. he mostly seen crows during this time, but he still greeted them every morning with a smile.

in the winter, when he was wrapped up tight with a scarf around his neck and his cheeks flushed pink and his lips scarlet with the cold. he felt fragile during this time, like if someone hit him too hard, he would shatter and break like the icicles that hung from the guttering above his window. the most beautiful birds of all, stanley thought, was the robin. such a perfect creature.

it was a summer morning, and stanley began it just like any other. the birds woke him at 7 o'clock, that day he wore a blue shirt tucked into black shorts, white socks pulled straight over his thin ankles and a pair of white trainers.

stanley's day was supposed to be the same as every other. wake up, go to school, go home, do homework and then sleep. but as soon as he seen patrick, he felt all sense of direction and self awareness leave him and he was overcome with a flood of disorientation and dread fill him. patrick always smiled at him. a soft, gentle, warm smile. stan always panicked. he often stared agape at him as he walked past.

patrick was by far one of the most beautiful people stanley had ever seen. he often wore black jeans and white shirts. he dressed as plain as he could, considering how intensely he was bullied for being a "fairy" and a "faggot", he didn't want to draw more attention to himself. he wore the same clothes everyday, but seeing how they never got dirty, stanley assumed he owned 5 white shirts and 5 pairs of black jeans. the only thing about his clothes that stood out to him was the cross around his neck that hung from a silver chain. if he had a dollar for every time henry bowers had grabbed the cross and tugged, the thin chain snapping with barely a sound, he would be a millionaire.

although the thought of patrick brought heat to his cheeks and quickened the pace of his heart beat, he adored studying the unique details of his face.

his eyes were bright blue with a navy ring around the outside of his iris and he had the darkest and longest eyelashes he'd ever seen, it was like he always had mascara on. he had many freckles across his tan cheeks and a beauty mark that rested just below his left eye. he didn't have the most intense bone structure, but he obviously hit puberty long before everyone else as his jawline jutted out sharply and his adam's apple bobbed up and down in his throat when he threw his head back and let out his cackle of a laugh. his nose was a smooth mountain that turned up slightly at its peak. patrick had a head of thick, black, shiny curls that cascaded from his scalp to his jaw. his lips were what kept him up at night. stanley had many nightmares but none of them made him toss and turn like they did. they were full and pink, they were never dry or chapped, they always looked healthy and hydrated. as soon as the thought of kissing them entered stanley's mind he felt all the heat from his body rise to his face and turn him scarlet.

patrick was a tall boy, he was three or four inches taller than him. stanley wasn't short by any means, he absolutely towered over his health anxiety filled friend eddie kaspbrak, but then again, everyone did.

patrick was the same height as his tormentor henry bowers. this didn't help him much, as on this particular day, patrick walked the halls with a cut on the bridge of his nose where henry must've punched him the week before.

it was june and it was hot enough to fry an egg on the hood of a car. everyone moved with labour, sluggishly dragging their converse-clad feet along the floor of the hallways of their school. it was the last day of the year.

stanley's thoughts were interrupted by the voice of bill denbrough as they all entered the school grounds on their bikes.
"w-w-w-what should w-we do t-t-tomo-tomorrow guys?"
he said, his eyes bright and hopeful. richie tozier readjusted his glasses and gave the suggestion that they go to the quarry. everyone nodded and agreed to this, including stan. he didn't not want to go, but sometimes he had days were everything just became too much. he felt as though that summer would have many of those days.