stanley uris (male!oc /self insert)

9

stanley had always been a sensitive boy. whether that was emotionally or physically, (he had very sensitive skin) ever since he was a small child, his teachers used the word often. his mother and father never used the word in front of him, but one night only a few months prior, just days after an incident with henry bowers, he went downstairs to refill the glass of water he always kept next to his bed, when he heard his parents talking.

"what are we going to do, donald?" his mother, andrea sighed. stan crouched on the stairs, being the slight fifteen year old he was, he was easily hidden by the shadows of the walls of their living room, the thin stream of orange light gleamed upon his face. "i don't know, sweetheart. he's got to learn to not take everything so seriously. i'm sure the boys were just playing around," his father put with a frustrated tone, rubbing his brow bone in exasperation.

stan had come home that day with a bleeding nose and lip, crying and whimpering as he staggered into his mother's sewing room. he had spent many rainy days in that room, cuddled up with his dear mother, listening to the radio and embroidering little flowers onto her dresses. stan loved his mother very much. "stanley! what happened to you?" she had shrieked, and she soon sat her son down on the armchair in the corner and handed him a rag to clean his nose somewhat.

"stan, do you want to talk about it?" she prompted him, placing her hand on his shoulder. "it was henry, mama. he got me again. he just kept...he kept punching and..." he started to cry again. "i tried to fight back mom, look" he showed his mom his hands. one of his hands, blood was dirtying the inside of his usually immaculate nails. "i scratched him, on the neck, but he hit me harder, and harder and..." his mother didn't let him finish.

this sensitivity had been present since he was a baby.

even his friends described him as "the sensitive one". he cried the most, got upset the most, got irritated the most, but they just told him it was one of the many reasons they all loved him. but at that moment, stan didn't care if bill, richie, eddie, mike, beverly or ben loved him. he only cared if patrick did.

it had only been three days since stanley had poured his heart out to richie. he was tired of hiding away in his room, cleaning every few hours despite the room being perfect, he was tired of waiting by his window for a bird to fly past. he was tired of many things. so he rang patrick.

"hey patrick!" he greeted as he heard the boys voice say hello. "oh, stan! hi, how are you?" his love replied. their conversation continued as it normally did, when out of the blue, patrick told him, "my parents are out of town, do you want to stay at my house tonight?" stanley immediately accepted the offer.

he often had dreams about patrick. he remembered every single one. the one where they kissed in the arcade, the one where they just lay in bed, cuddling, or the one where patrick asked him to sleep over at his house. only that wasn't a dream, that was happening.

"i'll be over soon!" stan smiled big, realising patrick couldn't see him, but not caring. he put the phone back on the receiver, taking it off and placing it back on the wall several times before he was convinced it wasn't going to fall off as he walked away.

as he raced up the stairs, he ran into his father. "stanley, what are you doing?" he interrogated, caging stan against the banister with his long arms. "sir, may i sleep at a friends house tonight?" he implored, he could predict the words about to come out of his dad's mouth. who is this fri- "who is this friend?" "a new friend, his name is patrick," he answered with a shy smile. his father nodded and let him continue upstairs.

he ran into his room in a frenzy but grabbed his clothes from his drawers carefully, not letting a mere wrinkle form. he packed his monday pyjamas which were white silk, his toiletries, another change of clothes and his childhood cuddly toys, which he still slept with. he stuffed it at the very bottom of his bag.

as soon as he yelled goodbye, jumped on his bike and began the short journey to the town centre where patrick lived, he realised what was happening. he was going to be sleeping over at patrick's house, without any adults. will we sleep in the same room? oh god i forgot my sleeping bag! what if we sleep in the same bed? what if he drools? what if he snores? what if i have a dream about him and say his name in my sleep?

stan was so deep in the tsunami of thought he almost crashed his bike into a tree.

sorry this was so short but i PROMISE things will actually start to happen soon (no one is reading this ok bye)