Summer of '93 - Stozier

55

"Stan, hey!"

Richies voice startled Stan, causing him to jump. Cursing under his breath, he watched as the bird that had previously been drinking from the birdbath at the memorial park flew away.

"Sorry." Richie whispered, sitting himself down beside Stan on the bench.

"Aren't you supposed to be hanging out with Eddie today?" Stan asked, not meaning to sound rude.

"Nope, he bailed on me to hang out with Bill." Richie shrugged. "Whatcha doin'? Stalking the birds?"

"Yes, now keep quiet! You already scared one off." The other boy muttered, his gaze focused on some sort of sparrow and another bird Richie didn't know the exact name of as it landed on the birdbath.

Richie was only able to hold his tongue for a few minutes, but he's Richie! What did you expect? "Seen any tits yet, Staniel?" He joked. Good ol' bird related humour, that oughta brighten Stan up!

"Haha." Stan replied in a monotone voice, looking through his binoculars at the birds.

Did I piss him off or something? Richie thought, a little panicked.

"So.. six days til the festival! You're still going, right?"

"Yup."

"I mean- cause we always go together, tradition and shit, y'know? But its fine if you're not, i'm sure Ben'll hang with me there—" Richie rambled.

"Im going! Just shut up!" Stan snapped, sighing as the birds flew away, scared by his sudden outburst, as was Richie. "Fucking hell." He sighed.

Richie bit his bottom lip, bouncing his leg anxiously as his brain put on a slideshow of everything he could have done to piss Stanley off.

"Im sorry, Rich." Stan spoke softly, placing a hand on Richies knee to stop it from bouncing. "I didn't mean to yell at you."

"Did I do something wrong?" He asked.

"No, I just— My mom called me at Bills today, she asked me to come down to the synagogue since I was supposed to go last week—and the week before that— and— the week before that, you get it, anyway- uh.. I get there, and its fine for the first like— ten minutes? Until my dad shows up with some rabbi i've never met before and tries to talk to me about this fuckin'— conversation therapy camp-school thing— Im not even—! I mean- I don't think— why cant he just- Ugh!!" Richie took Stans hand in his own and ran his thumb over the knuckles, since its what Stan usually does to calm Richie down. "Anyway," Stan sighed loudly, looking over at Richie, who had his gaze focused on their joined hands. "We got into another argument, I told him to fuck off, and my mom was just— she didn't even say anything, dude.. she just let him yell at me.. she always does! Love really does make you blind, huh?" He laughed sadly.

"So i've heard." Richie chuckled a little. "And, you're dads a dick, don't let him get under your skin! I mean, you're not even— so—" He paused for a second. "Parents are assholes, man."

"Yeah, no shit." Stan laughed again. "C'mon," He stood up, packing his bird book, sketchpad and binoculars into his backpack and reaching out for Richies hand again.

Richie took his hand and pulled himself up. "We aren't staying to stalk the birds?"

"Nah, they're disturbed by your presence." Stan joked.

"Hey! what did I do?!"

"Breathed."

Richie scoffed. "You are so mean to me! Im starting to think you don't love me!" He fake sniffled, draping his arm over his eyes dramatically.