From the street, the house looked significantly worn down, shutters and roof tiles knocked sideways from years of heavy rain and winds. The front door was painted a deep muddy red, lacquer peeling at the edges of the knocker. The portico leaned a little on one side over the porch and the soggy wooden steps sagged in the center. Two windows, like grime-filmed eyes, peeked over the portico. There was a rounded corner on stage left of the house, much like a tower, the siding of which had chipped away in some places. The house at 29 Neibolt Street was definitely in need of some TLC.
Richie Tozier's rusted 1997 Ford pickup truck grumbled up to the curb outside, Nirvana blasting out the rolled down window. Eddie Kaspbrak, mop of brown curls fluttering in the breeze, leaned out until his chest rested on the sill. He chewed the inside of his cheek, then turned to look at Richie.
Richie, five foot eleven and so lanky it looked as though he had folded his arms up nine times to fit them over the steering wheel, was squinting up at the house through the windshield, dark eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses.
"What do you think?" Eddie asked, looking back at the house. It gave off a serious air of "haunted".
Behind him, Richie shrugged, looking in the rear view mirror. "I dunno, Bill looked at it. He said it's okay on the inside. Tons of bedrooms. At least two bathrooms probably."
"It must be bigger on the back then." Eddie pulled himself back inside the car, smoothing the front of his green polo shirt.
Richie and Eddie had been friends since elementary school, and their friendship had bloomed as they grew, now both 23 - Eddie was two months younger, but the only person to point that out was Richie himself. Their friendship had been through a lot, what with all of childhood and puberty behind them, they had seen the absolute best and worst of each other. Richie's absentee parents, Eddie's overbearing mother, broken arms, blackened eyes, screaming at one another at 2:15 am in the middle of Jackson Street when Eddie came out to the others first, because, "How could you not tell me, Eds? I'm your best friend!" and "Jesus Rich are you goddamn blind?" but ending with, "I fucking love you, 'kay? And if you ever wanna practice blowjo-" and "Beep beep, Richie."
Eddie had just graduated college from the University of Maine with a degree in health and recreation and Richie was taking classes through Penobscot County Community College. When Bill approached them with the idea to shack up with the rest of the Losers at this, "Great place, on Neibolt, p-p-shit-past the trailer park?" they had practically snatched the offer before Bill could finish. Richie could finally move out of Donald Elbert's rundown shack of an apartment, where the carpet was not its original color from cigarette burns and overflowing beer and according to the thin waxy residue on the walls, meth had been smoked inside at some point. That wasn't Richie's scene; he just smoked yellow American Spirits. Eddie, in the same breath, would do ANYTHING not to have to move back in with his mother. He was sure if he looked at his phone right now, he would have at least six missed calls and 27 text messages asking where he was, was he okay, why wasn't he answering, Eddie, oh Eddie please call. His mother who, ever since he had broken his arm the summer he turned 11 and had revealed to her he knew his "medicine" was fake, was dictionary Munchausen by proxy to a fault. After he had come out to her, well, Beverly then Bill then Mike and Stan then Ben then Richie THEN her, she had all but cut him off from having a normal social life. Thank god for the acceptance letter from UMaine. He had gone, and flourished, by god. Parties, Alpha Gamma Rho, boys - heavens the boys - and a job at a coffee shop. He had made so many amazing friends, but none of them would ever replace the Losers.
Now they sat together in Richie's secondhand navy truck, waiting for them to arrive. Not far behind them, they could see Beverly's Jeep coming down the road. She and Ben had hitched a little U-Haul to it, which carried an odd assortment of boxes and pieces of furniture, some of which was theirs. The others would probably be riding along in the larger box truck Bill had rented with the couches and chairs, a small kitchen table and ramshackle mixing of chairs, more boxes, a poorly bubble-wrapped television courtesy of Richie, and a stack of mattresses.
"We're talking about the house, not your mom," Richie started.
"Beep beep, Rich." Eddie smiled at him. His teeth were stark whites against the deepening tan of his skin. The past four summers had been good to him.
A honk came from behind them and they turned in their seats to see Beverly Marsh waving at them. She killed the engine of the jeep and got out, heart shaped shades covering her baby blues. She was wearing shorts, cut off halfway down her thighs, scribbled on with multicolored sharpie, courtesy of all of the Losers and a quick signature on the right butt pocket from Emily Nokes from Tacocat. Her freckled shoulders were exposed to the sun, a sheer blue croptop pulled up over her belly button. She pulled a cigarette from behind her right ear and fished a lighter out of her pocket. Richie and Eddie got out of the truck, Richie following suit with the smoke and they exhaled together.
"How was the drive?" Eddie asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He held his breath whenever the breeze pushed the cigarette smoke in his direction. His asthma had died down - all in his head after all - but the smell sometimes made him sneeze.
Beverly exhaled and licked her bottom lip. "Not too terrible honestly, traffic was shit as I was leaving, but all in all, I got here in two hours flat." She kicked at a pebble with her stark black Converse.
"It's because you drive like an asshole." Richie laughed, flicking the condensing ash off the end of his cigarette. Beverly snorted and she adjusted the piercing through her septum.
"Shit you right bitch." She stuck her tongue out at him. He returned the gesture.
Eddie smiled. Two of his best friends were here, and soon, they would all be living together under one roof. He looked at Bev, then Richie. He had to squint because Richie's head was at the level of the sun from his own five foot four. Richie radiated happiness. Eddie had a feeling that he felt the same way about the housing situation, regardless of outward appearances.
Not far off, the sound of a motorcycle roared closer. Bev giggled and clapped her hands together, knocking the cherry out of her cigarette. "Oh my fucking god, wait till you see his new bike, okay? Fucking gorgeous."
She was referring, of course, to Ben Hanscom. The two had been an off and on thing since middle school, only because she had moved up to Portland to live with her aunt. She came back to her Losers every summer, and every summer, she and Ben had rekindled their tiny burning flame of a romance. Then when she came back the summer after sophomore year, she found Ben a completely changed man. He had slimmed down significantly, and shot up a whole foot, standing at six foot two now. He towered over her, but she loved it. She could not remember a time, really, that she had not loved him. Even when he was a chubby little boy she had loved him, he had treated her like a princess since day one. And now, officially together, their love was strong and passionate. They could often be found kissing, huffing and panting in hallways, sneaking away from parties to make love anywhere and everywhere, looping pinkies as they walked. But of course, they were madly in love.
Ben's Yamaha rolled around the jeep onto the opposite side of the road. He killed the engine and adjusted the lapel of his leather jacket. Bev looked excitedly at Richie and Eddie, who raised his eyebrows at her, and then bit her lip and ran to him. He pulled off his black helmet, and smoothed his hair. He had a thin graze of stubble across his jaw and his face lit up when he saw her. Before he could even dismount, she was kissing him, throwing her arms around his neck and tossing her smoke simultaneously. Richie looked at Eddie and winked. "We could be hot and heavy like that you know."
Eddie rolled his eyes. "Are we going for a 'beep' record today, Rich?" He pushed playfully at Richie's arm and blushed. Richie's arms were toned and gave little against his fingertips. For some reason touching Richie's skin made Eddie's fingers burn.
Ben had dug a hand in Beverly's short auburn hair, and she moaned against his mouth. His stubble bit at her skin but she liked it. He smiled into her teeth. "Baby, how I have missed you."
She giggled. "You know I love it when you call me baby like that," she placed another kiss on his mouth. "And you just saw me last weekend."
He smirked and looked up at the sky, a mock eye roll. "Too long. Five damn days. But now," he pulled her closer to him and she tossed her head back, giggling. "We get to live together. You ready for that?" He turned his head down a little so he could look up at her through thick eyelashes.
"As long as you can help me fix this place up. Look at it."
They turned and looked. Ben blew a long wind of air from between his teeth. He squinched his eyes at the awnings and his mind whirled around the dimensions of the turret. He was good with his hands, and with Mike's carpentry skills and Stan's attention to detail, they could probably straighten all of the leaning bits and pieces of the house. It was Victorian, and had at one point been painted what Ben thought was a light grey. It would be a great project, he thought.
"Oh, it's not so bad," he said, looking back at her. "A little bit of a fixer-upper." She smiled, and kissed him yet again as a U-Haul and a small silver Toyota pulled up behind her jeep. It was Bill, Stan, and Mike.
They killed the engines of their respective vehicles and each got out. Bill Denbrough tossed a wave, the keys of the U-Haul dangling from his fingers. He pushed them into his back pocket and turned to wait for Stan and Mike. The two came up and Bill slapped Mike on the back, laughing at something Richie, Eddie, Ben, and Bev could not hear. They approached, Stan and Mike jabbering on about their drive. Richie dropped his cigarette and squashed it under the heel of his combat boot, leaning against the tailgate of his truck.
"Jesus tits, kids, took ya long enough. I thought you had forgotten about us!" He said to them and Stan rolled his eyes, walking up to give Richie a hug.
"Trashmouth," he lamented. It had been nearly a year since they had seen each other, what with Stan Uris having been at University of Southern Maine in Portland studying environmental science and biology so that he could go on to get a Masters in Ornithology, which he planned to go to Orono to get, and Richie was, well, here. They had been extremely close since elementary and it made Richie a little jealous that Beverly got to see Stan more than he did. But he was here now and they would be close like before.
Ben and Mike Hanlon clasped hands and pulled it into a hug. Mike was two inches shorter than Ben, but just as stacked. After working on his parents' farm for nearly half of his life and playing football in high school and throughout his time at Bowdoin College, he had put on some healthy weight. He was even starting to gain on Ben, perhaps. Beverly hugged Mike as well, placing a burgundy lipstick stain on his cheek. "Mike, beautiful, how have you been?" She asked, her smile pulling the corners of her eyes into three tiny wrinkles.
He pulled his arms over his head in a stretch and looked back at Stan, who was chatting with Bill, Richie, and Eddie. Turning back to Bev and Ben he sighed. "The drive was easy, it was trying to make library studies sound exciting to someone learning about the insides of birds."
Ben scoffed. "I'm sure it is exciting!"
Mike laughed in response as Ben finally dismounted the Yamaha. "I like it, okay? I get to look at books ninety percent of my day." They walked to join the rest of the group.
Bill smiled at Bev and Ben, their hands clasped together. He gave them both hugs, and Bev gave him a matching lip mark to Mike's on his cheek. Then Bill turned to the house.
"So, this is the place." He said. His stutter had completely disappeared - well, almost completely, occasionally he got caught on 'p's and 'b's. After the accident, the one where his brother was killed on impact as a drunk driver t-boned his family's car as they drove to see his grandparents, the stutter appeared. He had taken so many classes, seen so many speech therapists, and finally, one of them had worked. And he did pretty damn well now if he did say so himself.
He had missed his friends, it was that simple. And he had been riding his bike around town one day after visiting his parents when he had passed by this hunk of wood at 29 Neibolt Street, a wobbly tin sign that read, 'For Rent' in the dying grass on the front lawn. He'd taken a flyer and read all the information. Six bedrooms, one of which had been used as an office for a long time apparently, four bathrooms, two on the first floor and two on the second, one of which was in the master bedroom, a large kitchen and adjoining dining room, a living room fading out of the foyer. There was also an unfinished basement with a washer dryer from the early years of the millennium. Bill knew he himself couldn't, wouldn't, shit - didn't - need a house with six bedrooms. But he did know six people who wouldn't mind having a house. Somewhere to call their own. Even if it was just until they got on to the next chapter of their lives.
Rent was $3500, easily conceived between he and his friends, but honestly he didn't think they would really take him up on the chance. He knew without at least three of the others, it wouldn't work, but then what would he have done with the two extra bedrooms? They were spacious enough rooms, all of them, so he didn't need an office. He wanted them all there. To be as close as they were in the Barrens as kids. To go back to that.
He had called Ben first. He knew if Ben came Beverly would surely follow, but it had actually been Bev who said yes first. He had been on speakerphone and she was washing dishes in Ben's small apartment kitchen.
"Fuck yes!" She had shouted over the running water and Ben had laughed. "We will be there." He said.
Next he had called Richie. He knew Richie was living with the Elbert guy from school, and from what he knew of the Elbert guy, Rich needed somewhere better. Not that Richie didn't party - oh he could throw down with the best of them, sure. But Elbert was into too many shady things for Bill's liking. He wanted his friends safe. They'd dealt with enough shit as kids. Bev and Richie especially.
Richie had been with Eddie oddly enough; the two were apparently having a Game of Thrones marathon. Richie had husked into the phone, "Hang on a sec," and Bill heard him whisper to Eddie, "Do you wanna live with a bunch of fucking Losers?'
Eddie had said something along the lines of, "You fuckin' serious?" and perhaps Richie had nodded because there was no audible answer. There was a long winded, "YEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSS!" as Eddie screamed his answer and Bill had his.
Then he called Mike, who was on lunch from the public library he worked at in Brunswick. "Do you want to live with me and the rest of the Losers in Derry?"
Mike made a choking sound, perhaps from his lunch, and took a moment to clear his throat. Bill let him. He knew what it was like to need a moment to collect your voice.
"Who all is coming?" He asked when he finally regained his breath.
Bill named off those who had said yes. "No Stan?" Mike asked.
"I just haven't called him yet." Bill replied.
There was a sigh on the other end. "Do you think he'll come too?"
Bill pondered it for a moment. He didn't know why not. Graduation was coming up - they were all going to watch Stan walk and then a few weeks after that go see Eddie do the same. Why wouldn't they? Stan said he wanted to take a year between his BA and his Masters and relax, maybe work some. Why wouldn't he relish in the chance to be with his friends again? Maybe for the last time before they all actually "grew up" and maybe Ben and Bev got married and Eddie met a nice guy and Richie joined a rock band or something. The last time before adult jobs and full responsibility. He shrugged to himself.
"Once a Loser, always a Loser." He finally said. It was just stupid, hopeful, wishful thinking.
That seemed to be answer enough for Mike, who agreed. He would see if he couldn't get a job at the Derry Public Library and try to be there before the school year was up.
Stan actually called Bill. "Mike called me," he explained, and before Bill could even respond or ask if that meant he would come too, Stan said, "My lease is up after graduation, I'll start packing."
And now they were all here. Standing in front of this thrown together stack of beams and windows, and it was all theirs.
"Are we gonna die in there?" Richie asked as they all looked at the house. Three of them cocked their heads to glare at him. Eddie, who was standing next to him made a clicking sound in the back of his throat. "Christ Rich."
Bill just laughed. "Let's go inside."
They all grabbed some boxes from their vehicles and started towards the door. The grass on the sides of the cobbled path was a pale green that signified it was dying - an easy fix, Mike mentioned - but everyone was chattering with excitement. Eddie took the stairs carefully, a backpack tossed over one shoulder. Richie made a comment along the lines of, "Grandma get your ass into gear!", to which Eddie responded, "Shut the fuck up Richie I'm trying not to snap my fucking ankle," and Bill looked for the key for this particular lock. As they entered, there was a gasp from Beverly, a quick, "Shit," from Richie, Eddie coughed, and the others just looked around in awe.
Things were dusty, yes, but everything was still solid as the day it was built. How the outside could become so destroyed but the inside stay relatively decent was beyond them. "This place is definitely haunted." Eddie said, and this is when, if he had still been a kid, he would have used his inhaler.
"It's not haunted!" Beverly laughed.
"If you hear some ghosts fucking in the walls Eds, you just come hide under my covers. Granted I sleep naked -"
"Beep beep, Richie." They chorused.
He shrugged. "Dibs on the big room!" He said and began bounding up the stairs.
Ben threw his head back with laughter and started to chase Richie. "No way, I'm bunking with a girl!"
"And she'll kick your ass if you take that fucking room!" Beverly laughed, following suit.
Eddie rolled his eyes and chuckled, walking over to Stan, who had pulled out a list of all of the rooms and where everything should go. All of the bedrooms were upstairs, doors patterned down a long hallway. The master was at the end of the hall, and took up what they thought might be the entirety of the back of the house. There were three bedrooms on the left side of the hall and two on the other, the bathroom slab in the middle on the right.
Ben and Beverly indeed got the master bedroom, but of course it was taken with some loving threats on Bev's part towards Richie. He sighed and took the last bedroom on the left. Eddie took the first bedroom on the right, which came off the stairs almost immediately - while moving his boxes from Richie's truck upstairs, he walked right past it three times, missing the door while chattering on with Stan about groceries or Beverly about her new ear piercings, which he commented didn't look infected.
It took them a total of five hours, working together to bring in all of their things. Mike and Eddie made up a quick list of groceries to grab, with a few extra items thrown on the list in Richie's scrawling cursive - Eddie looked at the list and then to Richie, glaring in an exhausted way up at him, "Beep beep, Richard." to which Richie replied, "Please, call me Dick." - and they, along with Bill had left.
Richie went to fiddling with a set of speakers sat in front of the television, which they had set on the floor next to the fireplace to place above it later. Ben mentioned he was unsure if the heat from the potential fires was safe for the tv, hell, he was worried that the wall in front of the flue wouldn't be strong enough to hold the tv up. Richie told him he should be more adventurous. Beverly laughed and reminded him of all the adventures that ended with him breaking his nose or glasses. Then they all went to their new rooms, and sighed with relief. They were all home.
Later that night, a little past seven, Stan was the first to try out the shower in the upstairs bathroom. After they had unpacked the cars, gone to buy groceries, fought with Richie about why, no, he couldn't cut holes in the walls to place the speakers, and unpacked the essentials from their boxes, he had decided he would take a shower - no, a bath - to soak and let the day's moving stresses wash away.
At first Eddie was wary of having everyone's stuff in the shower at once because of the possibility of mold growing, but Bill and Mike ensured him if it was really that big of a deal, there were two perfectly good bathrooms downstairs. Richie said when he wasn't going to walk down stairs in the middle of the night to wash his hair so he would use the upstairs bathroom. Eddie gaped at him.
"You're just waking up at all hours of the night to wash your hair?"
Richie pulled a curl out between his index finger and thumb, letting it bounce back into place, watching it cross-eyed. "Absolutely, I never know when I need to re-grease this shit. Now I could just use -"
"You know, Rich," Eddie cut him off. "Do whatever you'd like."
Richie reached out and pinched Eddie's blushing cheek. "Goddamn you're cute. Cute, cute, cute!"
And that had been the end of that.
So, Stan went to take a bath. He pulled his shirt over his head, dirty blonde hair just as curly as Richie and Eddie's. How did three of them get such ridiculous curls? Mike was adamant that his hair could be stupid curly like that but he kept it in a tight fade along his scalp. Stan had told him no matter what his hair would look good, and they had both stared at the floor after that, cheeks burning.
He gathered up his towel, white with blue stripes and wrapped it around his naked waist. He had already carefully placed his toiletries in the hanging caddy which Eddie had set over the showerhead - some Old Spice body wash, a bottle of shampoo/conditioner combo that had been picked up so many times the label had rubbed off in some places, and a razor to shave his face. Stan was all about saving time and water. But tonight he would be just a little bit wasteful, so that he could ponder over the day's events. He opened his door to the bedroom, first on the left, and closed it silently behind him. He padded over to the bathroom, the warped hardwood floor cold under his feet. He could hear Eddie and Richie talking quickly just down the stairs, Mike occasionally laughing at what they were saying.
Mike's laughter made Stan's heart jump a little. When they had first met 12 years ago, they had been almost closer than the others. Stan couldn't tell you why that was honestly. Then it was if one day he had woken up, met the other Losers in the Barrens and Mike had just been there. Their eyes locked, two sets of brown and his chest had filled with a buzzing he could only attribute to the rapidly beating wings of an Archilochus colubris. It was if with just a look, they said to each other, oh it's you, it's always been you.
They had stayed away for a few years, letting their feelings grow and bloom under summer suns and winter moons, until Mike turned 16, a mere ten days before Stan had, and they stayed behind at the quarry after the other Losers had headed home, a birthday celebration planned for that evening. They had sat, two teenagers, fiddling with the grass. Mike had squinted into the sun, the water from their swim drying on his dark skin.
"I think I love you, Stanley." His voice was quiet, but Stan heard him plain as day. His heart jumped into his throat and he smiled without thinking.
"You think?" Stan said coyly. They caught each other's eyes again, and it was Mike who shyly broke the stare.
He chuckled. "I think I have for a while..." he paused.
Stan instinctively reached his hand out and placed it over Mike's, intertwining their fingers. His skin was pale and milky in comparison to Mike's, but the colors contrasted in stark perfection.
"You should know I think I love you too." He said after a few moments.
"You think?" Mike said smartly, and they both laughed.
Stan's heart had been pounding now, a hammer against a tin roof, and he could feel Mike's under his fingers. "Now what?" He asked, his voice catching a little in his throat.
Mike had kissed him then. It was gentle and testing, Mike's top lip fitting neatly over Stan's lower one. It had been chaste and clean, and the whole night at the party, Stan could not pull his fingers from his mouth, thinking over the static electricity that had resided there not hours before.
He initiated the next kiss as the party died down, Richie flopped drunkenly over the edge of the couch, muttering to Eddie about his shoes, his SHOES, Eddie! don't let Bev draw a dick on my face, leave my shoes on, Eddie fussing over him, laughing and threatening to untie the laces on his white checkerboard Converse. Bev wasn't even there, Stan knew, she and Ben had disappeared somewhere in the upstairs of Richie's parents' house hours ago. Bill had passed out, curled into a ball in the armchair.
This kiss had not been chaste or clean. Stan had followed Mike into the kitchen, carrying half a dozen empty bottles and cans to the trash can. Mike turned and leaned against the counter, smiling gently at him. Stan pondered his next move for a moment, then rushed at him, slamming his mouth full force into the other, their noses clashing against one another. Mike had laughed slyly, pushing his hands up into Stan's curly hair as Stan grinded his hips against Mike's jeans. They had moaned into open mouths, tongues pressing against one another, Mike tugged gently at his hair in order to expose his neck, where he placed a great many biting kisses. It had ended with Stanley, who would never admit it to any of the other Losers, but Mike knew, coming from the excitement in his pressed khakis. They were panting, pressing foreheads against each other, laughing and kissing and smiling.
They hadn't made love that night. That would come a few years down the line.
Stan locked the door behind him and folded his towel over the rusty towel rack and leaned to turn on the hot water. This was one of those situations where he had to think about the hot and cold water. There were two knobs, but the 'hot' and 'cold' labels had rubbed off long ago. He went for it, turning the left knob all the way over and then holding his hand under the water to see which way it would go. Miraculously, it warmed up rather quickly, and he stopped up the claw foot tub, its dragon foot legs a tarnished silver color. While the tub filled, he looked at himself in the mirror.
His jawline was a jutting angle, sharp and crisp like the lines of his freckles nose. His hair folded and rippled in tiny wavy curls, springlike in their form. His eyes were brown, and red from having to squint at his phone while they drove, pointing aimlessly as he gave Mike the directions. His chest and shoulders were broad, a thin inkling of chest hair dappled above his nipples. He wasn't muscular in any sense that he could see, meaning he didn't have a six pack or anything, but he was toned and thin. Mike could fit his hands cleanly over each pectoral muscle, his touch always kind.
The tub filled rather quickly, steam rolling off the surface of the water. Tentatively, he stuck his foot into the water, hissing between his teeth as he entered the scalding water. He lowered himself into it, letting the heat soak into his skin. He rested his head on the backside of the tub, which was a good foot and half from the walls aside from where the showerhead was posted. He let his body be consumed by the water, lapping over his goosefleshed skin. He closed his eyes, long eyelashes licking the top of his cheeks.
After about twenty minutes, he heard some sort of scuffle from below and his eyes snapped open. He pulled himself up against the sides of the tub and listened, but the sound had ceased. He shrugged and turned to his toiletries.
The silver razor sat neatly next to his soaps and shampoos and he picked it up, studying its blades. There were five of them, each sharp and deadly, like teeth in the mouth of a rabid dog. He carefully placed his thumb over the top blade, and dragged it down, with the grain. Each tooth plucked at his flesh silently, and he wondered absentmindedly how girls could possibly shave their legs with this. He would have to ask Beverly sometime how often she cut herself.
From below again there was a slamming of doors and some sort of yelling - Richie probably- and Stan slid his thumb horizontally across one of the razor blades, slicing his skin open. He gasped and dropped the razor, nearly onto his leg, shoving the stuck thumb in his mouth to staunch the blood. Moments later came the steady bumping of bass from the speakers, something that sounded vaguely like 'Welcome to the Jungle' but Stan couldn't be for sure. He stood up quickly, holding his cut thumb out at an angle so as not to drip blood on anything - Eddie would throw a fit. He unstopped the tub and the water began to run down in the tendrils of a whirlpool. He yanked down his towel and hastily wrapped it around his waist, pushing the hair away from his steamed face.
He opened the door, peeking his head out. It was definitely 'Welcome to the Jungle' blasting in the living room and rattling the rest of the house with its volume. He looked up and down the hallway, the cool air hitting his wet legs making him shiver. Moments later Beverly and Richie were coming up the stairs, Bev's hands squeezing the sides of Richie's face, he was making a kissy pout at her. They were laughing and it wasn't until they were practically on top of him that they saw Stan.
"Stan the Man!" Richie screeched. "The party has arrived and he is buck-ass naked!"
"Party?" Stan replied, ignoring the latter comment.
Bev nodded. "The housewarming party!"
"I didn't know we were having a party?" Stan said, blood dripping unceremoniously down his hand.
Richie scoffed. "You underestimate the power of Richard Tozier!" He said, and Stan could smell liquor on his breath. They had already started the party, apparently. "I called up everyone I know and some randos from the phone book and we are breaking this bitch in!" He held in his hand a semi-crushed can of Pabst and he sloshed it over the floor as he raised the hand to toast, emitting a whooping cry that echoed down the hallway.
Stan laughed and shook his head. Bev was just laughing and biting aimlessly on the end of a cigarette. She saw the blood on his hand and snatched it up, cooing.
"Your finger!" She said, his blood staining her own hands.
He gently pulled it away. "It's fine. Nothing Dr. Kaspbrak can't fix up if need be." He chuckled.
Eddie had always sort of been the doctor of the group, what with all the bells and whistles stashed away inside his fanny packs. He always seemed to be carrying around at least one roll of gauze, some medical tape, tweezers, bandaids of varying sizes and patterns, ointments and sprays for all issues, and on one occasion, a small dropper vial of peroxide for particularly nasty scrapes. They had all grown quite accustom to watching in awe as he would set Richie's nose or clean up scrapes on Bill's knees from falling off Silver. There had also been the time Henry Bowers, resident asshole of Derry, had carved the first letter of his name into the pale white baby skin of Ben's stomach. Ben, of course, had handled Eddie's careful hands with humility, except when Beverly had showed up of course. The cut had healed nicely, regardless of the three-sticked scar Ben now had to show for it.
Stan made a note to see if he couldn't steal a bandaid from Eddie's room before he joined the others downstairs.
"It looks owie." Richie belched. Beverly pushed him.
"You nasty bitch." She laughed at him, covering her mouth with her hand as she did so.
He snapped his teeth at her and made a low growling sound in his throat. "Girl you don't want to know nasty -"
"Beep beep, Richie." Stan said, shaking his head.
Richie shrugged and dragged Beverly along, perhaps in search of a lighter or more cigarettes. Stan watched them go down to Richie's room and fall through the door.
God how he loved them both.
He went into his room to throw some on clothes, pulling open a suitcase he had filled with neatly folded pants and polos.
If he was being honest with himself, he wanted to dress to impress Mike. Even now, nearly seven years later, he still wanted to give the man butterflies. Mike gave them to him - why shouldn't he return the favor?
He chose a pair of jeans, something he didn't wear often, but dressed it up by shrugging on a clean black button up, something no doubt Mike would have trouble unbuttoning later if he drank too much.
Stan wasn't sure how he should act around Mike now that they all lived together. It's not that they were ashamed of their relationship in any way, moreso that it wasn't particularly anyone's business but their own, not even their best friends. Stan was quiet when it came to this sort of stuff. He wasn't big on PDA and the most they did in public when they were out together was hold hands.
And it seemed like the house would be completely overrun with rainbow flags if they came out too - what with Eddie being, "The gayest gay who ever gayed sometimes." And Richie who was, as he so delicately put it, "A big fan of anything he can go in and around and upside down on." Whatever that meant in particular. Stan had watched him flit from relationship to relationship with people, regardless of gender for years, but he never stayed with anyone long.
There were so many facets to he and Mike's relationship that made the secrecy easy. For one, neither of them were out to their families, and it didn't seem strange when they hung out one on one because the other Losers did that too - Richie and Bev, Bill and Ben, Eddie and Mike. But perhaps it was time they let their relationship be out in the open, no pun intended.
Stan finished getting dressed, running a comb through his hair as best he could. With thick curls like his, it was tough to pull anything through it. Once in high school Beverly had tried to straighten his hair to see what he would look like "emo" and it ended up looking more crimped than anything else.
He brushed down the collar of his shirt and left his room. The music was bumping throughout the house, now 'Africa' by Toto playing. Richie must be in charge of the music, Stan thought.
He went across the hall to Eddie's room, his finger still bleeding in an oozing fashion. He knocked tentatively, but he wouldn't have been able to hear if Eddie said, "Come in!" with the music so loud. So he opened the door.
"Eddie?" He said, but no one was there. Eddie must be downstairs at the party already. He entered the room, looking around at all its contents and hoping the first aid kid was out in the open.
The room was messy, boxes still lying stacked on top of one another and the bed was hastily made. There was a desk placed against the south wall, a small reading lamp lit on it. The first aid kid, like a token, sat dead center. He trotted over to it, popping the lid open and rummaging through it to find what he was looking for.
In a small box were 15 Star Wars themed bandaids and he peeled one over his thumb. He tossed the paper into the wastebasket to the right and dusted his pants off, a notebook catching his eye. It was opened about halfway through, Eddie's small cubic handwriting covering three fourths of the page.
Stan squinted at it, being nosy clearly, but he couldn't help himself.
"...and he's doing all the right things but Jesus Christ does he piss me off... I don't know what to do about it anymore...my heart hurts in so many ways..." it read.
Stanley looked away, embarrassed. He guessed it was Eddie's diary. He slowly backed away as if he had stumbled across an angry wild animal and crept back out into the hallway. He closed the door quietly behind him and then began down the stairs, running his hand along the splintered handrail for balance.
Downstairs in the living room had gathered fifteen or twenty people, but even as he entered the foyer, four more people came in the door. Stan recognized maybe three of them from high school but the rest were strangers. He panned the room for Mike, but couldn't see him over the crowd. He saw Richie, Eddie, and Beverly standing by a small table with a laptop on it and they were screaming at each other, pointing frantically at the screen and then making wild hand gestures at Richie, who had his hands out in front of him defensively. Stan walked over to join them.
"No one wants to listen to your "Masturbation Playlist", Richie!" Eddie cried, holding his hands to his head and laughing ridiculously.
"It's literally just sounds of your mom moaning on loop for seven hours! Who doesn't love that!" Richie retorted, scrolling down the long extensive list of music he had pulled up on the screen.
"You've got that Die Antwoord song here nine times, Rich. Jesus! We can only take so much South African rap." Beverly added.
"Oh because your music is so much better?" Richie snickered.
"We listen to the same shit, Richie!" She threw her hands up and saw Stan.
"Stanny you're here!" She exclaimed. He smiled and nodded.
"Eddie I stole a bandaid, hope that's ok."
Eddie screwed up his face a little. "What'd you do?"
Stan shrugged. "Cut my finger on a razor."
Eddie's eyes got wide. "Did you clean the wound? Because razors hold a lot of dead skin cells and you could really easily get an infec-"
"Relax Eds, he's not gonna die. Stan's got the immune system of a machine man." Richie said, tossing an arm around Eddie's shoulder. "A machine man? A robot dude!" He concluded, eyebrows raised.
"Richie you're getting too drunk too fast. And it's an android." Eddie said, not removing the arm.
"Richie has an iPhone..." Beverly said, confused.
"The word you're looking for is cyborg." Stan said, no one listening.
"I happen to be getting just the right amount of drunk in the right amount of time!" His shaggy haired friend replied.
Stan shook his head and looked around the room. Still no Mike, but Ben and Bill were posted up near the kitchen door talking to a girl with long straight auburn hair. She seemed really invested in whatever Bill was explaining to her, laughing and putting a hand on his arm. He had a beer in his opposite hand and sipped from it nervously.
"Who's that Bill's talking to?" Stan asked.
Beverly waved her hand, returning her eyes to the computer again. "Audra something. Flagg's cousin. Came with him from Portland."
Stan nodded. Gay or not, he could recognize that she was cute. Maybe Bill had a shot. He deserved that.
"Where's Mike?" Stan asked, looking at the three of them out of the corner of his eye. Eddie was smiling awkwardly at the ground, Richie's arm still wrapped around his narrow shoulders. Richie had placed his chin on top of Eddie's head and was yammering on to him about the sustainability of a party if Backstreet Boys started playing. Beverly looked up.
"Last I saw he was in the kigchen," she slurred, pointing over towards Bill and Ben. Stan nodded and headed that direction.
Bill and Ben greeted him warmly. "Stan you made it!" Ben joked, slapping him on the shoulder.
"I know, it was such a long trek I didn't think I'd make it on time." Stan replied sarcastically.
"Stan this is Audra Phillips," Bill said. "Audra, this is Stan Uris, one of the roommates." The two shook hands and she smiled brightly, all teeth shining white.
"This place is great!" She said, looking up at Bill. He had been staring at her and looked away quickly, blushing.
"Stan you need a drink?" Ben asked, gesturing at his empty hands.
"Yeah, I was looking for Mike, too." He hoped that didn't sound suspicious, but he pushed the worry away.
"Yeah," Ben nodded through the doorway. "He's in there making mixed drinks of some sort for some sorority types."
Stan nodded a thanks and pardoned himself through the entry.
Indeed Mike was at the small island in the center of the kitchen, five plastic cups in front of him as well as an array of liquor bottles. He was surrounded by four girls, all varying degrees of blonde, mostly tall - Stan noticed they were all wearing heels - and watching Mike in amazement as he threw some ice cubes in the cups. When Stan entered, the smile on his face grew ten times. Stan's cheeks burned and he bit his lip.
"Hey! Where've you been?" Mike asked, the girls all turning to look at Stan. Two of them fluttered their eyelashes and he grinned.
"Upstairs, I didn't realize we were bumping tonight." He said.
Mike shrugged. "Count on Rich to attempt a rager our first night." Stan came up and leaned against the island, his hands curling over the marble countertop.
"Ladies, this is Stan. Stan, this is Christine, Danielle, Fran, and Annie." Mike pointed down the line, each of the girls smiling wildly at Stan. He nodded a hello. It had been Christine and Fran who had given him the eyes and for a moment he pitied them. He only had eyes for the tall dark-skinned boy across from him.
"What are we drinking?" He asked, raising his eyebrows at them.
"Not sure yet, still testing the waters." Mike said. "I don't think they can handle all this." He waved his hands over the bottles. Jack, Jim, Crown, Captain, and a small plastic bottle of Fireball. He had arranged some cans of Coke and Diet Sprite next to the cups as well, the tabs cracked on at least two of them.
"We can handle anything you give us." One of the girls said, and Stan rolled his eyes.
"Pick your poison." Mike said, winking at him. The girls, chattering at Annie, who had made the comment, didn't notice. But he had, just as Mike wanted. He shifted nervously in his jeans, his ears ringing. God even just looking at him made his mind race.
Mike licked his lips and he started picking up bottles, pouring them haphazardly into the cups. Stan watched his hands as he did so. Strong hands, calloused from years of backbreaking farm work, hoeing and tilling and working with livestock. Hands that squeezed Stan's own tentatively whenever something scary happened in a movie they were watching. Hands that pulled his hair just enough to emit a small squeak of pleasure from deep in his chest. Hands that knew which ribs to touch gingerly, to make him gasp as he rode him. Hands that ran through his hair as his head rested in his lap, watching the Poecile atricapillus and Uria Lomvia as they traveled south. Hands that held his face and wiped away tears when his grandmother died, non-Hodgkins lymphoma. These were hands Stanley knew well, and they were only a piece of the man he was so deeply in love with that his chest hurt.
He had been so lost in the way Mike's knuckles bent and moved that he hadn't seen everything that went to the cup, which Mike was now pushing towards him. "That will help with the sobriety." The six of them raised the cups in a mock cheers.
"What are toasting to?" Fran asked.
Mike and Stan locked eyes. Stan shrugged. "To the Agapornis personata." He said.
The girls attempted to repeat, "Aga...por-iss uh...personada..." not even knowing what it meant. But Mike did. And he was so glad he did.
They slammed the cups down on the counter and slammed them back. The combination of liquids burned his throat - there was definitely Fireball in there - and when it was all the way down he coughed dryly. The girls coughed too and only one of them grimaced in disgust.
From the living room, "Rock Lobster" by the B-52s came on. They heard Beverly roar, "Richie no!" followed by Richie screaming, "Richie yes!" There were a few seconds of the music jumping from one song back to "Rock Lobster" then to another then back again. The music landed on something sexy and the fighting was done, Beverly had won.
Annie grabbed Mike by the hand, pulling him out of the kitchen into the living room, perhaps to dance. He went hesitantly, throwing Stan a look as he did, and they touched fingertips as he passed. A delicate strike of lightening filled up his stomach. One of the other girls, he believed it was Christine, took his hand, her own soft in his. It was weird and unnatural, not the hand he wanted to hold.
The shot made his head burn, a shrill buzzing filling his ears. The music was in Bev's hands now, Ben standing behind her, whispering in her ear as she giggled. Richie and Eddie had fallen into the couch, and they were speaking very closely, drinks in hand. Well, Richie was speaking closely, his mouth practically grazing Eddie's own. Eddie was laughing and smiling, nodding at whatever it was that Richie was saying. Stan noticed one of Eddie's legs was tucked lazily over Richie's, Richie's hand on his knee. Bill was still talking to Audra, but they had moved to the window, Bill leaning on the sill and she was talking, using her hands to emphasize. Bill was just staring at her, like he was counting all of the freckles on her nose, his face a bright crimson.
Christine turned her back to him, the lyrics of whatever "club" music Bev had put on blurring together. Stan moved with her awkward grinding, if you could call it that, but he was watching Mike.
Annie wasn't dancing with her back to him. She had picked up a beer somewhere in the brief walk and held it daintily in the hand she had slung over Mike's shoulder. He was indulging her, sure, but not too much. He glanced up at Stan and gave him a wicked little grin, giving him a thumbs up as well. Stan rolled his eyes. Beautiful, smartass man.
Mike said something to Annie, who pouted at him and said something back, none of which Stan could hear with the speakers so close. Mike pulled the corner of his mouth up in a sort of, "sorry" look, and walked past her. He came up to Stan and Christine, who stopped dancing.
"Want to help me grab some beers?" He asked, hoping Christine wouldn't take that as an invitation to join them.
Stan bit his lip and nodded, giving Christine a quick and informal goodbye and followed Mike back towards the kitchen.
It was empty, but they didn't stop. Out of sight, Mike grabbed his hand, electricity shooting up through his arm. That feeling, oh god that feeling. He followed him into the hallway that led toward the backdoor and the basement, taking the door outside.
It was cooler than inside, the summer air sweet and thick with humidity. The backyard was fenced in with a rickety wooden privacy fence and there were three birch trees on the far end of the yard. Mike looked at Stan, his breath hard. "I've missed you," he said, standing under the porch light, his hand still wrapped tightly around the other.
Stan took the lead now, running Mike to the standing of trees until they were partially hidden behind the trunk of one.
"I've missed you too. Now fucking kiss me." He said. Mike laughed quietly and did. It was a hard kiss, pushing and frantic. Stan's hands cupped around his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss. Mike's hands were pushing up under his shirt, his hands warm and rough against his skin. He gasped meekly. Mike carefully undid the top button of his shirt, and placed a kiss there.
"Christ," Stan let escape his mouth, which Mike closed off with his own, his tongue probing the inside of his cheek.
Suddenly, Stan was fumbling with the buckle of Mike's belt, his thin fingers frenzied as he tried. Mike looked down, panting and let him, one of his hands pulled up into his hair. He just wanted to touch him, to taste him, to make him feel as good as he did. To love him.
Mike leaned his forehead against Stan's chin, his back crushing into the tree. "Baby," he breathed.
Stan got the belt undone, quickly popping the button on his jeans, and sliding his hand into his pants, feeling him rock hard already. He moaned.
"Stan," Mike choked as he gripped his cock. He just wanted to make him feel good now. "Stan please."
Stan wasn't much of an outdoorsman. He didn't like to get dirty, especially if it meant ruining perfectly good clothes. But he dropped to his knees anyway.
Mike made a weak crying sound as Stan placed a kiss on the fabric of his boxers, soft and waiting. He looked up into Mike's shadowed face. He was breathing shallowly, his brow furrowed.
"I love you Mike." He said. It was the truth, the whole goddamned truth. He felt it in the pit of his stomach and in his chest every day.
Mike chuckled, a sound like he could cry at this perfectly fantastic situation. "I love you too."
Stan nodded, his heart beating so rapidly he could have passed out. He slowly tugged Mike's jeans down, enough so that he could pull his cock out easily, rubbing the shaft with the flat of his hand. Mike moaned and leaned his head back against the tree.
Stanley placed his tongue carefully on the underside of Mike's member, his mouth practically watering at the prospect. He looked up at this man through his eyelashes. Then, he slowly lowered himself over it, listening to the quick hiss he made in pleasure.
He kept time with the motions, up and down, running his tongue over the tip, Mike saying over and over again, "Fuck I love you I love you I love you so goddamn much oh my god I love you."
He could sense Mike was almost there, so close he could literally taste it, when music flooded the yard. Stan disconnected as he heard the back screen door slam into the wall of the house.
He tried to peek around the tree without being seen.
It was Richie and Beverly, smoke curling around their heads and Richie was hollering about something or another. He sighed.
"It's Rich and Bev." Mike was already buckling his pants back up, but slowly, watching him with a short smile on his mouth. Stan stood, looking up into curve of Mike's lips, dimpled cheeks, beautiful sweat-glistened skin.
He wiped the corners of his mouth, suddenly very shy. Mike pulled his chin towards him, and kissed his nose, then placed another smaller one on his lips.
"I am so in love with you that it's not even funny." Mike whispered. Stan leaned his head against his chest, stifling a breathy laugh into it.
"What?" Mike said.
Stan looked at the sky, the long finger-like branches of the birch blocking out most of the stars and part of the moon. How could this all be real?
"I am just stupid in love with you. So stupid that I have trouble believing I could get so lucky." He said, grinning.
They kissed again, a fire spreading across their skin, Mike taking his hand.
"I hope I can spend the rest of my life showing you how I'm the lucky one." Another soft, peppermint kiss. "And maybe, if you'll let me, I'll return the favor later tonight." Stan blushed, throwing a hand to his face. Mike laughed and peeked around the tree. Beverly and Richie were still there, Bev now laying flat out on the concrete patio. She was laughing so hard it sounded like she was choking.
Mike turned back to Stan and sighed. He placed a kiss on each knuckle of his left hand and then squeezed it.
"Until tonight," Stan said. "I love you."
"I love you." Mike replied, and he turned around the edge of the birch. Stan remained, leaning his back against the base of the tree. He heard Richie exclaim something when he saw Mike and waited to see if they would come over. They didn't, and a few moments later, the yard was filled with music again, and the three had gone inside.
Stan breathed a sigh of relief. His heartbeat had begun to slow, and all he could think was how much, just how goddamn much he loved Michael Hanlon.