cliché || reddie ✔️

twenty five

"I don't know what we have, but if you want pizza rolls I can cook some up for us," Stanley says, circling around the island counter. Richie stays by the entryway, eyes wandering over the room until it lands on a landline hooked into the wall.

"What the fuck is this thing?" He asks, a smile playing on his lips as he walks over to the counter it lays on and picks up the phone. "This is ancient."

"Put that down," Stanley says, "or I'll kick you out of my house."

Richie complies, laughing, "You don't have the balls."

Stanley's eyebrows narrow into a glare, one that makes Richie think he might go through with the dare, but instead the boy turns and walks towards the fridge.

"Pizza rolls?" Richie asks hopefully.

"Yes. Sit down and stop talking."

Richie's shoulders fall as he stares at Stanley's back. Once he realizes he's not going to get much of a reaction, he follows orders and takes a seat at the kitchen table.

He scrolls through his phone as Stan pours out a generous amount of pizza rolls, then the phone laying across the table buzzes. Out of curiosity, Richie leans over and picks it up. A picture of the three boys, Eddie, Bill, and Stanley, greets Richie's eyes, a notification obscuring their faces.

"Someone texted you. Oh-" Richie looks up and holds out the phone, "Eddie texted you."

Stanley looks over his shoulder, asking, "Eddie did?" When Richie confirms with a nod, he finished putting the plate in and setting the time before rounding the counter to grab his phone.

Richie watches as he unlocks it and slowly walks back to the other side of the kitchen, eyes flowing over the texts. "What's he saying?" Richie asks. He doesn't mean to be nosy, he's just curious. Maybe there's a thin line between the two.

Stanley briefly glances up at him, then shrugs. "He and Bill are on FaceTime with each other," he explains. "They needed help settling something."

Richie lets out a soft "oh," and sits back in his chair. The microwave hums loudly, the dull yellow light barely being enough to show the plate spinning around. He watches what he could see of the plate, something to distract his mind as he waits for Stanley.

Yet Stanley never made any move to put his phone down. Now that Richie thinks about it, he doesn't think Stanley has moved in a while. He tears his eyes away and looks at the boy, who is standing stiffly with his phone clutched in both hands.

Stanley lifts chin, yet his eyes stay on the screen. "Richie," he says. "Do you like Eddie?"

Richie blinks at the boy, watching as Stanley slowly lifts his gaze. He can't read Stanley's expression, which makes fear creep up in his chest.

"Eddie?" Richie asks, pulling his hands off the table and into his lap. "He's nice.. yeah, I like him- as a friend."

"No," Stanley says demandingly. Fear pierces itself further into Richie's heart, seizing it. "You know what I mean."

A million and one thoughts fly into his head, racing around and bouncing off the sides of his head. What's he getting at? Does he mean.. crushes? Does he know?

"I don't know-" He forces out. His voice starts to become strained, as if it's getting harder to talk. It might also be the anxiety Richie is feeling, creating a ball in his stomach.

"You can't-" Stanley says, his eyes trailing up the wall as he takes in a deep breath, "You can't like him."

"What?" Richie asks. "Why can't-.. What?" The anxiety running through his body burns hot. He needs to release it somehow, instead of sitting still, eyes wide and staring at Stanley. So he stands up, maybe a bit too quickly as the chair rocks back before falling back onto its legs.