inevitable - stanley uris x reader

chapter one - no, it's not

October 19, 1988

You awoke to blinding sun-rays and the sound of faint drilling outside of your window.  Groaning, you forced your stark-white duvet off of yourself and emerged from the weighty blankets that had previously encompassed your sore body.  As much as you didn't want to leave your bedroom, or even your bed today, you had to.  Today was the day you had decided you would set off to visit Bill.  You couldn't help but pity the troubled boy.  His brother had been missing for, what was it, six days now?  You sighed.  You couldn't even begin to understand how Bill was even going about his life.  If Richie had gone missing, you were sure you would have offed yourself or something by now.  Heaving yourself off of your bed, you clumsily waltzed over to your wardrobe, taking out some jeans and a sweater.  You despised fall and winter in Maine, and even early spring, and wished the weather wasn't so damn temperamental, making you bundle up in coats and sweaters just a few months after the end of Summer.  After having dressed yourself, you ran a comb through your h/l h/c hair, aggressively pulling at your tangled locks with the wide bristles of your comb.  You continued to tug on your hair until your brush finally snapped clean off at the neck.  

"Oh, fucking shit!"  You grunted angrily as you chucked the now dismembered comb at your vanity.  Fed up, you took another quick look at your appearance.  After confirming that you looked at least sub-par, you stormed out of your room, and, in a fit of frustration, slammed the door on your way out.  As you made your descent down the hall, you banged a fist against your brothers door, flinging it open just seconds later. 

"Jesus fuck y/n, the hell are you doing?" He uttered in an annoyed fashion, donning his thick-framed glasses and gripping his covers up at his chest. 

"Mmm," you sighed. "Just going down to Bill's."

"What, you two gonna fuck or something?" 

"C'mon Rich, have some sensitivity, his brother's missing for God's sake.  And no, I'd just like to see him.  If I were missing, you would want people to come see you, right?  To offer some consolation or whatever?" Half of that question was rhetorical, however part of you wanted to know the answer.  Would Bill even want you to come down to his house? You had to admit, you weren't the closest with Bill.  As long as you had known him, you two never really seemed to have as good of a connection as you did with the other losers.  This saddened you, as you had always wanted to be close with everyone, Bill most definitely included.  But you suppose you were...for lack of a better word... afraid?  Yes, that was it, afraid.  Afraid of what exactly, you did not know.  Rejection? Broken promises, or trust maybe? You were shook from your thoughts as Richie's voice flooded your mind.  

"Fine, I guess so n/n.  But I swear to fuck, if I catch you doing anything, and I mean ANYTHING, I will personally see to it that you will-" You cut him off.

"Will what, Rich?"

"I'll... dump cold water on your head!" You snorted in response.

"Geez trashmouth, that's seriously all you got?  I was expecting more, not gonna lie Richie." He flopped back down onto his bed, setting his glasses back on his nightstand.

"God n/n, fine." He said tiredly.  You turned and walked back through his doorframe, adjusting your sweater and running your hands through your hair.  As you had begun to walk down the hallway, you heard Richie utter "Enjoy your fuck-fest then."  Whipping your body back to face where you had just been standing, you contemplated retorting back to him.  But as your eyes caught on the clock on the wall, and you realized it was already 11:23, you decided just to leave him be and begin your journey to Bill's house.  

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You threw your rusted yellow bicycle down on the front lawn of Bill's house, taking care to make sure that it didn't trample his plants or anything of the sort.  If he actually didn't want you coming to his house, you weren't looking for another reason for him to be upset with you.  Sauntering up to his porch, you hesitantly rang the doorbell, focusing on the minuscule cracks in the mustard yellow paint on his front door in order to calm your nerves.  You still didn't know why you were so afraid.  'For fucks sake, I feel pathetic,' you thought.  You had known Bill for years.  Why now were you so anxious? Why now were you so cautious? Why were you so damn afr-