a/n: this is where the tea starts spilling!
Bill biked through the back streets of Derry on his way to the Hanlon farm. It was Friday, the night of the bonfire, and the air was crisp and warm, whipping his hair back as he biked. His backpack, full of snacks and poker chips, bumped against his body every time his tires hit a divot in the unpaved road.
While he tried to preoccupy his thoughts with the night of fun he was about to embark on with his friends, one painful memory kept resurfacing in the back of his mind. He wanted more than anything to believe it to be untrue, but there was no denying it:
Stanley Uris had come to school that day with his hands wrapped in bandages, all the way up to his wrists. He had tried to pull his sweater sleeves down enough to conceal them, but to no avail.
Bill—as well as the rest of the Losers—had pestered Stanley to no end about what happened. Unbeknownst to them, Stan lied his ass off and stated simply that Henry Bowers had pushed him down on the way to school, and his palms had been scraped against the pavement.
This seemed to satisfy everyone for the time being, but the more Bill thought about it, the more he thought he remembered seeing the mullet-wearing asshole smoking behind the school before first period. And if Henry had pushed Stan around that morning, there's no way he'd just leave him alone after a little shove.
But Bill trusted Stan, he didn't even want to think about accusing his best friend of lying.
He pulled his bike into the driveway next to Stan's beaten-up truck. The rest of the Losers' bikes were piled in the front yard. Bill takes his backpack and walks around the side of the house, out into the open field.
By the property's decently-sized lake, an orange-yellow flame blazed in the fire pit. The Losers stand around it, Bev, Ben and Mike conversing quietly while sipping drinks from red plastic cups, Eddie ripping something—probably a joint—from Richie's hand and chucking it in the fire, and Stan sitting in the grass, watching but not participating in their rambles.
When the taller boy noticed Bill trucking through the field, he raises one bandage-wrapped hand in a silent wave. Bill forces back the frown that wants to appear at the site of Stan's hands and smiles instead, overjoyed to see his best friend.
He quickened his pace until he was standing right in front of Stan, and the fire was warming the right side of his body. The others said hello, but Bill barely heard them. He barely heard himself say hello back.
Stan's left eye was slightly swollen, and even in the low light of the fire, Bill could clearly see it had turned a deep shade of purple.
"Just Bowers again. Caught me on the way home," Stan mumbled with a fake smile, praying Bill wouldn't pursue the subject.
"A-Are you okay?" Bill asked worriedly, plopping down beside his friend and wrapping his arms around him in a comforting squeeze.
"Course I am," Stan assured, though he wanted nothing more than for Bill to hold him whilst he broke down and told him everything. But Stanley was stronger than that. "It's just a bruise. It'll fade in a week or two."
Bill nods, again deciding to trust Stan, and dumps the contents of his backpack on the ground. He digs through the pile of snacks until he finds the deck of cards and the poker chips, "Wh-Who wants to p-play c-c-cards?"
"Only if we're playing strip poker, right Eds?" Richie smirks, elbowing Eddie's ribs playfully.
"Beep-beep, asshole," Eddie spits, shoving Richie back.
"Come on, it'll be fun!" Richie pleads, plopping onto the ground and pulling Eddie into his lap, much to the smaller boy's dismay.
"Rich, you're literally the only person here who thinks strip poker is fun," Mike chides. He and the rest of the Losers gather around the four already sitting next to the fire. Bill shuffles the cards and deals them out while Ben passes everyone an even amount of poker chips to start the first hand.
"You guys are no fun . . ." Richie mumbles angrily, looking at the hand he'd been dealt. He peered over Eddie's shoulder, trying to see the cards he had. Eddie promptly flicked his forehead and muttered an annoyed "fuck you", hiding his cards against his chest.
"Are you guys going to place your bets or continue to act like children?" Bev asked, smirking but slightly annoyed as she threw a few of her poker chips in front of her as her bet.
"Ah say, ah say, all roight young lass," Richie said, doing his dramatic western voice while counting out a few chips and placing his bet. "Don't a-go and get yer panties in a bunch."
"Why do we even invite you to these things if you're just gonna be an ass?" Stan joked.
"Stuh-Stan d-don't b-b-be mean-"
Richie cut Bill off, "Been asking myself that question since the seventh grade. Come on now, who's first? Lemme show you how to really play poker."
☼
"Eds come ooooooooooooooooon! You've lost three hands in a row, that's at least worth your shirt!"
"I'm not taking my fucking shirt off, Richie!" Eddie said, digging his nails into his palms in an attempt not to strangle his dumb friend. "We're not even playing strip poker!"
"I'm gonna throw myself in front of a truck if this continues," Bev mumbles to Ben, tossing her cards down in defeat. "Let's do something else, or at least change the card game."
"Yeah," Ben agrees. "Poker bites it."
"Only 'cause you all fucking suck at it," Richie laughed, throwing his cards down.
Bill rolled his eyes, trying to ignore Richie's annoying voice by nuzzling into the crook of Stan's neck. The taller boy—who was blushing profusely—gulped and slipped one arm around Bill's waist, pulling him ever so slightly closer.
"Why don't we play Truth or Dare?" Mike asked, tipping his cup up to his lips and cringing as the bitter vodka burned its way down his throat.
"What are we, five?" Stan asked, laughing at the suggestion of such a silly game. The fact of the matter was, Stan was terrified of playing because Richie Tozier was sitting next to him and Beverly Marsh was sitting across from him. And Lord knew they both could absolutely ruin you with a simple truth or dare.
"For old times sake." Ben flipped a poker chip between his fingers, "We've been playing that game since we established the Losers Club. Why not carry on the tradition?"
"The tradition of Richie daring you to do the most vulgar shit and ruining your innocence?" Eddie bites sarcastically, smirking up at Richie.
"As long as I'm still breathing, that tradition will never die," Richie declared.
"In that case, he won't be breathing much longer," Stan mumbles to Bill, only half joking. Bill laughs, poking Stanley's side playfully.
Mike, who had heard Bill and Stan's semi-private conversation, laughed and said, "Alright, let's play before Stan loses his shit. Beaver-ly, truth or dare?"
Beverly pretends to think thoughtfully, placing one finger on her chin and pursing her lips. Then she cackles at Losers' impatient faces, "You know me, Mikey. Dare is the only way to go."
"I dare you to throw your lighter in the fire."
The Losers gasped and ooed dramatically like children, watching as Beverly's face paled. She pulled her red-and-black-checkered lighter out of her jean jacket pocket, turning it over thoughtfully in her fingers.
"You bastard," She mumbled angrily. "This is my last one!"
"Dare is the only way to go!" Richie mocked in a shit impression of Bev. She flipped him off, swiping her fiery red hair over her shoulder. She grumbled something to herself, then tossed her beloved lighter into the flames.
The game continued on, consisting of revealed secrets and petty dares. None of the truths really shocked anyone; these seven kids knew everything about each other. But the dares were more mild than usual, especially from Richie, and that caused Bill and Stan to absentmindedly worry.
Anyone that accepted a dare from Richie was usually asked to jump off a cliff or light their shirt on fire or something crazy, but the only mildly-extreme dare from him so far was when he dared Eddie to kiss a random toad he'd pounced on when it happened to hop into the firelight.
Eddie gagged, repulsed, and kindly declined the dare, threatening to violently murder anyone who tried to get him to do it. No one attempted to make him do it; Eddie may have been small and looked completely harmless, but there was a sarcastic, sassy, angry force inside his tiny tan body that the Losers knew not to provoke.
Around the circle they went, and once again it was Richie's turn to ask the dreaded question. His eyes trailed over each Loser, searching for the next victim. He noticed that Stan and Bill seemed to be sitting awfully close to each other, and when he saw Stan's arm around Bill's waist, he smirked.
"Truth or dare, Billy Boy?" He asked, leaning back on his hands, Eddie still curled up on his lap.
Bill puffed out a breath, "Dare." He said it boldly, challenging Richie to do his worst. He shouldn't have.
Richie's smirk widened, and he leaned forward, cracking his knuckles, "I dare you to . . . Kiss Stan the Man, on the lips, no shorter than ten seconds."
The world had gone dead silent, set aside the crackling fire and Stan choking on his drink. He spazzed, crushing the cup in his hand, "Wh-What?"
Bill's face burned scarlett and he thought, 'If Richie wasn't so goddamn tall, it'd be easier to hide his body after I slaughter him.'
"C'mon guys, it's just a dare," Bev said, sensing their discomfort. "It means absolutely nothing."
But to Bill, it meant absolutely everything; if it wasn't clear before, Bill loved Stanley Uris with all of his heart. He never dreamed of getting the chance to kiss him, but now that it was forced because of a dumb game, it felt wrong. It felt fake.
Bill glanced at Stanley, and was met with a look of terror and something else. Something that looked almost like . . . desire, but it was concealed by a veil of anxiety so no one could really be sure.
Gulping slightly and shaking, Stan leaned forward, eyes glued shut. And because this was probably going to be the only time in his entire life that he could, Bill Denbrough lunged and kissed Stan's soft, welcoming lips.
For at least five seconds, it was dead-ass silent. No one moved, no one breathed. The kiss was only supposed to be ten seconds, but neither boy pulled away nor showed any sign of wanting to.
Bill, fearing he was overstepping his boundaries of this dare, was about to. And then his heart practically exploded in his chest. Stanley leaned into him just the slightest bit, tilting his head so their lips fit together perfectly; he was kissing back. HE WAS KISSING BACK!
Bill's mind went into full-blown freak-out mode, and trying to breathe calmly through his nose right now was probably one of the hardest things he'd ever tried to do. His heart soared, higher and higher until he could feel it in his throat, and he wanted to cry because he was so damn happy.
It was impossible to fake the electricity, the passion running between them and binding their souls together. Absolutely impossible, Bill thought. Maybe, maybe for once, he'd been blessed with a stroke of good fortune. Maybe, just maybe, Stanley reciprocated Bill's feelings.
Hesitantly, with a shaking hand, Bill reached up to cup Stanley's jaw, brushing his thumb over his cheek bone. Stan jerked away as if he'd been burned, causing a frantic popping noise as their lips detached. Bill and the rest of the Losers—who'd also picked up on the fact that Stan had indeed kissed him back—watched as the noodle-headed boy stumbled to his feet.
He brushed himself off, keeping his gaze on the ground and hoping the firelight didn't reach his face. Then, they all would've seen the tears welling in his eyes.
"I-I'm sorry, I just-" He hesitantly glanced at Bill. The smaller boy, worried beyond belief, reached out gently for his hand. Stan jerked away again, choking back a sob.
"I c-can't," He said brokenly. "I-I'm so s-sorry." He walked in a wide arc around Bill, breaking out into a full blown sprint towards the driveway where his car was parked.
As his friends watched Stan's truck hastily depart, Bill felt his lower lip quiver, tears filling his own eyes just as they'd filled Stan's. Bill had never seen someone look so scared, look so disgusted as Stan had.
Bill's heart shattered into pieces, and fell into an abyss of pure darkness and pain. Because Stan had kissed him one minute, and rejected him the next. To put it simply, Bill Denbrough felt utterly broken.
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( published O1, December 2O18 ! )
( edited ! )
( longest chapter so far ! 2155 words ! )