#quid-ditchcaptain

Derry High School’s class of 1993 were all gathered for one last party before summer started to pull everyone in different directions. Greta Keene and Sally Mueller were going to Florida together. Bev bet him a hundred dollars they wouldn’t be such besties anymore by the third semester. Bill said the second, but Bev probably had a better idea.

Searching the faces of everyone in attendance, he was disappointed to find not one of them were Stan. They hadn’t spoken since their fight.

Stan wanted Bill to make a choice about their future. Any choice at all, and yet Bill couldn’t do it. He didn’t know what he wanted from the rest of his life. He was perfectly content working with his dad here in Derry, whereas Stan wanted to explore the world outside of a small town. His sights were on New York. West Virginia. Chicago. California. Dots all over the United States.

“Call me when you know what you want,” he had said to Bill.

Honestly, Bill just wanted Stan.

Tossing the red solo cup aside, Bill left the party. He meandered through the empty streets of Derry, and before he knew it, he was running. He had to get to Stan. If he wanted to travel, then they would travel. Maybe Bill wouldn’t be getting a college education, but he could work and support Stan in the meantime. They would figure it out on their twin sized mattress, cuddling for warmth when the heater in their shitty apartment broke.

That’s what Bill wanted.

But when he arrived at Stan’s house, his car was already gone. He took off almost immediately after graduation, without so much as a goodbye. Bill understood. If he stopped to say goodbye, he was afraid he wouldn’t leave at all. It didn’t hurt any less knowing Stan’s reasons.

As long as you’re happy, Bill thought, sighing as he kicked a rock in the street.

Twenty years later, Bill hoped for the same. Stan’s smile made his chest tighten, but it also elicited his own smile.

“You look amazing!” he said, reaching out to hug Stan. His cologne was more intoxicating than the shitty watered down drinks they were being served. His hair was combed back, a loose curl hanging adorably by his ear. There was a lot of care put into his appearance, and suddenly Bill felt self-conscious.

“I wish I could say the same,” Stan teased, snickering when Bill gave him the finger. “You look like you rolled out of bed and remembered you had to show up.” He laughed, and Bill’s expression softened. He missed that sound. When the laughter faded, they smiled again at each other, silence filling the space between them. “How long has it-”

“Don’t, no- don’t say it,” Bill begged. Although it was mostly playful, it was a genuine plea as well. He didn’t want to be reminded of all the time they lost. Stan paused, staring at Bill. He could see the desperation in his eyes, try as Bill might to hide it.

“Are you here with anyone?” Stan asked, turning to look around. Bill shook his head.

“No. I don’t really... do that,” he admitted sheepishly. Rubbing the back of his head, he forced out, “Are you?” He didn’t want to know if he was. He prayed Stan would lie to him if he had a partner.

“No. Haven’t met the right guy,” he said, shrugging. Bill let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Silence again.

Bill opened his mouth, only to shut it immediately. Stan couldn’t pretend he didn’t notice.

“I thought about you, from time to time,” he said. Bill froze; he didn’t want to look at Stan, but he couldn’t quite say what scared him so much. “A lot, in the beginning, actually. I almost... turned the car around. At least to say goodbye. I’m sorry I didn’t.” There was a hopeful tone in Stan’s voice, as if this were good enough to forgive twenty years of radio silence.

Perhaps it was.

“I got why. You’re not a hard person to figure out- or, well, not always,” Bill stumbled over his words, making Stan chuckle fondly. There were equal amounts of times where Bill could read Stan like his favorite book, and where Bill could hardly decipher the language Stan was coded in. He knew how to figure out Stan’s approach to certain things, but he couldn’t grasp how much Stan loved him behind that poker face. Stan was always his favorite mystery.

“I never said I loved you, did I?” Stan asked, his voice lower now. He was lost in thought, replaying all the moments they shared in their youth. They were almost forty now; a whole chunk of their lives were spent growing away from each other. Bill’s chest tightened again, not just at Stan’s question, but at the implication that it was too late.

“You showed me you loved me. I thought that was better,” he replied. The pleading was back in his tone. This time he was begging Stan not to blame himself and pull away.

Now the silence between them was almost too much to bear. If they didn’t say something more concrete, the small talk would end, and they would go their separate ways.

“I miss you.”“I miss you.”

Neither of them could tell who said it first.

The chatter around them became muted. Standing there was the longest moment of Bill’s life, which had seemed to be passing so quickly just an hour ago. Then, Stan started to laugh.

Bill couldn’t help but join him.

When Stan met his gaze again, Bill could feel the warmth he’d almost completely forgotten. It had been twenty years, but the same jolt of nerves shot through him, making him fifteen again.

Fifteen, and kissing Stan for the first time.

“Would you mind if I spent the rest of the night with you?” Stan asked. Bill choked on his drink, his face burning. His heart slammed in his chest; his legs felt weak - he felt as though he were floating out of his own body.