#drew these while listening to some guy talk about crime? I think mostly..ALSO MY DUDE WENDIGOON; LOVE THAT GUY | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

billdenbrough · 4 years

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hi i’ve had a headache all day (my fault for staying up until 5am smh) and am coming down with a cold (outrageous, fuck u winter) so i’m not sure how coherent this is but @trentadepresso was having a rough day which is a Crime™ bc andrea is an angel, and she really loves stenbrough, so i thought i’d try my hand at this to cheer her up a little? andrea, babes, i have v little experience/thought w them so i hope i do them justice for u!! i love u v much. also i’m mobile as per so like. apologies in advance for any typos

STENBROUGH + 30. you don’t see me

It’s a Thursday, so it should be a quiet night, but there are about twenty people crammed into various nooks and crannies of the dorm that Bill, Richie and Ben share.

There are three girls sitting in a circle on Mike’s bed, braiding each other’s hair as they listen to him tell a story about Bill, Richie and an ornery goat that has Bev in stitches across the carpet; she’s sitting with some of Richie’s classmates from his Calculus class (“Rich, you’re doing an Arts degree,” Bev had pointed out with a laugh when he’d first slapped his schedule down in front of them all, which he’d met with an unrepentant shrug) at the foot of Ben’s bed, half-watching Community on Ben’s laptop, half-listening to Mike’s story; Ben and Richie playing a very intense game of Charades, along with about ten other people, in front of Richie’s bed, where Eddie is seated, watching the chaos between his fingers, laughing helplessly at absolutely every ridiculous impression Richie does; and finally, where Stan’s eyes always are, Bill, lying down on the carpet, lazily sketching some of the tableau in front of them.

Stan, for that matter, is sitting on the windowsill by the head of Ben’s bed, perched in a way that allows him to survey it all. He’d been talking to some of the braiding girls before Mike had started telling his story, and has since escaped to his raised position. Despite what Richie might say when teasing him, Stan likes these sorts of kick-backs, likes seeing his friends have fun, likes engaging with their peers. He’s not the most sought-out ever (that would be Richie, Bill, or maybe Bev), but that’s hardly a concern of his; he likes having his odder sense of humour, likes having shorter interactions with people, likes having less demands for his time and energy. Richie gets energy from other people’s attention. The only attention that sends a zing through Stan is that of the people he cares about.

There’s a girl giggling—well, there’s several, it’s Richie, but this one stands out in her intentionality—over Richie’s antics at Charades, and Stan winces. He thinks her name’s Belinda—or maybe Bethany?—which would already be a no from him, given how many fucking B-names his friends have, but he’s very certain she’s out of luck. She’s attractive, he supposes, and he could see Richie being interested for a night, but, well. They’ve never talked about it, but Stan is Richie’s best friend. He’s always been aware of how Richie’s eyes travel to Eddie after every antic, always craving his reaction more than anyone else’s.

Of course, that goes two ways. Like, Eddie glancing back, sure, but that’s not what Stan means. He means that he’s pretty sure Richie’s aware of the way Stan’s always on the look out for a crop of auburn hair half a head above everyone but Richie or Mike, the way his gaze always—inevitably—finds Bill in any room, the way something in his heart hurts when it’s late at night and Bill’s looking at him with that sleepy smile.

There’s a shout of triumph, and Stan glances over at the charades crew, which seems to have grown in number. Richie’s whooping, Ben’s laughing at him, and Mike and Bev have ended up over there too, on either side of Eddie, shouting “best of three!” Richie glances at Ben, who shrugs, making Richie beam. “All right! This time, though, Eds, you’re playing,” Richie announces, and Stan stifles a laugh at the expression on Eddie’s face.

“Wait, Rich—” Eddie’s saying, and then Mike says, “C’mon, Eddie, I’ll be with you guys too. Who’s going to get Richie’s impressions faster than you?” and the expression on Eddie’s face... kind of knocks the breath out of Stan. He dearly wants to talk to him and figure out exactly what Mike’s words did to Eddie’s understanding of it all, but Richie’s still smiling brightly at Eddie, all hopeful eyes, and just like always, Eddie sighs, and nods. “Yeah, okay, as long as Mikey’s with us,” he says, and Richie whoops.

“Guess that means I’m with you,” Bev says to Ben, who smiles back. “Guess so,” he says. “Bill, do you want to play?” he asks, turning to where his roommate is still lying on the floor. Stan, again, stifles a laugh at the expression on Richie’s face (“He is entirely too good of a friend sometimes,” Richie had grumbled to Stan once, “like he and Bill are close, and Bill and Bev are totally over what the fuck ever you wanna call what they had going on for literally like, two weeks, so it’s not like he needs to do it to be a good friend to Bill anyway, but holy shit, I wish he’d realise that Bev, like, wants to hang out with him for him. Like, love yourself, dude.”), before his eyebrows shoot up at what Bill’s doing.

Because Bill is standing, shaking his head, and completely abandoning the two people who were lying beside him, not so subtly trying to get him to sketch them. “Nah, I wanna show Stan some of these,” he says, which is... odd. Not that he wants to show him things—Stan knows, realistically, that he’s one of the most important people in Bill’s life, and that Bill values his opinion—but just the timing of it all.

Ben nods, asking one of the girls braiding hair if she wants to join their team instead, but Bev’s eyes stay on Bill. There’s something knowing in them that Stan’s not entirely sure what to do with.

“Hey, you been having fun?” Bill asks, leaning against the wall just to the left of the head of the bed. He’s close enough that Stan can feel every movement brush against him.

“Yeah,” Stan says agreeably. “I mean, probably not as much as them—” he leans his head towards a few of the audience members for the charades shenanigans who seem to be drinking beer, even though Stan didn’t see any boxes around, “—but it’s been fine. What about you?” He nudges Bill, inclining his head towards the sketchbook Bill’s got under his arm. “Any good scenes?”

Bill’s lips, in a grimace at the drinking students, twist into an embarrassed smile. “Yeah, I mean, kind of? Everyone’s having fun, and that’s, you know, soothing to draw.”

“Can I see?” Stan asks. He doesn’t usually ask. He’s the only one. He’s always been the most sensitive about the idea of Bill saying no. But. But Bill is warm and bright and next to him, and he said he wanted to show Stan some of them, and maybe Stan’s not foolish to believe it.

Bill glances at him in surprise. “You want—yeah, sure,” he says, and it sounds so easy in his mouth, even though it was accompanied with the kind of initial surprise that used to get him stuttering so hard that even their teachers referred to him by it. (That had always made Stanley angry, so angry; the idea that anyone could see Bill, with all of his bravery and determination and loyalty, his creativity and care and warmth, and think the thing that mattered most to define him was his fucking stutter.)

He pushes off from against the wall and tilts his head towards his now-empty bed, and Stan nods. He slips down from the windowsill onto Ben’s bed, gently closes Ben’s laptop mid-rant from Jeff Winger, and ends up sitting at the head of Bill’s bed while Bill drops himself into his desk chair. He passes Stan the sketchbook, and Stan opens it, drawing in a breath. The first one is of Richie, and it’s—fuck, it’s just beautiful. Richie’s always been so in motion that Stan would never have guessed he could see a paper page and feel like he could find his best friend in the lines on it, but Bill’s managed it. There’s something striking in the lines and slopes of Richie’s face, something frenetic in the feathering lines of his hands, something in the expression on his face that suggests of a laugh beginning to form. It’s bright and bold and fucking beautiful, and Stan was always sure Bill was talented, but he doesn’t have words for this.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, and he’s vaguely aware of Bill’s eyes on his, the weight of his gaze, but he’s mostly losing himself in the sketches. He flicks to the next page, and it’s Bev and Ben. Stan always thinks of the way Ben looks at Bev, maybe because he’s a little closer to Bev than he is to Ben, but Bill drew it the other way around. Ben’s the star of the piece, with his burly arms and wide, sweet face, and Bev’s looking at him, and the expression on her face is so fond and amused and fierce and affectionate that it hurts, because it’s so her, but Stan prides himself on being observant, and if he didn’t notice this tonight, then Ben definitely didn’t. Maybe if he sees it here, rendered in such vivid detail that it’s impossible not to swallow as something true, it’ll hit him.

“She looks at him like Eddie looks at Richie,” Bill says with a quiet chuckle, and Stan’s heart stops in his chest. Because, yeah, Richie and Eddie feel very obvious to Stan, especially Richie at Eddie. But he can’t fathom how Bill could possibly notice Bev looking at Ben and Eddie looking at Richie and not notice Stan’s eyes following him through every room. He flicks more hurriedly through the pages, soaking them all in, and they’re beautiful, all so beautiful. Mike’s strong and tall and genuine, laughing quietly with three girls on Bill’s bed; Bev’s legs are tangled in Richie’s from earlier in the night, the two of them setting up Community; Eddie’s laughing so hard that he’s breathless, leaning on Ben for support, and—

Wait.

Stan glances back at it, brow furrowing. The background is half filled-in, and something in Stan’s stomach lurches, because he remembers this moment. He’d been right there, on the other side of Ben, looking at Eddie with amusement. But he’s not in the sketch.

He flicks to the next page. It’s Mike and Bev, sitting cross-legged on the floor, well before most people arrived, and Stan’s frown deepens, because he knows he was there, standing behind Bev, hands resting on her shoulders. They’re bare in the pictures. He flicks forward again. Richie talking to Mike. Stan feels like he and Eddie should be laughing in the background, but they’re not. He’s not.

He flicks forward again. There are more of the kick-back, all these people Stan knows only vaguely, and yet. None of Stan. This whole night is basically immortalised in this sketchbook, but there’s none of Stan or Bill. He... really doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Stan?” Bill’s voice breaks through. “What’s wrong?”

Stan doesn’t look up. He’s thinking this through in his mind, examining it from every possible angle. He ends up with one possible conclusion, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“You don’t see me,” he says carefully. His heart thuds, but his voice is level. He finally looks up.

Bill blinks. “W-what?” Clearly, it’s the last thing he expected Stan to say. Some distant part of Stan notes that the stutter is back.

“There are like twenty pictures here,” Stan says, and does his voice sound too rigid? Too taut? He’s trying for patient, or at the very least, not hurt. “All from tonight.”

Bill nods, brow furrowed.

“Bill,” Stan says patiently, wondering why he’s even pursuing this. Because he’s a constant disappointment to himself, probably. “There are like twenty pictures in here, and none of them are of me.”

Bill’s eyes widen, and his mouth pops open ever so slightly. It hurts to look at it. Because that’s what he’d look like when he kisses someone, Stan imagines, and that’s never felt like less of a possibility for him to experience than now.

“It’s whatever,” Stan says, “I mean, you’re under no obligation to. I just... was surprised, I guess.” Because we’re best friends. Aren’t we? Because even if your heart doesn’t skip a beat when I smile at you, we’re still friends, aren’t we?

Bill still looks a little taken aback, but something Stan said must have gotten under his skin, because he opens his mouth furiously, before being cut off by a whoop from Bev (“Suck on that, Tozier!”). He closes his mouth instead, and looks at Stan with such intensity that Stan feels off-kilter.

“Stan,” he says quietly, fiercely. “Stan, I see you. You’re like, the only thing I see.”

And now Stan’s mouth is slightly open, because he doesn’t know what to do with that. How to compute that, how to make it align with the facts of the universe as he knows it, with what he’s surmised from the sketchbooks.

Bill, apparently, didn’t mean to say all that, because his face shuts down for a moment, before it takes on a determined set. He slides back slightly from the edge of the bed and rifles through his desk drawers—god, they’re a fucking disaster area, Stan notes with a wince—before pulling out another sketchbook.

“Th-th-this is the one I had before,” he says, and there’s something so familiar about Bill in this moment, stuttering yet determined, that it twists something in Stan’s chest. He pushes it towards Stan, who opens it.

The first picture is of Richie again. But it’s Richie with Stan, and Richie’s laughing, joy in motion, and yet. The sketch is focused on Stan, with his wry smile and dancing eyes and the way his shoulder sits under the arm Richie slung around it. The next one is Eddie and Richie, and Stan’s in the background, but he’s got as much detail in his expression as Richie does, despite his face being a fifth of the size. Stan flicks through. They’re all like that. There’s a fair few without him, of course, but all of the ones that feature him, it feels like the pencils came a little more alive when resting on him. He looks up at Bill, open-mouthed.

“You’re just,” Bill says, before laughing shakily. “You were the only thing I could see. So I had to start drawing the space around you. To cope, you know.”

Stan’s heart is thudding. He’s genuinely, for the first time in his life, speechless. Which is saying something, given how long he’s known Richie Tozier.

Bill flicks the pages of the sketchbook from tonight to the very back, and there’s Stan’s face, staring back at him. He’s grinning to the side, amusement in his eyes, and every line of it is so fond, so carefully rendered, that Stan’s heart genuinely hurts.

“Bill,” Stan says, and he doesn’t know what he’s saying. That he gets it, maybe. That his eyes find Bill in every room. That he fell in love with everything Bill drew tonight, that to see the way Bill sees him blows him completely away.

“I didn’t mean to drop this all on you,” Bill says, running his hands through his hair. “I just. Couldn’t stand the idea of you thinking you didn’t matter.”

Stan’s hands snake out and capture Bill’s. Bill glances up at him, eyes wide. Behind them, Stan can hear Eddie shouting something about an octopus—Richie must be having his turn—but Stan wills away those noises.

“You’re the first person I look for in any room,” Stan says, and when Bill’s breath hitches, Stan squeezes his hand. “You’re always the first thing I see.”

Bill looks like he’s been struck by lightning. “God,” he breathes. “We’re so fucking stupid.”

Stan huffs. “Okay, no. Richie and Eddie are idiots. Ben too. We’re just... mildly moronic.”

“Mildly moronic?” Bill sounds like he’s trying not to laugh.

“I mean, we sorted it out in one conversation,” Stan says, ignoring the way his stomach is fluttering. “They’re all going to need at least three. Mike’s the only one I trust.”

Bill really does laugh then, and he’s sliding his chair forward, and Stan’s breath hitches. ��Mike’s the smartest one of us all,” he agrees, speaking into the small space between them.

“Richie is so fucking clever, and yet,” Stan murmurs into the space between, and is it getting smaller...?

“No braincells,” Bill sighs, and then he’s sighing it into Stan’s mouth, and Stan was so wrong earlier, when he thought he’d never see what it looked like for Bill Denbrough to look at him like he meant to kiss him.

(When they separate, Stan’s flushed and Bill’s ears are red. The noise is still coming from the charades crew—Bev’s the one acting it out now—but Richie catches Stan’s eye, waggling his eyebrows, but the beam on his face is sincere, and the thumbs up he gives Stan completely genuine. Stan rolls his eyes back, but can’t stop the smile spreading across his face, least of all when he meets Bill’s gaze again, and sees the giddy grin on the taller boy’s face.)

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