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yesvac · 5 years

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Cool Kids Never Have The Time (stozier)

au where stan and richie don’t know each other but as classmates, richie is the class stoner, and stan smokes weed for the first time with him : )

warning: drug use

length: about 3k

The first hit of the bowl is a bit too much to handle, in Stan’s opinion.

It’s not like he’s a nerd, per say. He wouldn’t be qualified as one in most people’s minds. He’s actually quite cool, in his opinion, but in the social ladder of their high school, he’s not particularly topping the charts. He’s got friends, sure, but those people are not considered “cool kids” or “popular”. One of his friends, Ben, called him “the King of the nerds,” once.

So Stan wouldn’t say it’s surprising that he became friends with Richie Tozier. Yeah, Richie is… a bit edgier than most people he knows, and Richie doesn’t go to school as often as he should, but it’s not like Stan’s counting his attendance, or looking over at Richie’s empty seat at the beginning of class every day. Psh, why would he?

But that doesn’t quite explain how Stan got to be in this situation, holding a “bowl” up to his lips while Richie lights the end.

He surely didn’t mean to get in this situation. He’s not a bad kid. He stays away from drugs, and when he gets invited to parties with alcohol, he politely declines. In his high school career, and in all of the 18 years of his life, he’s gone to one real party. He left in twenty minutes.

But what was he supposed to do when Richie passed him a note in Economics, reading “you want to come over to mine later?”

When the note was dropped on his desk, he was dumbfounded at first, for multiple reasons. His heart was racing as he tried to process it. First thought: who the fuck passes notes anymore? this isn’t middle school. And then: wait, Richie Tozier wants me to come over?

Then he thinks of what he might like to do at Richie Tozier’s house. Oh.

Stan blushes at his thoughts. He shouldn’t allow himself to think things like that about boys, but he indulges occasionally. Probably more than most guys would.

He looks across the room to where Richie’s sitting and he’s a bit spooked when he sees that Richie is already looking at him, with this little smirk on his face. Swallowing his anxiety, Stan nods in Richie’s direction, and the butterflies that reside in his tummy are making a bit of an uproar as a grin appears on Richie’s face. Richie mouths to him slowly: meet me by my locker after school.

Fuck. Stan’s fucked if he wants a good grade in Econ, because any and all material is lost to his mind after that.

A few hours later when the final bell rings, Stan tries to convince himself he hasn’t been waiting for the moment that school ends, but he can’t, not truly. His friends have been bugging him about being absentminded and not participating in their conversations mentally, but he reckons that’s okay for one day.

He tries not to run to Richie’s locker, and instead settles for a brisk pace over to a black mob of hair and a jean jacket faced the opposite way. Briefly, he is immobilized with nervousness, but when Richie glances over to where Stan is standing awkwardly a few feet away, he loudly spits out, “Hi!”

At first, Richie looks a bit judgemental, but his expression softens, and the corners of his beautiful mouth tilt upwards. Stan’s running his fingers through his fringe and pushing it upwards because Jesus, he’s sweating already. Calm the fuck down and stop being so gay, he thinks, but Richie’s smile just makes his knees feel weak. “Hey, Stan the man.”

“Stan the man?” he makes out, and the nervousness is coming back again, and he thinks for a moment that maybe he’s actually judged this situation completely wrong. Is this… an insult, or a nickname? It’s not like Richie is perceived in the eyes of the school body as a nice guy, really. Stan’s not sure. But… maybe he saw him looking at him. Maybe he’s angry. Maybe he knows Stan’s gay somehow, and trapped him here, cornered against a locker. Maybe coming here was the worst possible idea.

His mind tells him to take a step back, so he does. “I- I actually think, that I have to, I have to go,” he stammers. “My mom, uh. My mom needs me to take care of our… Our iguana.”

Stan doesn’t have an iguana. He facepalms mentally.

But then, Richie says the unexpected: “Is something wrong? Are you okay? You look pale all the sudden.” He extends an arm to rest on Stan’s shoulder and despite his best efforts, Stan can’t find it in him to think there’s anything malicious about him.

Sure, Richie’s wearing black ripped jeans and some old, beat up Doc Martins that look like they’re from the 80’s, but he’s also wearing a jean jacket with pink patches and embroidered designs. Yes, he’s got a septum piercing and he skips school, but his eyes and smile are so soft that Stan can’t be intimidated. He melts at the gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Stan manages, and he can tell his face is hot. “I just remembered that I, uh, don’t actually have to be home, so nevermind. I can come over to yours.”

Richie laughs, and the way he tilts his head back while laughing makes Stan’s heart hurt. “Okay, it’s not iguana-care day. I see,” Richie teases, and surprisingly, Stan doesn’t feel targeted or anything by the tease, just wants to laugh along with him, so he does. It feels natural and organic to be laughing with him and he wants to do it forever. “Let’s go, I can give us a ride.”

There’s something mundanely enchanting to Stan about boys who can drive. Well, maybe it’s just boys. Actually, maybe it’s just Richie.

He coughs awkwardly as he gets into Richie’s vehicle. It’s an interesting one for sure. “Sorry if it’s hard to close the door, Ol’ Gertrude is getting a bit rickety. But we won’t die.” Stan laughs, as if it’s a joke, but Richie looks at him seriously. “Probably.”

He’s not lying when he says that the car is getting old; there’s rust all over it and it does take two or three tries for Stan to fully close the door because for some reason, its locking mechanism doesn’t work. The seats are all busted in some ways and Richie has seemed to fix it by using duct tape strategically, but Stan can still feel the springs poking out in some places. There’s dice hanging from the mirror. It’s a hot day, but there’s not air conditioning, so Stan can feel the perspiration on his face, but the way the windows roll down and Stan can stick his fingers out to feel the air as Richie drives is therapudic and organic.

Richie’s fringe is fully pushed up by now, his face slightly flush as he drives with one hand. He’s trying to explain music to Stan, and Stan suddenly realizes what Richie’s actually passionate about.

“Call me a hipster - really, I am - but the stuff nowadays is really shitty. Too much autotune, and electronic music sound. I’m not into it. Prime music was the 80’s and 90’s - alternative was the best then.” He’s trying to get a CD out of the compartment in front of Stan and Stan takes it over from him, sliding the CD out of the case and helping Richie slide it into the disc player. It immediately plays Track 1.

“Fuck, this is a classic,” Richie comments fondly, and Stan thinks swear words don’t sound quite as crude coming out of his mouth.

Shakedown 1979

Cool kids never have the time

On a live wire right up off the street

You and I should meet

He finds himself fascinated with the way Richie looks, carefree and happy as he drives and sings along to the song. Stan’s not sure if he likes the music better than what he listens to, but he’s sure that he likes Richie singing it better than anything he’s ever heard, ever.

Too soon they arrive at Richie’s house, and as they get out, some anxiety clouds Stan’s mind because what the fuck are they going to do, anyways? He’s not like, socially incapable, but Richie and him have never really talked ever, and they don’t seem to have very many common interests. Nevertheless, they enter Richie’s house and it’s nice, cozy. His downstairs is painted in light pastel yellows and he feels comforted at the decor.

When Richie shows him his room, it’s like walking into a completely different building from the rest of the house.

First of all, it’s painted a light blue, but that’s barely visible through all of the posters he has up. There’s movie posters for every award-winning movie he can think of in the last 30 years. Also, there’s posters for, yes, 90’s and 80’s alternative and rock bands, and Stan thinks if Richie knew that the only real 80’s and 90’s music Stan knows is the boybands, then he would be scolded severely (he can’t help it - his first boy crush was on Justin Timberlake). There’s also tacked up photos of what look to be torn pages from National Geographic of locations around the world. Stan recognizes what looks to be a busy Japanese street, a waterfall somewhere, the badlands, and a photo taken in a desert with a crowd of antelope. He has a bed and in the corner of his bedroom, a sofa, and then a computer desk with a computer chair - he sits down at his chair and looks up at Stan, and Stan sits on his bed lightly. His bedroom is also slightly messy, disheveled in a way that isn’t too unacceptable. There’s an indistinct smell that he can’t quite place.

Stan feels slightly overwhelmed.

Richie begins talking about something related to music again, and he syncs his phone with a speaker in his room and plays some song Stan can’t place, one he’s never heard before, and he zones out a bit to what he’s saying, internally freaking out that he’s at a hot boy’s house on his bed while he’s being ranted at about good music, until Richie says something that shocks him into listening.

“Wanna smoke weed?”

While Stan knows it’s unattractive to sputter, apparently he can’t help but be not cute around Richie. “W-what did you say?” Because he isn’t quite sure he heard right, even though he knows internally exactly what Richie said.

“Did you want to smoke some weed? I have four grams and a bowl if you wanted to. My parents aren’t home and won’t be ‘till later. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, really. It helps me relax though, and makes the music even better,” Richie says, and he giggles a bit at the end. He raises his eyebrows at Stan, obviously expecting an answer, but Stan’s not sure he can give a comprehensible one.

Oh god, he’s about to get high for the first time with the hottest dude in his class. This is what he knows, because he knows for a fact he’s not going to be able to say no to Richie’s smile, even if he’s kind of scared of inhaling smoke and getting high in general, and his mom raised him to stay away from drugs.

“Yes,” he says. Of course. Idiot.

So that brings them to where they are now. Richie is opening up the window to his room, and he retrieves a wooden box from a discreet place at the top of his messy closet, and he opens the box. There’s some oddly shaped things Stan doesn’t recognize, and it occurs to him that Richie probably doesn’t realize that he hasn’t smoked weed before. “I haven’t smoked weed before,” he comments casually, and Richie looks at him incredulously.

“Really, Stan the man? Never smoked?” Richie asks, and Stan nods. “Figures, with your straight A’s, and all. You just need to be roughed up a little. Live life and all that shit.” Stan nods again, and pretends that he doesn’t want Richie to rough him up in every way. “I’ll guide you through it.”

Ten minutes later and they’re both sitting on Richie’s sofa facing his window, and Richie’s holding what he calls a “bowl”, which in reality looks nothing like a bowl and actually looks more like a pipe made of glass or ceramic material, Stan doesn’t know. It’s blue and shiny, and it’s stuffed with weed at the end. Richie tells him the process of it, how you’re supposed to hold your fingers over one part of it, and then light it, and then inhale, and then release your fingers, and then exhale after you’ve held it for a moment. But try as he might, all of those instructions escaped his mind, because when you’ve got Richie Tozier one foot in front of you and you’re about to get high with him, it’s quite hard to focus on little things.

“Got it?” Richie asks him, and Stan wants to have got it, but he hasn’t got it. He shakes his head, and Richie laughs. He feels bad for a moment, but not for long, not really. “It’s okay, Stan. I’ll hold the bowl for you and I’ll light it too. All you have to do is inhale, and then exhale when you’re ready.”

Stan nods, and he doesn’t feel ready quite yet, but it’s not like he’s going to say no because god, Richie is beautiful and he’s holding the bowl up to his lips and Stan’s going to hell for being so gay, he’s sure of it. It occurs to him that he’s practically on Richie’s lap right as Richie lights the weed, and says “GO!” to him, and he inhales the smoke from the bowl, and immediately chokes.

Richie had told him that he’d probably cough, but this was nothing like he’d imagined. He choked on smoke and coughed to try to get the toxicity out of his throat. He keeps coughing, and he’s honestly surprised at the amount he coughs before he can stop, really. He’s practically wheezing out of Richie’s window, and Richie is chuckling at him slightly. When Stan finally stops coughing, wiping the water out of his eyes, he sees Richie from his blurry vision taking a hit and he looks practiced and masterful. The smoke leaves through his nose and he takes a breathe of air calmly. No coughing at all.

“What the fuck? How did you do that?” Stan laughs, and he coughs again at the end of his sentence, and finds himself in another minute-long coughing fit. He wants to stop, he really does, but there’s an insistent tickling at the back of his throat and he must look like an idiot.

However, there’s a warmth at his shoulder and he looks back at Richie, smiling warmly at him and he feels comforted with just a glance at the boy next to him, and he can feel the anxiety melting off of him by the minute. “If you’re a loser pothead like me, then you’re good at this. But don’t aspire for that,” he laughs again, and holds the bowl out to Stan’s mouth again, and Stan tries to pull himself together for another hit again, and he inhales like before. It goes down much smoother than the first, but he still coughs with his exhale.

“Is there a way to make this any better than it is? Like, my eyes won’t stop watering and I’ve got this tickling in my throat that isn’t going away,” he complains to Richie as Richie takes another hit. It occurs to him mildly that his lips were wrapped around the same thing that Richie’s are, and tries to make that fact not matter to him, and fails. “I don’t get the glamour of this yet.”

The way Richie exhales the smoke out of the window through pursed lips makes Stan’s spine tingle a little bit, in a way that only Richie’s looks can do. Richie laughs dryly again. “Eating and drinking make it better. I’m sure the high will hit you in a few. You’ll feel it, and you’ll know.” As Richie relaxes against the sofa, he gets the feeling that Richie is already feeling it.

“How am I supposed to know if I’ve never experienced it?” Stan presses, leaning forward a bit, closer to Richie. Richie gives him a devious smile in return, cracking his knuckles before placing a hand on Stan’s shoulder, which is warm and welcome.

“You’ll know, Stan the man. You’ll know.”

A few minutes later, they are both lying on the floor and looking up at Richie’s ceiling. The lights are off and Richie has glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to his ceiling which Richie is entranced by, as they listen to more music. Stan feels… something, but he isn’t sure if it is from the drug he just smoked or the feeling of laying so close to Richie.

Richie suddenly turns towards him, still horizontal, and says, “Stan the man.”

“Yes?”

“How do you feel?”

Stan’s fingers grip the carpet around him, letting the fabric touch his hands and feel the texture and everything around him. “I feel a little different. Like everything’s slower.”

“Your eyes are red as hell,” Richie comments, laying a hand on Stan’s arm. Tingles shoot through Stan from the place that Richie touched him. He internally facepalms at how sensitive he is, and tells himself to calm down.

Stan sits up a bit, and looks at Richie’s face, examining the way that the weed has affected him. “Your eyes are red too, you know. So shut up.”

“You’re so handsome, Stan,” Richie sighs, and Stan’s eyes widen. He’s unsure if he heard Richie correctly, and where that compliment came from, and what the implications are, and whether it could just be a platonic comment, and his mind is racing with thoughts while he stares blankly forward.

Richie’s eyebrows furrow. “You good?”

Stan sputters, “yeah. I’m good. I think it just hit me.”

Richie smirks, an irritatingly attractive tilt of the mouth, and Stan wishes he could kiss it off of him, so he does. He grabs Richie’s wrists and pulls him forward, and their mouths collide clumsily and Stan is feeling so, so unorthodox.

But it’s good. It’s really good. Richie is warm and although he is bony, his hands seem to have an instinct of their own and perfectly clutch Stan’s face, aligning like they were made to fit, and Stan’s whole body feels like it’s tingling as he moves his lips against Richie’s, kissing him. Richie seems to be pressing forward, responding emphatically to Stan’s movements, and Stan pulls away to breathe and to look at Richie again. He can’t believe himself.

Richie’s face is flushed, his cheeks pleasantly red, and Stan thinks he looks better than ever. His eyes are blown-- from use of illegal substances or from kissing, Stan isn’t sure-- and he looks exhilerated. Stan is internally satisfied that he can make Richie look like that.

Turning down the volume of the music, Richie smiles back to Stan, and his hands move along Stan’s arms like he can’t stop touching him. “I guess I’ll have to have you over a lot more often, Stan the man.”

#this is bad but i havent written fic in forever and i got the feeling i should so i did so here ti is #stozier #my writing #drug use #drugs

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