richie held his head in his hands, trying to ignore the tears running steady trails along his freckled face. the sound of the door slamming made him wince, and he hit his head on the side of the table he was curled up next to as a result. he cursed loudly, putting a hand to the throbbing part of his skull.

no blood. he'd be fine.

knowing stan would be too far away to hear anything at that point, he let out a scream that was equal parts frustration and hurt and anger and heartbreak all mingled together.

ten years. ten years they'd lasted, from age sixteen all the way to twenty six, and all of it had just gone down the drain.

richie felt like absolute shit knowing he'd been the cause of it. he hadn't meant to be, of course, but that didn't matter now.

he had only wanted to talk, but stan had taken it the wrong way, and they'd both said things they hadn't meant. things like "i hate you" (richie) and "i wish we'd never met" (stan). he hated that things had to end like this, with so much left unsaid.

he still loved stan. of course he did. you couldn't fall out of love after ten years of nothing and no one else over night.

no, of course richie still loved stan. that wasn't the problem. the problem was that lately, stan had been shutting him out. the only time they ever talked anymore was in the middle of the night, when they would both cuddle, with stan as the little spoon. pillow talk.

richie was fucking sick of it. he gave up everything for stan, even going as far as to turn down a job as a high-paid business exec because stan didn't want to move anywhere out of state. he gave up everything for stan and he got nothing in return.

he just wanted things to go back to the way they were. he missed laying his head on stan's lap and having his fingers in his hair while they complained back and forth about the shitty days they had. he missed playing video games instead of sleeping and he missed the way stan would get so wrapped up in a book that he'd be dead to the world. he missed when they'd go on long hikes and find a place to sit and eat and stan would birdwatch and richie would look up at the sky and pretend not to be watching stan. he missed those times. he missed the old stan.

nowadays, he was being taken for granted, and it fucking hurt. it hurt more than anything he'd ever felt because it felt like stan just didn't care anymore. so he'd confronted stan. he was tired of being too good to someone who wouldn't make any effort to do the same.

"you think i don't love you?"

richie had physically recoiled when stan had said it, hurt that the thought had even crossed his mind. "i'm not saying that. stan, listen—"

"no, richie. i won't listen. you think i don't fucking do enough for you, is that it? i work my ass off to support us. i pay the utilities. hell, i pay for your gas. how am i supposed to find the time to go out of my way to have to fucking prove that i love you? you know i love you, richie. god, i just—i can't believe you."

"stan, i never said—"

"yes, you fucking did. you said you're tired of being taken for granted, as if i don't show you nearly everyday how much i love you. if anything, you're just upset that i can't make everything about you."

"i hate when you do that, stan. don't you fucking dare do that. don't twist my words. if you would just listen to me—"

"i listened, richie. it was fucking—"

"no, stan, you didn't. that's the point. i feel like i can't even fucking talk to you anymore. we never go anywhere, we never do anything together. you get home from work, make dinner, i get home and we eat. then we watch tv for a little bit, kiss, maybe, if you're not in a mood, and then we sleep. we get up again, you grab some fruit and you're out the door and i'm home for another hour before i head to work. it's the same fucking thing, day after day. i bring you flowers, offer to take you out to dinner, ask if you want to go on a walk on the weekends, and i don't get fucking shit in return. i'm sick of it. i'm sick of you taking me for granted and not even bothering to do anything for me. maybe that sounds selfish, but do you know how much it fucking hurts? i make so many sacrifices for you and i get nothing. i hate it, stan."

"oh, fuck off, richie. if you're going to get so butthurt over me not having enough time for you, then get out of my house."

they were both crying then, though stan had been taking pains to hide it. richie just didn't care anymore. he was full on sobbing. if it hurt stan, then maybe that was good. make him aware of just how much he was hurting.

"this is my fucking house, stan. in case you forgot."

"whatever, richie."

"i hate you." richie had said this with such force that stan just blinked in surprise, his eyes wide. it was clear that richie had struck a nerve. good, he thought. maybe he deserves it.

"i wish i'd never met you," stan retorted, stalking over to the door. "goodbye, richie."

richie blinked away tears, jolted back to reality by the sound of a car alarm blaring somewhere in the distance. he bolted to his feet, not even bothering to put on shoes. "stan," he choked out, wrenching the door open. he was surprised to see stan sitting at the bench, his face buried in his hands. "stan," he whispered, and he let out a strangled sound when the other boy looked up at him.

"richie," he said, looking up at him. "i'm sorry. i fucked up. i couldn't—"

"shut up," richie murmured, and stan stood up to pull him into a tight hug. he peppered the top of his head with kisses, and stan buried his face against richie's tear stained hoodie.

"i love you. i'm so sorry, richie. i didn't know i was hurting you."

richie quieted him by leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on his soft lips. "shh. it's okay, stan. we can start by going hiking next week."

it wasn't okay. both of them knew that. but they were working on it, and that's what mattered.

stan smiled, though it was a sad, soft smile. "your lips are chapped."

richie grinned. "i know, baby, i know."