you were sitting on the bleachers after school, the sun starting to dip behind the trees, casting long shadows across the field. it had been a long day, and you two had somehow ended up here after wandering around town. neither of you really wanted to go home yet, so you just sat, sharing a bag of chips and talking about everything and nothing.

stan was rambling about something, probably the latest record he’d picked up at the thrift store, when he suddenly went quiet. you glanced over at him, expecting some sarcastic comment or joke, but instead, he had this serious, almost vulnerable look on his face.

"hey," he said, breaking the silence.

"hm?"

"am i... weird?"

the question hung in the air for a moment. you blinked, caught off guard by his tone. stan, the guy who wore vintage suits to school for no reason, who listened to obscure music, who spoke in movie quotes, he was asking if he was weird?

you smiled softly, shaking your head a little. "yeah, but so what? everybody’s weird."