The sun hung low in the sky, bathing the Uris household in a warm orange glow. Stanley sat cross-legged on the living room floor, puzzling over a half-finished jigsaw he and Richie had started. Behind him, Richie lounged on the couch, absently flipping through channels on the modest TV.

Stan’s father was out—a rare reprieve that made the house feel lighter, free from its usual weight of expectations and rules. With just him and Richie alone, the silence felt oddly charged.

“Stan the Man, you’re awful at puzzles,” Richie teased, flicking a piece toward him. “You’ve been staring at that corner for ten minutes. Did it insult your mom or something?”

Stan shook his head with a snort. “Maybe we’d finish faster if you helped instead of running your mouth.”

Richie slid to the floor beside him, the couch groaning in relief. His chaotic presence was oddly comforting, filling the space with life. But today felt… different. Stan’s fingers lingered on a puzzle piece, a strange thrill buzzing in his chest. No one was watching.

He shoved the thought aside, only for Richie’s hand to brush his as he grabbed a piece. “Careful,” Richie joked, voice softer, “wouldn’t want to break the puzzle master.”

Stan’s stomach flipped. He pulled his hand back quickly, cheeks flushing. Richie was just Richie—oblivious, loud, and annoying. But the casual touch felt amplified in the quiet house.

“So,” Richie drawled, smirking. “What’s it like being King Stan when your dad’s out? Gonna throw a wild party?”

Stan laughed nervously. “Sure. A party of two—me and the puzzle. You’re the unwanted guest.”

Richie leaned back, studying him more closely than usual. “You’re tense today. What’s up?”

“I’m fine,” Stan replied too sharply, fidgeting. Richie’s teasing cut closer than ever, but his voice softened. “Hey, I’m just messing with you. You good?”

Stan nodded, but the knot in his chest tightened. He wanted to say something, to test the unspoken, but fear held him back. Instead, he forced a laugh as Richie flopped back onto the couch.