" LIPSTICK " + STENBROUGH

epilogue ;

aged 18

"bill! time to get up and ready for school. don't want to be late on your last first day," his mother calls up the steps. a tall boy aged nearly eighteen sits up in his bed and rubs his eyes. he throws the covers to the side and gets out of his bed that's just a bit too small for him, feet just about hanging over the edge.

bill denbrough walks down the hall to the bathroom. standing at the sink, in a pair of high waisted jeans, belt tightened through the loops, ankles cuffed, wearing a goonies t-shirt, is thirteen-year-old george denbrough. bill shuffles around the bathroom, grabbing his toothbrush from the cup. he squeezes the toothpaste onto the brush, scrubbing it against his teeth, watching foam drip from the corner of his mouth. his eyes move over to look at georgie—with his freckles and his hazel eyes and a green toothbrush hanging limply from between his lips as he opens through the cabinet and riffles through it.

he spits and rinses his mouth, wiping it dry with the back of his pajama top sleeve.

"what's that?" bill asks. his eyes are still focused on his brother—or, more specifically, his red varnished nails. georgie looks over at bill, then follows his line of sight to where he's now holding his toothbrush in his hand. he smiles faintly.

"it's nail polish," he states simply, grabbing the mouth wash and pouring some into the cap.

"an-and mom and duh-dad know you're whuh-whuh-wearing it?" bill isn't judging his brother. never in a million years would he ever judge anyone for something as small as some nail polish after everything he's been through. still, he knows his parents have been through a lot—with trying to accept him, and trying to become accustomed to his interests with so little warning—that he wants to make sure georgie has no trouble with them accepting him for this. after all, it isn't like the time bill first put on makeup, being 5 and forgivable. georgie is in eighth grade now. he's more responsible for his actions, and bill hopes his parents don't discourage him for that like they did bill.

georgie takes a moment to answer, as he swirls mouth wash in between puffed out cheeks, spitting into the sink again and wiping his mouth on the handtowel. he doesn't need to stand on any stool as he did just a few years earlier. georgie is much taller, with soft brown curls less red than bill's were at thirteen and more muscle from soccer than bill, too.

"yeah! mom painted them for me, actually," georgie says, grinning. "she was super cool with it."

"tha-that's good to hear," bill says, and returns the smile. they in silence for a moment, bill brushing his teeth and georgie standing in the doorway with a conflicted expression on his face. like he has something to say but isn't sure if he should.

"thanks," georgie says quietly, with more courage in his voice than bill has ever had. even in difficult situations like this—and bill can tell this is difficult for georgie just from the crease in his forehead and the downward tilt of the corners of his mouth—georgie has an amount of confidence that bill will always be envious of. sometimes he wonders how his brother got all the good traits, really.

"for what?" bill asks, cracking a sideways smile in the hopes of lighting the mood.

"you went through a lot to get to where we are now as a family. mom and dad wouldn't be nearly as cool with me painting my nails or, i don't know, any of my interests, if you hadn't gone through with what you went through. i know i wouldn't have been able to deal with all that stuff the way you did. so, yeah, thanks."