Lover: Bill Denbrough x Reader (Sequel to Losers: Bill Denbrough x Reader)

Mourning Stan Uris

Eddie had gotten out of the car as soon as we arrived. He said something about having a lot of stuff to pack before he left. I was more worried about his car that we just left in the parking lot than what was safely tucked away in a locked hotel room. But neither of those things were really on my mind at the time. The only thing I could focus on was the fact that Stan was dead.

My best friend was gone.

What am I supposed to do? I hadn't seen the man in over two decades and now my heart hurts as if I'd seen him every day of my life. I felt sick and my head was aching something awful. I still hadn't left my curled up position in Richie's backseat, and I never wanted to ever again. My limbs felt too heavy and the tears wouldn't stop falling.

I felt stupid and childish. Adults don't react to things this way. They process their feelings internally and shed a tear or two.

"(Y/n)..."

I looked up and saw Richie in tears in the rearview mirror. I didn't even think about how this was affecting anyone else. Typical selfish me...

"Yeah, Rich?" I sniffled, wiping away my mascara tears on Richie's jacket sleeve.

"How...you holding... Holding up?" He asked, every few words punctuating with sharp hiccuping breath.

"Not gonna lie..." My eyes were starting to burn and I was sure that I had some makeup in there at this point, "I feel pretty shitty."

"Yeah...me too." He said, making bloodshot eye contact with me in the rearview.

We were quiet for a little while longer, just sniffles and shaking breaths. The car seemed depressingly stagnant. I felt as though the realization of how serious this was would suffocate me. I hadn't really had to deal with much death in my life, which I waa thankful for, but why now? Why Stan of all people?

"You wouldn't mind if I slipped back there with you for a minute would you?" Richie asked.

Richie didn't ask for comfort often and when he did it was never straight forward. I had always thought that the way he constantly hid behind his jokes and voices became a mask that eventually, he was never really able to take off. I worried about him so much more than I let on, but I didn't think that we could ever have a serious conversation about it. So I never brought it up.

"Come here, Trashmouth." I said through my veil of pain and tears.

Richie didn't even bother with getting out of the car and using the door to carefully getting in the backseat. Instead, he unbuckled himself and forced his aging body to crawl over the front seat before falling onto the faux leather seat next to me. I almost wanted to laugh, but I knew that joyful sound wouldn't cross my lips for a least a few days, if ever again.

I pried myself out of my crunched position and wrapped my arms around my brother. I buried my face into his chest and was hit with a mixture of alcohol, chinese food, and his expensive cologne. I didn't pull away, and surprisingly I didn't gag. Instead I felt Richie's arms rest on my back as he sniffled. Then, there was nothing but silence in the car around us. However, like any other time, Richie shattered the quiet.

"Y/n, can I tell you something?"

His voice was soft, almost as though he was frightened.

"Of course, Richie." I nodded, but I didn't look up at him. Too much eye contact made him uncomfortable when he was confessing anyting.

"You might not believe me, but.." He sniffed, "Stan was my first kiss."

"Really?" I asked, risking a peek up at him. He had a small smile on his face, and he was looking out the window behind me.