Archive of Our Own

The bell rung out, loud and grating in Bill’s sensitive ears. 

He groaned, placing his hands on either side of his head to try and block the sound out, while all the kids around him shot up from their seats so fast the chair legs screeched against the old wood floors. 

Their teacher made a fleeting attempt at sustaining order as the kids rushed towards the small classroom door, nearly crushing each other as they all tried to fit through at once. “Alright now- c’mon children we are not animals!” But it was no use, because unlike the humans we supposedly are and much more like the animals we claim not to be, the students were already stampeding down the hallway.

Their teacher, Mr. Sutton, exhaled with what could only be described as pure hopelessness, before noticing the one child left behind, still packing his bag.

“Ah, Bill Denbrough, the only one here with any manners.” He said tiredly, but with affection, watching as Bill stood from his desk, slinging his bag over his shoulder and nearly being taken down with it before, rather inelegantly, catching himself on the edge of the desk.

“…Though certainly not as active..” Sutton chuckled, sitting back down in his old desk chair with a loud creak, then shifting his focus onto the pile of paper stacked on top of his desk. “Try getting out some more this summer, yeah?”

“Y-yes- yes sir..” Bill mumbled, keeping his head down as he shuffled in the direction of the open door, nearly bumping into the frame on the way out. He collected himself, clearing his throat before briskly wishing Mr. Sutton goodbye, “H-have a- a good sum- summer Mr. S-Sutton.”

“You too Mister—“ By the time Sutton looked up from his papers Bill was already out the door and halfway down the hallway, “—Denbrough..” he shook his head, mumbling to himself, “That kid…”

Bill moved through the crowded halls with long, quick strides, desperate to get out as fast as possible. Not because he shared the same excitement for summer vacation as his fellow students did, but rather because the commotion of the last day of school always did irritate him. The never ending overly ecstatic chatter, the vibration of footstep after excited footstep against the weak, aged floors, the slamming of locker doors, the shrill laughter… It was, and always has been, Bill’s own personal hell. Sometimes he wonders if there’s a reason he was cursed with such sensitive ears, but he didn’t want to think about it too hard.

The heels of his worn shoes squeaked against the ground as he skidded to a stop in front of his locker, feeling, just for a moment, a twinge of pride in himself as he gazed upon the old, beat up metal door, and he ran his fingers gently down the rusty hinges. He never had much school spirit, but he had to admit, he would miss this place, though only because of the memories associated with it. Images of meals eaten together at the same exact lunch table everyday for the past three years, secrets whispered to each other in the old shitty bathrooms, and laughter shared in back of class when they were all supposed to be doing school work flashed in Bill’s mind, and he felt a pang of nostalgia.

But he felt hopeful as well, because once summer ended he would be making new memories in a new school, with new teachers and new rooms, ones that would likely also be flashing across his mind in a future that felt much more distant than it truly was.

With that thought in mind, he opened the door with a smile, and a small, bittersweet feeling in his chest. He hummed to himself quietly as he began packing all of his books into his bag, some long finished and having been sitting in the back of the small locker for so long they’d gathered a thick layer of dust, so thick, in fact, you could barely read their titles anymore. But Bill simply blew the dust away and moved on, as he tended to do with many things. He could get rid of them, he didn’t need them anymore after all, but he has always had a problem with sentimentality. His mother often scolds him for it, because his attachment to typically useless items always leads to clutter. But there are some things he’d rather die than get rid of.

He fought the urge to sneeze from the dust now visibly floating in the air around him, and reached for his final book—one he had finished just recently, and felt particularly proud of for managing to finish it just a day or two before school let out for summer break. He ran his thumb down the spine, feeling the indents of the title printed there beneath his finger tip. He has just as great of an appreciation for what’s outside the book as he does for what’s inside. He flipped through the pages, watching almost fondly as page after page fell underneath his finger, landing aesthetically back in place. But, he paused as caught a glimpse of something bright and out of place among the off-white paper of the book.

He flipped back, finding what looked to be a letter wedged firmly between the pages of his favorite chapter.

“Strange,” he thought. “I don’t remember putting anything in here.”

For a moment the idea of Richie, perhaps, having left a crude drawing for him to discover arose, and it seemed likely enough. So, without much enthusiasm, he unfolded the paper, but that thought quickly disappeared when he saw, instead, orderly, pretty handwriting inside of it.

“Dear Billy,

     I hate to tell you this as much as I hate to feel this way, but I’m afraid it’s something I just cannot hold within myself any longer. So instead, I write it, to you, without much hope of reciprocation and only the desire to get this weight off my chest at last.

     From the day I saw you, Bill, I was filled with a feeling I couldn’t begin to put into words. Not just because you’re beautiful, and you are beautiful, but because you are an enigma. It’s easy to assume that with a mouth that fails you, your mind might do the same, but that’s wrong, so wrong. Because, I see it in your gaze, every second of everyday, you are observing the world through those perfect, stained glass eyes. And like stained glass, I wish I could look through them and see what’s going on inside, but it’s near impossible with the cloud of doubt fogging them.

     In every sense of the word, you are wonderful, wonderful in a way I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. You leave trails of warmth on everything you touch, on me and, somehow, on my very soul. The world must look so vibrant from your perspective, and so unlike the dull gray nothing I’ve grown so used to. But, when I’m with you, sometimes I feel like I can see that vibrancy too. You’re captivating yet inscrutable to me, like the poems we read in class, the tragic, romantic ones, the ones I can see the thought behind every word in, but could never truly fathom them. I wish I could understand poems like that, and people like you.

Sincerely, nobody worth noting.”

Bill blinked a couple times, only realizing his mouth was hanging slightly open as he took a deep breath in and nearly choked on the sheer amount of dust he inhaled. He coughed, waving it out of the air with the note before shutting his locker with suddenly shaky hands. What had he just read? Something that surely couldn’t be a love letter, could it?

It certainly seemed much too romantic not to be, Bill doubted someone would write that for someone they admired in a merely friendly sense, but then again, many things puzzled Bill, including the seemingly thin line seperating the concepts of platonic and romantic. He held the letter tightly in both hands, his eyes running over it again and again, as if somehow that would make it clearer to him, but it only seemed to make his hands clammier and his cheeks hotter as he took each of the words in for a second time. Suddenly he felt on edge, like he was holding something much too intimate to have out in the open like this.

“Heya, big Bill!”

He nearly jumped out of his skin as he felt a hand clamp down firmly on his shoulder, almost crushing the letter in his grip.

“Geez- what’s got you so nervous?” Richie laughed, removing his hand from Bill’s shoulder with an amused, but slightly perplexed expression.

“G-God, Richie, you- you sc-scared me.” Bill managed to force out, turning around to see both Richie and Eddie standing behind him.

“Sorry!” Richie replied, putting his hands up. Though his grin didn’t exactly scream “sincere.”

“You good?” Eddie asked. “You’re like, super jumpy right now, and your hands are shaking,” He pointed to Bill’s violently trembling hands, “Real bad.”

Bill tried to steady his shaking hands, glancing away with embarrassment. “Um..”

“Oh yeah, you look super nervous right now.” Richie agreed, fighting back an intrigued smirk.

“I’m- I’m not..” Bill insisted, now consciously trying to hold the letter out of view, but that, of course, only drew Richie’s attention to it further.

Richie glanced down at the paper, then back up at Bill’s face, and the two, for a split second, made eye contact. He resisted the urge to audibly sigh as he knew Richie was about to ask—

“What’s that?”

Bill bit the inside of his cheek, his face surely bright pink right now. “It’s j-just- just a, a..” 

“It’s a love letter.” Eddie joked, with zero clue that he was actually right until he looked at Bill’s shocked, but flustered face. “Wait, is it actually?”

“No way!” Richie laughed, stepping closer as if to take a look, “Show us dude! Who’s it from?”

Bill quickly held the note away and out of their potential reach, then felt slightly embarrassed by the action, simply muttering, “It s-seems too- too p-personal to show.. And I d-don’t know who it’s- who it’s from, they didn’t sign a n-name.”

“Whattt?? Lame.” Richie said disappointedly, an equally disappointed Eddie—who was leaning against Richie’s back in hopes of also getting a peek—nodding along. “Why can’t you show us? Is it dirty?” Richie questioned.

“N-no!” Bill exclaimed, nearly sputtering. “No it’s n-not d-dirty..”

“That’s what someone who just got a dirty letter would say…”

Bill groaned. “B-Beep beep, Richie.” 

“Well whatever it is,” Eddie interjected, “It’s clear you’ve got a secret admirer, congrats Bill.”

Bill only then realized that’s what this was, a secret admirer. Someone likes him, like, like likes him. He felt a sudden mix of excitement and anxiety at the thought, as he likes the idea of being wanted, but hates the suspension of not knowing by who, of potentially never knowing by who, because the person who wrote the letter didn’t seem to have any intention of telling.

A silent shudder ran through him. “Y-yeah, I guess I do…”

—————

“I-in his- his b-b- blue gardens men a-and- and g-girls c-cuh—fuck!” Bill huffed, restraining himself from simply slamming the book in his hands shut.

Stanley was sitting comfortably at the head of Bill’s bed, leaning back against his pillows and, not very subtly, watching him pace the room from over the top of his own book—one about birds rather than tragedy or whatever book Bill was likely reading from.

Stanley is more than used to this routine, it isn’t rare that he comes over and simply relaxes as Bill reads aloud, attempting to rid himself of his stutter over time. It’s nothing interesting, but Stanley has grown to love the moments he spends in Bill’s calming presence rather than his father’s, frankly intense, one. Getting to just sit around without a care in the world, surrounded by Bill’s scent—Something similar to the smell of fresh books, and a bit of cinnamon, which Stan theorized to likely be the lingering smell of Mrs. Denbrough’s candles downstairs. What made this all better was the sun shining in through Bill’s bedroom window, landing on Bill in gentle rays through the gaps in the curtain. With each turn he took the soft light accentuated a different angle of his face, from his pale blue eyes to his naturally pink lips. The way the light caught on his eyelashes almost made it look as if his eyes were glowing, and it was nothing short of mesmerizing.

It’s always been peaceful like this, sitting on Bill’s much softer bed, watching him tuck a strand of hair behind his ears and listening to him repeat lines over and over until he gets them right. Bill hates his stutter, but Stanley has always found it somewhat satisfying, like the sound of fingers tapping rhythmically against the hard cover of a book. Though today, it was less satisfying, as he could hear the stress behind every stutter and see the tension in Bill’s shoulders. Bill obviously has something on his mind.

Stan sat up a little straighter, pretending to flip through the pages of his “All About Birds” book as he watched Bill pace for a moment longer, unsure if or when he should interrupt.

Bill walked in much quicker, smaller circles, rather than the usual, leisurely manner he moves in. “In h-his- in his b- b-“ Bill clenched his teeth before another swear of frustration could slip out, snapping his book shut in his hand with one swift movement. He took a few deep breaths, before Stan quietly asked,

“..You okay, Billy?”

Bill sighed. “I’m fine, just f-fr-frustrated.” He mumbled, dropping the book down on his desk with a soft thunk. He ran a hand through his hair, taking one final deep breath before speaking more clearly, “I’m just h-having a- a little m-more- more trouble to- today than usual.. with my words.”

“I noticed,” Stan hummed, setting his own book down beside himself on the bed. “Something on your mind?”

Bill hesitated, only for a split second as the embarrassment rose once again, but he did want to talk about it, to try and make sense of it. And if anyone would know how to put it in a way Bill could understand, it’d be Stanley.

So, after a pause of contemplation, he stepped forward, sitting on the edge of the bed beside Stan gently. The mattress dipped beneath his weight a bit, causing Stanley to be shifted closer to Bill, with his shoulder pressed against Bill’s back. Stan tried not to lean into it like he so wanted to, instead steering his gaze down to the nice, but old blanket beneath them, fidgeting absentmindedly with a loose thread while trying to listen as intently as he could as Bill began to speak.

“It’s j-just… I got a- a l-love letter, I think?” Bill murmured, “I-I mean, it certainly r-reads like- like one.”

“Really?” Stanley asked, though he didn’t sound all that surprised.

“Y-yeah..” Bill nodded, his fingers gripping the blanket tightly.

“Well..” Stanley began, “It was only a matter of time. If you weren’t a ‘loser’ you’d be getting dozens of love letters, I’m sure.” Stanley shrugged. “…How do you feel about it?”

Bill thought hard for a moment, trying to come up with the right words to explain it. He exhaled softly, leaning back more firmly against Stanley’s shoulder as he looked up at the ceiling. Stanley didn’t move closer, but he didn’t scoot away either, instead he sat completely still, trying his best not to simply bury his face in Bill’s hair and inhale the comforting aroma of his shampoo. 

“I…” Bill bit his lip, “..I th-think it was.. b-beautiful, definitely.” He said quietly. “But.. k-kind of.. kind of s-sad? Like they- they didn’t think they h-had a- a ch-chance.” He shook his head, looking down from the ceiling to his fidgeting hands. “I d-don’t know who c- who could p-possibly think hi- highly enough of me to- to warrant that k-kind of.. sadness. It makes me feel b-bad.”

“You shouldn’t feel bad!” Stanley said a little too quickly, before he caught himself. He placed a hand over his mouth, taking a second to gather himself before removing the hand from his lips, speaking again. “I mean.. You can’t control how people feel about you, or if they fall in love. But don’t doubt yourself, I can completely understand why someone would think you’re out of their league.”

Bill laughed weakly, “Me? ‘St-stuttering B-Bill,’ out of someone’s league? I’m n-not so- so sure…”

“It’s true!” Stan insisted, “Seriously, Bill, if only you could see yourself how I- how others see you, you wouldn’t be so uncertain then. You’re wonderful.”

Bill didn’t respond to that, he didn’t really know how to. He’s never been good at accepting compliments or praise, he always just takes it with a nod and an awkward smile, but he was grateful to be facing away from Stanley right now, because he didn’t have to force either. Instead, he slowly pulled himself up from the bed’s edge, reaching for the book on his desk and preparing to pick up where he left off, much to Stanley’s exasperation.

Stan leaned back against the pillows again with a tired puff, while Bill did everything in his power to avoid Stan’s gaze. “I’m telling you, Bill,” he shook his head, grabbing his bird book and opening it back up, “You’re too humble for your own good, way too humble.”

—————

The sound of a bell rang out once more, but this time, Bill wasn’t in school.

He rolled over in his bed, clumsily feeling around on his nightstand before his hand finally found the culprit—his alarm clock. He promptly knocked it down onto the floor alongside a few other random items Bill had sitting there, which turned out to be a battery or two, a pencil, and the few quarters he had set off to the side a while back. It wasn’t his intention to basically swipe his entire nightstand clean, but it had succeeded in turning the damned alarm off, so, in Bill’s mind, it was a win.

He groaned as he felt the sun hitting his face so brightly not even his eyelids could completely block it out, leaving the view behind them red and not dark and black like one would prefer. He didn’t want to get up at all, he was so comfortable his blanket began feeling like weight physically holding him down onto the soft mattress. But he knew his mother would scold him for sleeping in, even during summer break, and the thought of that was enough to make him try. So, begrudgingly, he pulled himself up and out of bed, the blanket falling off of him and pooling at his feet like a ball and chain, just begging him to lie back down, but he couldn’t.

He picked the blanket up from the ground and set it back onto his bed neatly, even going as far as to rearrange his pillows as his mother so often demanded he do. He never understood why his mother is so insistent on tidiness down to the smallest detail, not until he met Stanley anyway. Stanley loves order just as much, if not, perhaps, more than Bill’s mother does. At first Bill didn’t get that either, but overtime he’s come to understand that just because things don’t bother him doesn’t mean they don’t bother others, and boy, do messes bother Stan. Back when he was younger Bill used to wonder if maybe his mother had the same disorder that Stanley has, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder—Which, Bill had only remembered the name of after doing some research, and it was that research that made him realize that no, his mother likely didn’t have it. Because as much as she loves cleanliness, he’s never seen her stand in place flicking a light switch precisely four times before leaving a room, or freaking out over a completely irrational rule she made up in her own head quite like Stanley does. Still, even if she won’t have a meltdown over it, she’ll certainly give Bill an earful if she sees his bed unmade.

Once the bed was perfect, or as perfect as Bill cared to make it, he went to his closet, yawning as he flipped through the options, eventually settling on a simple green t-shirt and old, faded jeans that have certainly seen better days, but felt the most comfortable to Bill. And as he began slipping out of his pajamas and changing into his day clothes, he found himself gazing out the window through the slightly open curtains.

It was early in the morning, yet already so bright outside. The sound of birds chirping was a comforting sound that reminded him so much of Stanley, who was here just last night reading his book all about the small creatures. Bill smiled to himself, wondering if maybe Stan was looking out his window right now as well, hoping to catch a glimpse of the brightly colored feathers he loves so much. If he were here, he’d be naming every single one he sees out in Bill’s yard, as he’s done so many times before. Bill has listened to Stanley rant so often he could point out a few kinds of birds all on his own, like the small red one perched on the handle bar of his bike out in the yard right now—a cardinal, if he remembers correctly.

As cute as it was, he was a little worried he might end up with bird poop on the bike he treasures so much, and he examined the bike as well as he could through his window to make sure there wasn’t any already. But, instead of bird poop, his eyes caught on something else, something that looked to be a piece of paper, sitting on his bike seat.

Before he had the chance to ask himself what it was, his mom was calling up to him from downstairs.

“Bill, breakfast!”

“Uh- um..” He stammered, before hurrying out of his room and calling back down, “C-Coming mom!” As he descended the stairs.

He made it to the bottom, recognizing the smell but hoping that maybe his mother hadn’t cooked what he thought she did. Turning the corner, he peeked his head around the entrance and grimaced at the sight of—ugh, scrambled eggs. His mom, who despite being told a million times that he hates them, continues to make them for him constantly. She immediately noticed the expression on Bill’s face as he stared at the eggs, placing her hands on his hips with a frustrated huff.

“Oh, c’mon Billy, they really can’t be that bad.” 

Bill sighed, “They’re not- I- I mean, not the- the taste, m-mom, it the, the texture. I h-hate how they f-feel in my mouth.” 

“You hate how they feel..” She mumbled to herself, shaking her head. “Back In my day growing boys would eat just about anything put in front of them, it was more like the girls to be picky.”

“S-Sorry mom, I’ll just skip breakfast to- today..” He said apologetically. “G-give the ex- the extra to G-Georgie.”

“Give the extra what to me?”

Bill turned to see Georgie entering the kitchen, still in his pajamas and yawning sleepily. “Adorable.” He thought, fighting back a smile.

“J-Just the sc-scrambled eggs.” Bill responded.

“Now why are you still in your pajamas?” Their mother asked, setting a plate down on the table in front of Georgie as he sat down.

“C’mon, mom, it’s summer. I don’t gotta get dressed unless I’m going outside.” Georgie complained, picking up his fork and shoveling the eggs into his mouth.

Their mother looked less than pleased, but even she couldn’t bring herself to scold him. Instead she turned to Bill, “Well, if that’s what it’ll take to get him to change clothes, why don’t you take your little brother up to the park, Billy?”

Georgie’s ears perked up, and he looked at Bill expectantly, cheeks still full of eggs. Bill hesitated, but he couldn’t find it within himself to say no. It was summer after all, and Georgie would need someone to take him out pretty often.

“I…” He drew in a breath, “Alright, f-fine.. b-but- but only for an hour.”

“Yay!” Georgie exclaimed, spitting egg out everywhere.

“Georgie!” Both Bill and his mother groaned at the same time.

“Hehe.. sorry.” Georgie apologized sheepishly.

Georgie hurried to finish his breakfast as their mother wiped up the spat out egg from the dining room table, and Bill cringed as she only seemed to smear it more. The second he was done, after nearly choking a couple times in the process, Georgie practically ran up the stairs to go change, Bill’s attempt to tell him to slow down going unheard. They listened as his footsteps disappeared up the stairs, before Bill exhaled, mumbling to himself,

“He’s g-gonna get hih- himself killed one of- one of these days..” 

“Now don’t say things like that or they might come true.” His mother warned. “If you don’t want him to get killed then you better keep an eye on him, if you ever come home without your brother you might as well be dead to me as well, understand?”

“Um.. uh, y-yeah mom..” Bill muttered, earning a slightly guilty sigh from their mother.

“And you be careful too, Bill. I don’t want either of you getting hurt.” She specified.

“I know mom.”

Suddenly Georgie came racing down the stairs, sliding across the linoleum with his socks all the way to the shoe rack and excitedly grabbing his boots, repeating the phrase Bill had taught him for tying them under his breath as he began to put them on. 

“B-bunny ears, remember?” Bill reminded him, though Georgie was dead set on getting it on his own.

“Your father’s been complaining about you getting your little brother to sing about bunnies while tying his shoes, y’know.” Their mother chuckled.

Bill looked slightly puzzled, raising an eyebrow at her. “Are r-rabbits more- more masculine or…?” 

“I got it, I got it! Look Bill, look!” Georgie interrupted, standing and proudly presenting his shoes to the two of them.

Bill smiled, approaching Georgie and ruffling his hair affectionately. “G-good job, Georgie. You got everything?”

“Yep, let’s go!” He said with excitement, rushing to front door hopping out ahead of Bill.

Bill followed after him, hearing his mom call out, “Be safe!” from behind them, but already being outside before he could respond to her. Still he waved her bye as she stepped up to watch them through the living room window. When he turned back to Georgie he noticed him examining something by his bike, before leaning down to pick it up.

“What’s this?” Georgie asked curiously, holding the letter up.

Oh, Bill had almost forgotten that was there.

“I dunno,” Bill shrugged, trying not to look obviously embarrassed as he took the letter from Georgie’s hands. He pretended to look at it strangely, as if he was just as surprised to see it as Georgie was, before tucking it away into his pocket. “I’ll read it whe-when we get to the- the park, now h-hurry up.” Bill picked his bike up from the grass, “On the- the p-pegs, you know the deal.”

Georgie happily hopped on the pegs, wrapping his arms around Bill and holding on tightly as they rode off in the direction of the park.

Bill enjoys bike rides quite a lot, especially on warm days like these. With the wind of his face and the ability to just… let his mind wander while his body runs on muscle memory to get him where he wants to be, without the need to even think about it. And the feeling of Georgie holding onto him, happy, safe and alive just made it all the more comforting. It’s a pressure Bill loves, the feeling of arms around him. It’s a reminder that, despite everything, there’s people always there to hold him, to keep him protected, and most of all, to love him.

Unfortunately, time does fly by when you’re having fun, or enjoying yourself in any manner really, because it seemed in the blink of an eye they had made it to their destination, the wheels of the bike digging into the soft dirt as they came to a stop at the surprisingly—for how early in the morning it was—populated park. Bill hoped he hadn’t gone too fast, he always made sure to be slower than usual when he’s riding with Georgie. But Georgie, as small as he is, has always been something of a thrill seeker. It seems it’s every other day Bill has to tell him to stop climbing trees or to slow down on his scooter, but he never listens, no matter how scuffed up he always gets. It worries Bill sick, but, at the same time, he admires it.

Georgie jumped off the pegs enthusiastically, already running off in the direction of some other kids preparing to fly kites in the distance, who were likely also brought here by their tired older siblings upon their parent’s demands. Bill watched fondly, almost wishing he were as social as younger brother, but, of course, he knew things were different for him. If “Stuttering Bill” ever tried to make friendly conversation with kids his age they’d surely make fun of him, that or they’d simply get frustrated by his inability to get the words out of his mouth and walk away. Neither option sounded very appealing to Bill, so instead he dragged his bike over to a bench in the center of the park and sat down.

He watched Georgie play with the other kids, smiling to himself like an idiot, but he couldn’t help it. Anyone in Derry could tell you that Georgie Denbrough is an adorable kid, and his older brother loves him like nobody else. And, as sleepy as he still is, it’s a beautiful day outside, one that’s difficult not to enjoy. Not hot, but warm, with people of all kinds walking around enjoying themselves. The first day of summer always seems to feel the most special, maybe not the most memorable, but the most special, to Bill, at least. And sitting here, watching the children play and some particularly pretty butterflies fluttering around, made Bill wish he had taken his sketch book along with him in order to capture the moment.

He sat back with a content feeling in his heart, and heard a small rustling noise. For a split second he found himself wondering where it was coming from, until he shifted again and heard it louder. He realized it was the letter in his pocket, and felt his heart rate pick up a bit upon remembering that he still had to read it. He glanced back up to Georgie, who was watching the kites without a care in the world, and then down towards his pocket, before reaching down and pulling the paper out. This time it was in a fancy envelope (though it was unfortunately crushed due to being shoved in his pocket), rather than the simple folded piece of line paper that was in his locker last time, which made Bill question if it was even another love letter at all. But once he opened it up, he recognized the pretty handwriting as the same kind that was in the previous note.

“Dear Billy,

     I didn’t intend to leave you a second note, but I realized there’s so much more I wanted to say to you.

     Bill, I meant it when I said you were wonderful. For the longest time it frustrated me to hear you speak so poorly of yourself, and, admittedly, it wasn’t because It made me sad, not at first. In all honesty, I was jealous of you. It made me angry to hear your lack of confidence, or to see how unconvinced you look when people compliment you, because I couldn’t understand how you could take praise for granted while the actual losers like me never get anything of the sort. You were blessed with everything, beauty, bravery, talent… More than anyone can dream of having, and better than anyone can dream of being. And yet you refuse to accept it, and you group yourself in with nobodies. And that used to piss me off so much.

     But I’ve learned now that bitterness will get me nowhere. You aren’t humble because you don’t want to accept your perfection, but because you truly can’t see it. And that is almost horrifying, Bill, it makes me sick. You are someone who wouldn’t hesitate to throw everything away for the sake of somebody else, even a complete stranger, and I’m always terrified that someday you’ll be too selfless, and you’ll wind up dead. And worst of all, I would have to know that you died genuinely believing you’re nothing. So please, for my peace of mind, admit to yourself that you are phenomenal, and learn to smile and take compliments with pride. I want to see you shine like I know you can, Bill.

Sincerely, somebody who cares about you.”

Bill kinda wanted to scream.

Not from anger, he actually couldn’t really decipher why. He was feeling so many emotions all at once that screaming seemed like the only viable option to express them. He was touched, but sad and confused, and maybe a little unconvinced? But that’s exactly what the letter warned him against.

He tried, for once, to think good things about himself, whatever could possibly make the sender practically worship him the way they seem to, but his mind came up blank. Just what’s so great about him? He couldn’t figure it out. He’s quiet, and sensitive, he can barely speak and, in moments like these, he can hardly think. He’s reckless and stupidly idealistic… What's there to like? Or was he proving the writers point by being so self deprecating?

“Ugh…” Bill folded the paper back neatly, sliding it back into the envelope and sitting it beside him on the bench. He looked back up to Georgie, double checking he was okay, and seeing that he was now talking to a girl his age. For a moment he was distracted from what he just read, chuckling to himself at the sight.

“Ah, young love, am I right?” 

Bill jumped, his head snapping in the direction of the voice behind him. He relaxed, but grumbled when he saw it was only Stanley, who couldn’t help but giggle at him a little.

“St-Stanley…” Bill groaned, “S-Seriously, what is it with- with you guys and sn-sneaking up on me these p-past two- two days?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Stanley laughed, coming around the bench to sit beside Bill. “I just wanted to see what you were up to out here.”

Bill mumbled an attempt at humor, “My- my m-mom wanted me to- to t-take Georgie out. Y’know, so he- he can g-get en- enrichment, or whatever.” He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the bench.

“Yeah that sounds about right.” Stan chuckled.

Bill looked over to Stanley, who was watching Georgie and this girl with an amused smile, and he couldn’t help but smile himself. He always has loved the rare moments where Stanley Uris looks genuinely happy, moments that only seem to truly occur in the presence of Bill himself, but he didn’t wanna let that get to his head.. After a moment of admiring the sight of the other boy, Stanley glanced over at him from the corner of his eye, their gazes accidentally meeting for a brief second. Bill quickly glanced away, his cheeks tinged a soft, embarrassed pink, until he eventually muttered,

“S-So… What are you d-doing out- out here..?”

“Oh, Well,” Stan sat up a little straighter, a small glint in his eye—both of which being signs that told Bill that Stan was about to talk about something he’s passionate about, which, of course, turned out to be birds. “I just like to watch the birds, they all gather at this park y’know. It's because everyone’s eating food and having picnics, and they’re hoping to get some of it.”

“Hm,” Bill smirked, trying to conceal any obvious entertainment as he saw Stanley’s eyes literally light up. “Yeah, I al-always wondered w-why there- why there’s always s-so many here. Especially d-during the- the summer.”

“Mhm!” He nodded. “They love this park, especially with all the.. All the..” Stanley trailed off, realizing that Bill was trying not to laugh. He looked at him exasperatedly, waiting for Bill to gather himself. “You done?”

“S-Sorry, sorry-“ Bill apologized with that stupid smile Stanley likes a little too much, “You can keep- keep talking, I’m not m-making fuh- f-fun of you, I swear. I just love how- how h-happy you get over some b-birds.”

Stanley blushed, he wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or because Bill said he loved something about him. But, for his own sake, he decided it was embarrassment. “Y-yeah well- well…” Stanley stammered, looking away all red-faced.

“C’mon, you’re st-starting to sound like- like m-me.” Bill teased, now sitting up with more interest as he watched Stan get all flustered.

“Ugh,” Stan breathed, “I can’t stand you sometimes…” he murmured, cheeks still red as he remained unable to meet Bill’s eyes.

Bill giggled, watching Stanley quietly for a moment, before asking softly, “What kind of bird is that?”

Stan looked in the direction Bill was pointing, spotting a small bird in the grass ahead of them. Stan smiled, “Oh, that’s-“

Before Stanley could even finish they both felt a cold liquid pour over their heads. Stan yelped, watching as the bird flew away in fear of the sudden noise. Confused and startled, they both turned to look up behind them, seeing—Oh boy, Henry Bowers, standing with a now empty cup of soda.

“What do you want?” Stanley asked, internally cringing at the tremble in his voice. As brave as he wanted to be in front of Bill, he is, unfortunately, terrified of Bowers.

“I just wanted to ask how your guy’s date was going.” Henry taunted, tossing the now-empty foam cup at Bill. Which didn’t hurt, but it was a bit embarrassing how he flinched.

“N-Not funny, B-Bowers.” Bill gritted out, both from anger and the chill of the cold drink now soaked into his clothes.

Henry scoffed, “Oh, you don’t think it’s funny, B-B-B-Billy?” 

Henry grabbed Bill by the back of his shirt, pulling him along as he circled around the bench to stand in front of them. Stanley tried to grab him as Henry tugged him out of the bench, but failed to. Instead he stood up, trying his best to not sound like a pussy when he barked, “C-Cut it out! Leave him alone, you- you…” Goddamn it, why is he only bad at coming up with insults when it matters?

“Awh, I guess the Jew doesn’t think it’s funny either.” Henry said, feigning sadness. He tightened his grip on Bill’s shirt, before roughly pulling him into a headlock. “But you wanna know what I think?”

Stanley tried a couple more times to shout at him to stop, but didn’t have the courage to actually step forward and do anything. “Seriously, let him go! Let him go or- or I swear I will scream at the top of my lungs!” He threatened,

“Scream if you want, see if I care! In fact, why don’t we both scream? Because I can scream pretty damn loud about just what I think you two are.” Henry sneered. “You wanna hear it?”

“Wait-“ Stan stepped forward, but that only made Henry tighten his grip on Bill, who struggled harder as Henry made it more and more difficult for him to breathe. That was enough to scare Stanley back into place. “Please.” Stanley pleaded, But Henry was already taking a breath to shout when—

“Let him go!” 

All three of them looked to see a very frightened Georgie, attempting to put on a brave face for his big brother. He was noticeably clenching a stick in his hands, apparently prepared to take Henry down if necessary.

“Georgie get out of here, we’ve got this.” Stanley demanded, glancing nervously between Georgie and Henry.

Georgie refused, stomping his foot as he shouted, “No! He’s hurting him!” 

Henry scowled, ready to just pummel Georgie along with the two of them, until he noticed the commotion was gaining the attention of the people around them, including a very cold looking police officer in the distance. 

Shit, his dad.

Henry immediately released Bill, who fell to the ground gasping and coughing. Stanley and Georgie immediately ran to his aid, while Henry cursed under his breath.

“You guys got lucky, okay?” Henry huffed, “But for your information, I think you’re both frolicking, gay little faggots.” He said harshly, though practically in a whisper to avoid drawing any more attention. When he glanced back up and saw his dad was now beckoning him over he clenched his teeth, turning to them one last time and telling them, “The next time I see you fairies, you’re dead.” Then he stormed away.

Stan watched as Henry walked off with a pit of shame in his stomach, before turning his focus back to Bill, who had now caught his breath enough to speak.

“…F-Fuck that guy..” He panted, earning a small gasp from Georgie.

Georgie looked around nervously, before agreeing, in whisper to avoid any adults hearing and scolding him, “Yeah, fuck him!” Bill chuckled weakly, still amused despite his current state.

“Are you okay?” Stan asked worriedly, tilting Bill’s head up to look at his neck, which was red, but not bruised.

“I’m f-fine..” Bill assured him, then turned to Georgie with a small grin, “Your b-big brother’s taken w-worse beatings than- than th-that.” Georgie smiled, feeling a little reassured despite his previous fear. 

Stan sighed, “That was really brave of you, Georgie.” 

“But really st-stupid.” Bill added. “That g-guy was twice your s-size, and- and p-probably not above beat- beating up little kids. You could’ve gotten seriously h-hurt.”

“You could’ve gotten seriously hurt!” Georgie retorted, trying to seem angry, but tears were obviously pricking his eyes. “You’re always being stupid to protect me, why can’t I do it for you?”

Bill felt a pain in his heart as he watched Georgie begin sniffling, trying his hardest not to let his tears fall. He sighed, scooting closer and pulling him into a hug. “I know, I’m s-sorry.” He held him tightly for a moment, before pulling back and wiping the tears from his cheeks, “Don’t st-start crying now. How- how about I b-bring you home and I’ll con-convince mom to make- make us s-some cookies?” He suggested.

Georgie didn’t want to look enticed by the idea, but he couldn’t help it, cracking a small smile. “..You think you can get her to?”

“I’ll m-make sure of it.” Bill promised.

Stanley watched all this with an aching pain in his chest, something that he soon realized to be guilt. A six year old was braver than him, a six year old. But he couldn’t let that show, couldn’t ruin the moment for them, so instead he stood up from the grass, trying his best not to look too shaken. “Well, I guess I should head home too. I can’t stand the feeling of wet clothes..” he mumbled.

“M-me neither.” Bill agreed. He stood up from the grass himself, stumbling a bit before regaining his balance. He rubbed his neck with a small grimace of pain, before offering Georgie a reassuring smile, leaning down to pick him up. “But.. you d-don’t, um, th-think that uh.. maybe I could- I could get a ch-change of- of shirt from you? I don’t want my m-mom asking why I’m covered in s-soda.” He asked Stanley sheepishly.

“Oh, um,” Stanley cleared his throat, “Yeah—yeah of course.”

Bill smiled, opening his mouth to thank him before Georgie interrupted, “—Let’s hurry up then, I want cookies!”

Stan blinked, before awkwardly chuckling, “Guess we ought to hurry then..”

—————

Bill followed Stanley into his room, holding onto Georgie’s hand tightly just to make sure he didn’t wander off and make them the rudest house guests ever. After all, as many times as Stan has been in Bill’s house, Bill is rarely at Stan’s house. His room is still just as orderly as he remembers it, with a small shelf in the corner filled completely with books about birds (Good GOD Stan) all ordered from largest to smallest, his bed perfectly made, and not a speck of dust in sight. It smelt faintly of paint and something a bit floral, which reminded Bill of his mother’s perfume.

He looked around, taking the place in, and after a second Stanley spoke up, sounding almost embarrassed, “Sorry about the mess.. I didn’t get a chance to clean this morning.”

Bill blinked, giving Stan a strange look before he realized what he was saying, “Sorry, this is a- a m-mess to you?”

“Yeah..?”

Bill looked at him incredulously. “My room m-must be a f-fucking pig- pigstie to you then.”

“No!” Stan nearly shouted, mortified by the idea of potentially having insulted Bill. But, to his relief (and frustration), Bill only laughed.

“I’m j-just messing with you St-Stan, I know how- how you are.” Bill reassured him. “Now let’s h-hurry up and ch-change, my- my shirt’s starting to, um, stick to me.”

“Right-“ Stanley opened his closet, skimming through the options before picking out two shirts for them, a light blue button-up for himself, and one of the only t-shirts he owns for Bill, which was a solid navy-blue one. “It might be a little big on you since I’m a bit taller.” He said as he handed the shirt to Bill.

“That’s f-fine, b-beg- beggars can’t be ch-choosers, right?” Bill shrugged, taking the shirt from Stanley.

Stan was about to tell Bill he could change in their bathroom, but by the time he opened his mouth to say so, Bill was pulling his wet shirt off without a care in the world. Stanley, though surprised, just thought “So we’re doing this now.” He tried to ignore Bill, but that made him hyper aware of the fact that Georgie was just casually sitting on his bed, so he ended up facing his closet door as he changed his shirt, thinking to himself how incredibly weird this whole situation is. But they’re dudes, just two dudes. This is normal.

He fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, his hands pathetically sweaty with nerves, which he tried to convince himself was just because of their encounter with Henry earlier. He kept his gaze down at the ground as he slid the shirt down and off his shoulders, the fabric still hanging at his elbows when Bill suddenly exclaimed, “Sh-Shit!” Which startled both Stan and Georgie.

Stan turned to look at him, stammering for a second as he saw Bill standing there shirtless, before remembering what he was going to say. “Uh- what’s wrong, Billy..?”

“I got a-another love letter this- this m-morning and I, uh, I totally forgot it on the- the b-bench at the park.” Bill explained disappointedly, “It was a really n-nice letter.”

“Oh.” Stan cleared his throat, glancing away awkwardly. “It was that nice huh..?” 

“Mhm..” Bill sighed, “I mean.. what if- what if they f-find it there and they- they think I d-didn’t care enough to k-keep- keep it?”

“Do you care enough?” Stanley asked.

“Of course I do!” Bill huffed, “Even if I d-don’t find out wh-who they are, or- or if I e-end up not- not liking them b-back, they were still brave enough to- to put their f-feelings on paper for m-me. And they said all th-those nice things about me… Those don’t j-just- just stop meaning some- something because it’s not re- reciprocated. I-It really meant something to me.”

Stan was surprised, and a little warm. Of course Bill would say something so… Genuine. What did Stan expect? But it comforted him to know that these letters really did matter to Bill, he deserves to hear all those good things about him. So, he sighed, shaking his head fondly. “You’re really something else, Bill.”

Bill tilted his head, “What’s that m-mean?”

“Nothing,” Stan chuckled, “Nothing at all.” He finally slid his soda-covering shirt all the way off, letting it hit the ground with a near silent, but noticeable splat sound, which made Bill giggle. Stan rolled his eyes, “Get a shirt on, you freak.”

Bill laughed, “You f-first.”

“Maybe you should both put shirts on.” Georgie chimed in, and while he was dead serious with his suggestion, it made both Bill and Stanley burst into hysterics. Georgie didn’t get it, but he was happy to laugh along.

Once they finally put their shirts on, Stanley trying not to make a comment about how Bill looks wearing his shirt, they both sat on the edges of Stan’s bed, Georgie sitting in between them. Georgie leaned over, wrapping his arms around Bill’s shoulders and asking, “Was it really a love letter though?”

“Oh, r-right. I didn’t t-tell you, did I?” Bill asked, and Georgie shook his head. “Yeah, it was. I got one yes- yesterday t-too.”

“Oooooo!” Georgie grinned, “Who sent ‘em?”

“N-No clue.” Bill smiled, pinching Georgie’s cheek affectionately.

“Speaking of who..” Stanley piped up nervously, gaining both Bill and Georgie’s attention. Stan reached over to his nightstand, looking through the neatly organized drawer and pulling out yet another letter, handing it to Bill. Bill looked confused, before Stanley quickly stammered, “They uh- your secret admirer, they um, asked me to give that to you.”

“No way! You s-saw them?” Bill exclaimed, leaning forward in anticipation. “Wh-who is it??”

“I- I can’t just tell you! They asked to keep it anonymous..” Stan mumbled.

Bill looked disappointed, and he wanted to pry, but he already knew that the writer clearly wanted to remain unknown. “Damn..” He sighed, “You r-really can’t tell me anything?”

Stan avoided his eyes, “I probably shouldn’t…” 

“Is she pretty?” Georgie asked, and Bill, admittedly, looked curious too, both of them looking at Stanley with anticipation.

“Well, uh..” Stan blushed, “I mean, beauty is in the eye of the beholder and all..”

“Oh c’mon!” Georgie whined, “Just tell us!”

Stan was ready to refuse, but when he caught Bill’s curious eyes he found his mouth had a mind of its own, “She’s… Well, she’s not my type.” He said vaguely. 

Bill and Georgie didn’t look particularly satisfied by that response.

“Well…” Bill looked down at the new letter in his hands, “I should p-probably respect her, um, privacy..” He leaned back, stretching a bit then letting out a sigh as he looked down at Georgie, “Now, h-how about th- those cookies?

Georgie’s face lit up, and he immediately hopped off the bed, grabbing Bill’s arm and dragging him along excitedly. Bill laughed, calling back to Stanley before he was fully dragged out of the room, “S-See ya St-Stanley! Thanks for the sh-shirt—“ And the two were gone.

“Ha.. No problem..” Stan muttered, despite knowing Bill was no longer around to hear him. “See ya Billy..”

—————

This time, Bill woke up to not an alarm clock, but his mother’s voice.

“Billy! Billy are you sleeping in?”

Oh shit.

Bill shot up, tumbling out of his bed and hitting the ground with a loud thud.

“Bill, what was that?” His mother called up.

“Uh-“ He scrambled up, detangling himself from his sheets as he shouted back, “N-Nothing! I just, um.. dropped s-something!”

He hopped up, messily making his bed before hurrying down the stairs, his socks nearly causing him to slip on the way down, but he caught himself on the railing. Georgie was already sitting at the table as their mom made plates, and Bill was delighted to see that this time she had made his favorite—pancakes!

“Nice!” Bill slid over, taking a seat across from Georgie, “You m-made pan- pancakes.”

“Well, only because you complained so much yesterday.” His mother said dramatically, though her tone was lighthearted. She sat their plates down in front of them, and they both began excitedly eating. Their mother watched affectionately for a moment, before saying, exasperatedly, “I see you did sleep in, Billy.”

Bill paused mid-chew, looking up at her nervously. “N-No… I was w-wide awake.” He muttered, rather unconvincingly, his words muffled by the food in his mouth.

His mother raised an eyebrow. “You’re still in your pajamas.”

Bill stared at her for a moment, before cracking a small, nervous smile. Fortunately, that seemed to make her laugh a little.

“I’ll let it slide this time, but don’t let it happen again, or you’re grounded.” She said firmly, but ruffled his hair. “And fix this bed-head.”

Georgie giggled, “Yeah, you look crazy, Billy!” 

Bill rolled his eyes, smoothing his hair down with his hand before going back to his pancakes, not wanting them to get soggy in the syrup.

“Oh, by the way Billy,” His mother began, “Your friend called earlier, Stanley, he wanted to know if you’d like to go on a walk with him today. Now that’s a responsible boy, up and ready to go the second the sun’s rising.”

Oh, right! Bill hadn’t even read the letter Stan gave him yesterday. He’s been so focused spending the day with Georgie to cheer him up, by nighttime it had completely slipped his mind. Maybe Stanley wanted to talk to him about it? 

“Oh, d-did he?” Bill asked, trying to sound surprised. After all, he hadn’t really told her about running into Stan at the park yesterday.

“Mhm.” She nodded, “I told him you’d call him back when you were awake. So, you should probably do that, you’ve kept him waiting long enough now.”

“R-right…” Bill mumbled, standing from his chair and going to grab the phone from the kitchen wall. He dialed Stan’s house number, feeling a little awkward having to have this conversation with him in front of his mother and brother, but he could try and be vague about it.

After a moment, Stan answered rather than his father or his mother, likely having been anticipating this call-back. “Hello?”

Bill cleared his throat, “H-Hey, Stanley. My- my m-mom said you were, um, asking to g-go on a- a walk..?”

“Yeah.” Stan responded casually, trying to sound as if he wasn’t sitting around waiting for this conversation. “I um.. I just had something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh.” “About the secret admirer.” Bill thought, but he didn’t want to make it obvious that he knew. “Y-Yeah, okay. Where- where do you w-wanna m-meet?”

“Just… At the park is fine, where we spoke last time.”

“Ah, um.. Al-Alright. I’ll uh… s-see you there?” Bill said awkwardly.

“Y-yeah-“ Stan swallowed, “See ya, Billy.”

Then he hung up.

Bill stared at the phone in silence for a moment, wondering, “Why was that so awkward?” It was such an awkward conversation, in fact, that Bill’s mother actually seemed to notice despite only hearing one side of it. When Bill set the phone down she was looking at him with barely disguised intrigue (she is, unfortunately, a bit of a gossip), which Bill tried to ignore as he went to put his shoes on.

“You’re not changing out of your pajamas, Billy?” Asked Georgie, who still sat at the breakfast table kicking his feet innocently.

“N-no, Stan sounded a- a b-bit ur- urgent..” Bill murmured, going out of his way to avoid turning to face them.

Their mother huffed, “Well that’s certainly a way to present yourself.” She said sarcastically.

“I- I’m m-meeting Stanley, n-not the Pope.” Bill responded exasperatedly. “He’s s-seen me in- in a lot worse th-than pajamas, it’ll be f-fine.

Their mother only shook her head, “Well try not to get dirty, at least.” She instructed, already deciding to busy herself with taking Bill and Georgie’s plates from the table and to the sink to clean them, while Bill went out the front door.

Bill stood on their front step for a minute, taking a deep breath, then heading towards his bike. “At the park bench.” Bill reminded himself, setting his bike up, hopping on the seat and riding away at a speed that surprised even him. It seems he’s just as eager as Stanley for this meetup, mainly because he hopes that maybe Stan will give him some information on this mystery writer, or maybe even tell him who it is. He would like to be nonchalant and act like he doesn’t care whether the girl reveals herself or not, but unfortunately, he is a hopeless romantic who’s dreamed of this type of situation. He knew that maybe he was setting himself up for disappointment, but romance rarely comes his way.

He thought he had it with Beverly, before she moved to Portland. But upon some thinking, he soon realized he really didn’t know her all that well. She was pretty, sure, and he admired her for a lot less shallow things than that, but his crush was fleeting and seemed to go away with ease after she moved. No heartbreak, no longing… She was just gone, and he moved on. Maybe it’s silly of him to dream of a love story like he sees in the books he reads, but he couldn’t help it. No matter how many people tell him it’s girly or unrealistic, he can’t stop himself from daydreaming about a day where he might be swept off his feet by someone not just beautiful, but genuine. Someone who’ll recognize him for who he is deep down, pick up and adore every detail about him, and go out of their way to do beautiful romantic gestures for him—like the sweet letters he’s been receiving as of late.

And even as he biked, feeling the wind blowing his hair back and the burn in his lungs, he smiled at the idea. Not just because it was dreamy, but also because he was somewhat laughing at himself for hoping someone could love him so intensely. It’s easy to write something beautiful on paper, but that doesn’t always make it true. This person, just as he is, could also merely be in love with the idea of a perfect romance, and not exactly him. He tried to shove that thought down, telling himself he’s being far too pessimistic far too early on, but it lingered in the back of his mind as he approached the park.

As he got off his bike he saw already, Stanley was there, sitting on the bench and doing that little nervous habit of his where he taps his finger against his thigh, attempting to look bored or busy so as to not draw attention. It made Bill laugh to himself a little as he approached him, watching as Stanley’s nerves seemed to dissipate as soon as he saw Bill, then quickly return in even harsher force.

“Ah- Billy!” Stan greeted in a failed attempt at enthusiasm, standing up from the bench. “That was… Quick.”

“Y-Yeah, um… I- I rode h-here pretty.. pretty f-fast..” Bill muttered, realizing he needed to catch his breath only when Stanley pointed it out to him. “..But, you w-wanted to- to talk about s-something..?”

“I did..” Stan rubbed the back of his neck nervously, “But let’s start walking first.”

Bill nodded, and the two began making their way down the park path. It was strange how cheery the surroundings felt in contrast to their little bubble of tension, children were running around and playing, adults were laughing and chatting, and the smell of food was evident in the warm air. It was an atmosphere that Bill would normally romanticize, but right now felt unimportant compared to the other boy walking next to him.

Stan kept his hands tightly at his sides, as if afraid they’d gain minds of their own. It made him look even more tense than his facial expression already did, and it served to make Bill feel quite nervous, wondering how important the information must be if it had Stan looking so stressed, especially if it potentially had something to do with the letters. They both walked with a shared air of anticipation, before Stan finally spoke up.

“So, I just… Wanted to apologize.”

Bill looked at him quite perplexed. “..Apologize?”

“Yeah.” Stanley said quietly, fidgeting with a strand of his curly hair. “For not being able to help you yesterday, when Bowers showed up.”

“Oh, Stanley—“

“—Just let me finish.” Stan interrupted, the firmness in his voice actually startled Bill just a little. “Listen, I know you want to tell me I’m wrong or give me some kind of pep talk, because that’s just the kinda guy you are, Bill. But the truth is, I’m a pussy. I know it, you know it, the other Losers know it, hell even my own parents know it! Everyone does. But none of you have ever made me feel bad for it, or even gotten frustrated with me, and that’s really more than I can ever ask for. But…” He sighed, looking down at the path beneath them as they walked. “There’s a difference between being a ‘lovable scaredy cat’ and just being weak. And as much as you all accept me, I can’t possibly accept myself if my fear makes me unable to be helpful in any way shape or form, if I can’t even try to be helpful.”

“Stan..” Bill uttered sadly, but Stan gave him a pleading look, silently asking him to not say anything, but just listen. And as terribly as Bill wanted to protest, to end this self-hating rant before it could fully get started, with the look Stan was giving him he just couldn’t bring himself to. So, he shut his mouth, giving Stan a small nod of understanding.

Stan gave him a sad, but thankful smile. Taking a deep breath, then continuing, “…And yesterday, I really felt like I failed you. I mean, you’ve gotten your ass kicked dozens of times for us, but when you needed me for once I, what, stood there yelling? Even though I knew, obviously, that Bowers wasn’t going to listen. But you know who did stand up for you? Your little brother.” Stan laughed self-deprecatingly. “A little kid, Billy. A little kid was braver than me. I was just gonna let him hurt you, I can’t even bring myself to protect the person I…” He trailed off, biting the inside of his cheek. He let out a huff, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m just… I’m sorry, Billy. I can be so fucking selfish sometimes.”

Bill wasn’t sure how to respond for a long moment, he had to think. Because, as much as he loved Stanley, all of that is admittedly… True. Stanley is the least brave of them all, which isn’t something that’s ever bothered Bill, but he can acknowledge that in a situation where he may need to be saved, Stanley might freeze like he did with Bowers yesterday. And the worst part is, Bill wouldn’t even be angry, he wouldn’t blame him. 

“Stan,” Bill turned to look at him finally, “I think.. I th-think all of that is- is true. But, the- the th-thing is, most of the time people aren’t just g-gonna be heroes. That doesn’t just come n-naturally, it's actually incredibly d-difficult. You think that- that any g-good person would- they would th-throw themselves in the way of d-danger for others, but, actually.. realistically, even the best person in the- the w-world might- might freeze up, or.. or even run. It doesn’t always p-play out like it does in m-movies, humans are.. we’re a lot more com- complicated than- than that.” He placed a hand on Stan’s shoulder, causing Stan to tense for just a moment, then relax into it. Slowly, he looked over at Bill with those adorable, sad eyes, and Bill had the resist the urge to smile inappropriately in this tense moment. “…That’s why I could n-never be mad- or a-angry at you, and I- I could never expect you to p-play hero. I want you to- to run, Stanley. I want you to s-save yourself.”

Stan stared at him, then laughed, a sound that caught Bill off guard. “God, you would say that.” 

“…What’s s-so fuh- funny?” Bill asked, visibly bewildered.

Stan let out a laugh that bordered on a scoff, “You!” He placed a hand over his face, his shoulders shaking with laughter. Bill felt a little frustrated, until he realized that Stan’s laughter had turned into tears.

“H-Hey- what- what’s wrong? Are y-you okay?” Bill asked, his hands hovering awkwardly, unsure if he should touch, but Stan just waved a dismissive hand at him.

“I’m okay, you’re just… so stupid.” Stan choked out, tears spilling from between his fingers.

Bill blinked, caught between being worried and offended. “Huh??”

Stan removed his hands from his face, looking at Bill with all the frustration he could muster despite the tears rolling down his cheeks. “I said you’re stupid.” He hiccuped. “How can you say something like that? Save myself… Please! You just get to jump right into danger to save my ass, but you don’t care if I just.. leave you for dead? Do you hear yourself? You stupid, selfless.. Idiot!”

Bill opened and closed his mouth, struggling to find the words, or even the thoughts to respond to that. He couldn’t tell if Stan was sad, or angry, or maybe even amused? He was doing a weird mix between crying, laughing and yelling. “Wha…” Stan grabbed Bill by the shoulders, stopping him dead in his tracks—which simultaneously made him realize that they had long walked themselves out of the park. Bill was concerned and confused, but Stan looked at him firmly, stopping in his crying but making no effort to wipe the remaining wetness from his cheeks. “I d-don’t get it, what- what do you want, St-Stanley?”

“I want you to be mad!” Stan exclaimed. “You should be mad, you should hate me by now! All the things I’ve failed to do, all the ways I’ve failed to be there for you, all because I was too scared… You should be furious! Don’t just- just accept it! Tell me I’m a pussy, tell me that you hate me- just tell me how you really feel!”

Stan panted for a moment, his grip on Bill’s shoulders tight enough to be painful. Bill looked at him no longer with confusion, but pity. Stan hated it. He exhaled shakily, loosening his grip and just resting his forehead against Bill’s shoulder, both in a pathetic attempt to seek comfort and to hide his face. Bill didn’t push him away, but didn’t pull him closer, not at first.

“What… What I r-really think..?” Bill thought for a long moment, before slowly wrapping his arms around Stanley, pulling him into a hug. “I.. I th-think you’re- you’re great, Stan.” Stan’s breath hitched at that, prepared to deny, to refuse to accept that as truth, but Bill seemed to sense this, interrupting before he had the chance. “You’re really f-funny, but- but not in a Richie way. M-Maybe you’re a- a little cy-cynical sometimes, but.. That wit just c-comes to you n-naturally, I’ve always been j-jealous of it.”

“What…?” Stan uttered, attempting to lift his head from Bill’s shoulder, but Bill tangled his fingers in Stanley’s curls, pushing his head back down.

 “And- and you’re passionate.” Bill continued, “I love seeing you- you light up w-when you talk about b-birds, it’s endearing. Especially the- the way you st-start to pace around and m-move your hands really qui- quickly when you rant—it’s cute.” Bill blushed a bit when he said that, realizing how strange it sounds, but he didn’t take it back. He meant it. 

“Bill-“

“—A-And you’re sm-smart, really smart. Not just in- in school, b-but in general. I can be p-pretty- pretty reckless, but I- I can always rely on y-you to talk some s-sense into me.” Bill subconsciously twirled a strand of Stan’s hair between his fingers as he spoke, which was driving Stan crazy. But he just buried his face into Bill’s shoulder further, hoping, desperately, to conceal just how red it was. “And- a-all of this is to say th-that, yes, m-maybe- maybe you are a p-pussy. Maybe you aren’t wh-who I’d g-go to if- if I needed saving, but you’re good f-for other things. Like teaching me about b-birds, or- or talking m-me out of d-dumb decisions, a-and making me happy.” Bill released Stan’s hair, tilting his head up to look at Stanley’s face. “That’s h-how I really feel, Stanley.”

Stan stared at him, wide-eyed. He was sure his face was bright red, practically impossible for Bill not to notice, but in this moment he trusted Bill not to tease him for it. Every part of him wanted to fall back into that self-hating pit, but the firm, but somehow soft look in Bill’s eyes stole every argument from his mouth in an instant. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, but he didn’t have to. Bill just wiped the tears from Stan’s cheeks gently, trying to look stern, but unable to help a soft, sad chuckle.

“It’s f-funny…” Bill mumbled, grabbing Stan’s arm to slowly lead him back into a walk, wanting to make sure they were out of the public eye for this, now vulnerable conversation. “I was k-kinda hoping you- you just w-wanted to talk about- about the letters.”

Stan laughed weakly, now feeling a little silly for crying as he followed Bill. “That would’ve been nice, huh?”

Bill smiled, “You still can’t t-tell me anything about h-her? N-Not- not even if she’s p-pretty?” He asked jokingly.

Stan rolled his eyes playfully, “Well, she’s not my type…”

“You k-keep saying that,” Bill laughed, tilting his head, “But I d-don’t even kn-know what your type is.”

Stanley paused, glancing away as he took a moment to really think about it, before eventually deciding on, “I like… Brunettes. One’s with light eyes, and… They’re smart, but a lot of the time they can’t properly put things into words. And romantic too—I want a girl who likes romantic gestures, and dreams of just.. being swept off her feet, maybe by a guy like me, if I’m lucky.”

“That’s sp-specific.”

“Yeah,” Stan chuckled, “It is, isn’t it?”

“Well… I d-don’t know what- what kinda girl I want.” Bill admitted. “I guess I’ve j-just kinda been.. been waiting to m-meet her, I f-figured I’d kn-know then.”

“I get that.” Stanley hummed. “Sometimes you really don’t know until you meet the right person, then it’s just… Clear. That’s what my mom always says, anyway.”

Bill looked a little hopeful at that. “You th-think that’s h-how I might f-feel when I- I meet my secret admirer?” He asked.

“I really hope so.” Stan said quietly, “I want that for you, Billy.” Bill gave him a curious look, about to ask him something, but Stanley quickly interrupted with, “Oh look, we’re at the kissing bridge.”

Bill looked up and, yes, they had walked themselves to the kissing bridge. How strange, Bill wasn’t sure why his subconscious would bring them here. It wasn’t a problem though, he actually likes this little spot.

“Oh, n-neat!” Bill slid his hand down from Stan’s arm to his hand, pulling him along to the center of the bridge. “I like c-coming here and- and looking at a-all the- the initials. Sometimes I w-wonder if- if any of these p-people are, uh, still together, or- or if their love came tr-true.”

Stan cracked a small smile, trying to pretend he wasn’t hyper aware of Bill’s hand in his. “You really like this old bridge that much?”

“Mhm.” Bill kneeled down, examining the carvings. “You th-think maybe my- my s-secret admirer cuh- carved our initials here?” He asked, running his fingers along a particular carving that looked unfinished, R + something..

Stan blinked, “Oh, uh.. Maybe. That would’ve been.. romantic, wouldn’t it?” He mumbled.

Bill stood back up, “Yeah, b-but kind of- of sad, right? A lot of these p-people didn’t- didn’t h-have the.. the courage to, say- to admit their f-feelings to these people's f-faces.” He said sadly. “K-Kinda like my secret admirer, I guess..” Bill trailed off, then gasped, suddenly realizing something.

“What’s wrong?” Stan asked.

“That j-just re- reminded me! The- the third letter you g-gave me, I totally for-forgot to- to read it!” Bill explained. “Awh man.. It m-must’ve been im-important if she asked you to g-give it to- to me p-personally, I’ll have to wait until- until I get h-home to know wha- what it says.”

Stan watched Bill’s disappointed expression with a strange feeling in his gut, both a mix of butterflies and maybe a little bit of nausea. It made his palms sweat and his face heat up, but it also made him feel.. reckless. He stepped up beside Bill, looking off over the small bridge and into the distance, before letting out a sigh. 

“Dear Billy,” He began, catching Bill’s attention. It made him nervous, but he continued, “I really wasn’t planning on these letters continuing, because I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to reveal myself, and I didn’t want to end up leading you on. But…” Stan took a deep breath, “…These past days have made it impossible to ignore. Every smile, every laugh… It drives me crazy. You’re too beautiful, I can’t stand looking at you sometimes. I could go on and on and on if I really wanted to, but these letters would be never ending if I tried. I could fill multiple books with just everything I adore about you, and maybe in that form, you’d read them, and finally understand just how much you mean to me. I’m so sorry for saying this, but I’m in love with you. For the first time in my life I am in love, so deeply that I fear I’ll never feel the same way about anyone else, ever. But I can’t have you, I don’t deserve to anyway. So, I’ll just spend the rest of my life dreaming about you, and your stupid stained glass eyes.” Stan swallowed dryly, slowly turning to look Bill in the eyes. “Love…” He hesitated, “Love.. Stanley.”

An array of emotions flashed across Bill’s face in only a few seconds, confusion being the main one. After a long stretch of silence, all he managed to utter was, “What…?”

“That’s what the letter said.” Stan said with a calm that belied the shake in his hands. 

Bill stared at him. He knew what Stan meant, but at the same time needed confirmation, desperately. “H-How do you..?”

Stan looked down, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please don’t make me say it, Billy.”

It was suddenly dead silent, aside from the sound of the creak running beneath them. Stan wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Maybe a slap, some yelling, or maybe Bill might just push him over the bridge. What he wasn’t expecting was for Bill to grab him by the collar of his shirt. Stan’s eyes opened automatically, and the last thing he saw was Bill’s stupid, adorable face before his lips were suddenly on his.

Stan froze, maybe for too long, but the second he realized that this was real he didn’t just relax, but he reciprocated. He wrapped his arms around Bill’s shoulders, trying to pull him impossibly closer as Bill held on tightly to his hair, as if afraid he’d slip away. Stan had to move one hand back to hold onto the, probably not stable, edge of the bridge. But, in this moment, he didn’t care whether it broke or if the whole damn bridge came crashing down—Bill Denbrough was kissing him!

It was awkward, unprepared and inexperienced, but god, it was perfect, it was everything, it was Bill. Seconds felt like hours, and yet Stan still immediately missed the feeling of Bill’s lips as he slowly pulled away, and the two were left staring at each other. This is when Stan expected that post-kiss regret to bubble up, but he felt nothing but content looking into Bill’s pretty blue eyes. He could stand here staring into them forever.

After a moment Bill slid his hand down from Stan’s hair to the back of his neck, glancing down at his lips once more then back up at his face, saying softly, “…I didn’t know y-you knew how to b-be so.. So romantic.”

Stan laughed quietly, “It’s not hard to be, for a guy like you, Billy.” He said, an edge of anxiety to his voice. But that anxiety was strongly overpowered by the sheer amount of affection in his tone as he looked at Bill. “But, um.. So, what does this mean?”

Bill glanced off at nothing in particular, then back to Stan as he decided on his answer. “I.. I think it m-means…”

“…I just realized what my t-type is.”