we're not kids anymore | bill denbrough {book two}

XV.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
[ the letter ]

Bill moved back to New York with me after we left Derry. Of course, Wesley loves getting to have someone else to play fetch with him all the time. We decided to turn the spare bedroom into his office so he'd have enough room to work. To go from a nice decent sized house to a small apartment probably wasn't the easiest change for him. Although, he claimed he didn't mind the smaller space as long as we were together.

Wesley and I have a bad habit of coming to visit him a lot as he works in his office, but I can't help it. I love watching him work. There he was, sitting as his desk, focusing intensely on his laptop as he typed away. His glasses would at times begin to slowly slip down his face and he'd gently push them back up. I don't know why I found that so cute, but I did.

"Kate would you mind reading what I have written so far and letting me know what you think?" Bill asked sitting at his desk.

I walked to his desk and leaned over his shoulder. Before I could read what he'd written on the laptop, Bill grabbed my waist and pulled me into his lap, causing me to release a small squeal.

"Alright William," I said laughing. "if you don't stop this goofing off business I can't give you my professional criticism- I mean review"

Bill laughed lightly. "Oh so you think it's going to be that bad, huh?"

"Why don't you let me read it and we will find out?" I suggested, winking.

He knew I was joking. Although Bill struggled with the ending of his books, he was still one of the best authors I've ever seen. He always had been. I knew he had the potential to be an amazing writer ever since we were little and he would read to me one of the many stories he'd written earlier that day. Listening to his stories were always the highlight of my day.

"Be my guest" he said, gesturing to the laptop.

I began to read the story and like always, it was good but, something about this story was different. It felt real, like Bill found an emotional connection to the book. Just by reading the first few words, I fell in love with his story.

Those were his friends, and his mother was wrong: they weren't bad friends. Maybe, he thought, they're aren't such things as good or bad friends - maybe there are just friends, people who stand by you when you're hurt and who help you feel not so lonely. Maybe, they're always worth being scared for, and hoping for, and living for. Maybe worth dying for too, if that what has to be. No good friends. No bad friends. Only people you want, need to be with: people build their houses in your heart.