(A/N:) sorry this is sooOOO late, but I hath done it

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Bill's mom looked toward the door from the kitchen entryway as it clicked open, expecting to see Bill coming in alone, but rather, he was followed in by another person. She squinted slightly at the thin, curly haired man. His mother was feeling a bit shook- was he going to tell her himself? Had he actually brought someone for her to meet? She only implied but never imagined... She looked between the two, glancing from Bill to the stranger and back again, taking in the way that they looked at each other. Was this a man that he wanted to introduce to her? She couldn't believe this was happening, but yet, it was. Right in front of her. Her son was going to finally open and tell her that he was-

"Hey, mom, r-remember Stan?" Bill said with a smile that she hadn't seen in years, it was melting her heart to say the least, "wuh-w-well I found him outside!" Oh goodness, Mrs. Denbrough over read that situation, she definitely couldn't help but internally facepalm as she shook her head to herself.

"Outside, in the cold, with no jacket?" Mrs. Denbrough recovered, sending the boys a harsh glance in the same fashion that she would've when they were still young. "You must be freezing! Let me grab you a warm shirt." she said and turned around, heading off toward the stairs.

Stan couldn't help but chuckle at her motherly antics, "She hasn't changed a bit." he laughed, looking to Bill who nodded in complete agreement. "Like mother, like son." The curly haired male added cheekily and Bill rolled his eyes a bit. As soon as she had disappeared, Bill's mother returned, a hoodie sweatshirt placed carefully in her arms. She extended it to Stan and motioned for him to put it on. Silently, he looked at the piece of clothing and took it into his grasp, unfurling it and holding it out. It looked as though it might have been a bit small, but that didn't bother him as he pulled it over his head, immediately feeling better that his arms had been covered. The sweatshirt felt familiar as it wrapped snugly around his frame. It's musty smell filled his nostrils and he immediately knew who it belonged to- Bill. It was an older sweatshirt that he clearly didn't wear as much anymore, seeing as he didn't even seem to notice that it belonged to him.

Stan was snapped from his thoughts as Bill's mom gave him a welcoming smile, "How about you join us for dinner?" She offered invitingly.

Stan really didn't want to overstay his welcome, in fact, he felt like he was pushing it by accepting the sweatshirt in the first place. "No, no, I really shouldn't- I wouldn't want to impose."

"Don't be silly," she scoffed, "You're welcome to join us anytime."

"Suh-seriously, I haven't seen you in over tuh-twenty years. The least you can d-do is stay for dinner." Bill stuttered, placing his hand in the valley between Stan's shoulder blades, guiding him further into the house and to the kitchen where the food was just minutes away from being ready. Mr. Denbrough was only a little surprised to see Stan sat in a chair next to his son, welcoming him with an acknowledging nod, accompanied by a smile. Stan felt warm, inside and out. He hadn't felt this welcome or at home in years. Shaking off the bit of remorse that had sparked in his chest for not feeling the same way with his own family, he smiled a wide and toothy grin back at Bill's dad. Turning to smile at Bill in the same way, hoping to send the message that he really was grateful.

Bill's mind was running wild. Everything was coming back to him, the late nights, the long talks, his and Stan's friendship. It was amazing. His heart even went as far as skipping a beat everytime the backs of their hands brushed during dinner. Little did he know that a certain someone knew exactly what was going on, whether they did themselves or not. Mrs. Denbrough didn't know Stan as well as her son did, but could tell that there was something mysterious behind their quick glances. She turned away from them, seeing if her husband saw it too, but, not to her surprise, he was not paying any attention at all, stuffing his face with carrots and potatoes instead. She scoffed at him- he was sure to get a rude awakening when it would eventually come out, slapping him in the face. It wasn't her fault he was so oblivious.

After finishing the meal, Stan apologized for intruding once more and profusely thanked them for the delicious food, standing as he prepared to take his leave. However, Bill stopped him, telling him that he shouldn't walk home in the cold. Stan showed his gratitude as he politely turned down the non-stop attempts at offered car rides. He just wanted to breathe fresh air before having to step in the same house as his father again. "Don't cuh-catch a c-cold," Bill playfully demanded, giving Stan a long tight hug. Bill didn't want to let go, feeling as though Stan would walk out that door and never come back like he had so many years ago if he did, fearing that he would never see him again, but being thirty and knowing his boundaries, he kept those temptations at bay.

"Yes, mom," Stan mocked, hugging back just as tightly.

"Duh-Don't be weird," Bill laughed, punching Stan's back lightly, pulling away from him in fake anger. Stan only lifted his hands in surrender as he laughed too, turning to slip on his shoes.

"Bye, Bill," Stan waved, his smile reaching his eyes, turning Bill's mind to mush.

Saying bye felt oddly final, so he said the only thing that hazily swam to the forefront of his mind, "Puh-Please c-come back," Bill swallowed a bit more seriously, looking down in embarrassment.

"Sure, Bill," Stan said immediately, still smiling- albeit fainter now- ruffling his smaller friends hair. Bill whined as he slapped away Stan's hand, secretly loving the attention, but under no circumstances letting it show. Then without another word, Stan left, closing the door quietly behind him. Something in Bill also felt like it left him, he couldn't pinpoint it, but whatever it was... it sure left him feeling lonely again.

Stan, shoving his hands into the kangaroo pocket of Bill's sweatshirt, shuffled down the freshly shoveled front walk and to the road, briefly halting to glance back at the house, a sigh escaping past his lips and materializing into an opaque cloud of all his inner thoughts. Part of him wanted to walk back up those steps and knock on the door, begging Bill for forgiveness. He knew that he had left him all those years ago and that he was an asshole for not keeping in touch, but before he could do anything, his legs started to carry him back toward his parents house. Yet again, he saw himself as weak for running from his feeling and problems. "Why am I like this?" He uttered, kicking a hunk of ice that lay unassuming in his path. With a muddled skidding sound, it flew across the street and out of his reach. With a huff, he approached his house, hand hesitating as it landed on the glacial door handle. To enter or not to enter- that was the question. Thoughts of his worried mother flooded his mindspace and he grimaced slightly. The last thing he wanted was for his mom to sit in the living room all night, eyes fixed on the door as she wondered whether or not her son would ever return home. When he pushed open the door quietly, that's exactly what he saw. His mom sat in her chair, facing the door with a cup of coffee in her hands. At the sight of her child, she set down her mug and got to her feet, greeting him with a warm hug. Stan hugged her back, if only to reassure her that he was okay and that he wasn't dead in a ditch on the side of the interstate or black out drunk in an alleyway, freezing his ass of on a mid- December night. "How are you feeling?" His mother delicately asked, her already soft voice muffled further by the hug from which they had still not separated.

"I'm feeling better..." Stanley answered, taking in a deep breath through his nostrils. His mother's natural musky scent made his shoulders relax and his mind felt a bit more clear. He just about fell asleep when she started soothingly rubbing circles into his back, that's how exhausted and comfortable he felt.

With a hum, his mother finally pulled away, placing her hands on his arms and meeting his line of sight, "How about I get you some food, I'm sure you're hungry."

"Actually," Stanley began, "I already had dinner..."

With this new information, Stan's mother stepped back and began to size him up, squinting as she laid eyes on the unrecognizable hoodie. "Where did you go?" She questioned suspiciously.

"Funny story," Stan sighed, scratching his forearm as he thought about how he would phrase what he wanted to say, "Do you remember Bill Denbrough?..." His mother looked like she had come to a realization.

"Oh, you saw Bill? How's he doing?"

Stan thought about it for a while. Bill seemed to have been doing great, actually- he had been enjoying his writing career and celebrating the holidays with his joyful, loving family, carefree as ever. It registered in Stan's mind that deep down he envied Bill. "He's doing well for himself..." He stated simply, hiding his discontent with a smile.

"Well, that's fantastic," his mother remarked, rubbing his arm.

"Yeah, it is." He said, smiling softly before turning away from his mom and treading to the base of the stairs. "I think that I'm going to head up to bed."

"Alright, sleep well..." she uttered, hiding her worry behind a chipper lyrical tone.