Bill was sick, he had been sick with flu for a week, and when his little brother came to his room to whine about how he was bored, Bill ended up giving in and making him a paper boat. Oh, how he wished he had never made that paper boat, maybe then, his brother would still be at home.

Bill had been so affected by the news that he had been stuck in denial for over two months, constantly begging his parents to let him search through the sewers, convinced that his little brother would still be somewhere down there.

Today, two months and half since Georgie's disappearance and unannounced death as well, Mrs. Denbrough called your mom, asking her to bring you to their house. Bill had just hit the depression stage a week ago and he wasn't getting out of bed, refusing to eat until he was literally starving and not talking to them, they believed you —his best friend— could coax him at least into eating something or getting a shower.

So that was how you ended up here, cuddled up under Bill's bed covers, holding the poor boy to your chest. Bill had his face buried in your shoulder, his hair was a mess, his arms loosely wrapped around your waist. His gaze is half-lidded and unfocused, you knew he wasn't there, but deep inside his mind. His eyes were red and puffy from so much crying, he had bags under them*

"I miss him so much"

he sobbed, shoving his face into your shoudler