Richie sat up and put on his glasses, calming himself down still from the dream. Each day since Eddie died, his dreams seemed to get more and more morbid. The first night, he had a dream about Eddie's funeral. The second night he had one about Eddie being in the hospital. This was the first night where the dream showed Eddie dying, and he felt like that wound that was slowly healing was ripped open again.

Richie swung his legs over the bed and trudged over to his closet, just as he did in his dream. He threw a different t shirt on, but he was too tired to bother with changing out of his pyjama pants. He went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, going through with his normal morning routine. As he looked into the mirror to peer back at himself, he was disappointed with what he saw. His face was sad and there were dark circles under his eyes. He smiled into the mirror, hoping that it would make him feel better. All it did was make him realize just how truly sad he was. He looked away from the mirror washed his face, fighting back tears once more.

After he tried his best to take care of himself, he went downstairs to grab something to eat. The house was eerily quiet and it bothered him. He turned on the radio, not to loudly as he didn't want to wake Bill if he wasn't up yet. He started to fix himself a bowl of cereal. As he poured the milk, he was startled by Bill's voice.
"Morning, Rich." He spoke, causing Richie to jump and spill milk everywhere as he was still pretty overstimulated and on edge from the dream.

"Jesus Bill do you knock?" Richie sighed, putting the milk carton down.  "Sorry. I'll help you clean it up." Bill replied. He looked at Richie sympathetically and grabbed a kitchen towel from the drawer next to the sink. Richie looked back at him uncomfortably, stepping away and crossing his arms over his chest. "Sorry." Richie mumbled, his voice breaking like when he was a teenager. "I'm just really on edge right now. I'll buy you new milk."

Bill looked back and Richie, leaving the hand towel on the counter after he cleaned up the milk. "Don't worry about it. It's okay," Bill told him, looking him in the eyes. "What happened?" He asked.

Richie sniffed, playing with the sleeve of his T-shirt. He looked away, avoiding eye contact with Bill. "I've been having dreams." Richie told Bill, glancing up at him for a moment before looking down again.

"What kind of dreams?" Bill replied, fully expecting a dark answer. His voice was quiet and sympathetic. Richie just looked up at Bill, his eyes wet as tears threatened to fall down his face. He let out a shaky sigh and wiped his eyes. "Hey, come on. We can go sit down," Bill offered, taking Richie over to the couch in the living room. Richie sat down and sighed once more.

"I've been having dreams about Eddie," Richie muttered, avoiding eye contact with Bill. "The first ones weren't that bad, but.." Richie continued, trailing off as he thought about it. "Last night, I watched him die again."

Bill sat silently, rubbing Richie's back. "Like.. like a flashback?" He asked quietly, doing his best to comfort him.

"No, it was new. It was different. We were... hanging out. I turned my back for one minute and he.." Richie continued, choking on his words as he fought back tears. He hated crying. He thought it made him look weak.

"He what, Rich?" Bill asked, urging him on.

"He started gasping, so I got his inhaler, and I brought it to him, but he still couldn't breathe and I didn't know what was wrong. That's when I saw it." Richie looked up at Bill, the radio playing soft jazz in the background. Bill was beginning to get anxious as he heard the stress and sadness in Richie's voice and the events from that day began to replay in his head as well.

"S-Saw what?" Bill replied, stumbling over his words slightly.

"Blood... coming out of his mouth." Richie mumbled, chills shooting through him. Bill nodded and took a deep breath. "I... tried to help him, but he was bleeding from his chest and he was choking, and i was just... I was.."

"Scared?" Bill asked, silence falling over them. Richie nodded.

"His blood was on my hands, on my shirt, on my sheets.." Richie continued, gulping nervously, "Then I woke up and he was gone..."

Bill listened, not saying anything for a moment. "So he was in your room?" Bill asked. Richie hesitated, but nodded a moment later. "Why was he bleeding?"

Richie shook his head, his voice cracking as he spoke again. "I don't know, and I couldn't help him," he cried, tears beginning to fall down his face. He quickly wiped them away. "I'm sorry," he apologized and shook his head.

"It's okay. You're allowed to cry." Bill sighed and gently rubbed Richie's back. "Just tell me everything, okay? Get it off your chest."

"It felt so real... It was like I woke up in the dream and he was there and we were happy and then everything went to shit and I woke up alone." Richie shivered, tears falling down his face. He didn't try to wipe them away anymore.

"Hey, Rich.." Bill sighed, moving Richie so he would look into his eyes. "Do you want to talk to someone about this who isn't me, or anyone you know?" He asked. Richie looked at him, a confused look on his face. "What?" He asked. "If this is too personal, if you don't want to tell me, there's support groups you can go to, Rich."

Richie sat silently and stared at him. "I don't need that," he said forcefully.

Bill got quiet, looking back at him. "You don't need to feel ashamed, it's okay to get help."

"Stop. I don't need help. I'm just grieving." Richie sighed and wiped his tears, scooting away from Bill on the couch.

"Richie, you've been having these dreams every night that doesn't just sound like grieving," Bill mumbled, his eyebrows furrowing with concern.

"Just stop it, okay Bill? Stop. I'm not going to go to some fucking support group full of people who are depressed and can't move on. I'm not fucking weak."

The room fell silent. Quiet jazz music continued to play in the background. Bill stood up. "Fine. I-I.. I tried to help, but you don't fucking care, do you? I find it pretty fucking funny how you call people who try to move on and get help pathetic and depressed but you're too fucking insecure to even admit that you have a problem. Have you thought at all about why you're having these dreams? He's your friend, Rich. I know he was important to you but why the hell would you be having these dreams every fucking night?" Bill spat back at him.

Richie stared back at Bill. "Didn't you have nightmares when Georgie died?"

"Don't fucking talk about him." Bill huffed.

"Didn't you?" Richie asked again.

"Yeah.. Yeah I did, Rich. Because he's my brother, and I thought it was my fault he died. And you know what? I went to therapy for that shit, asshole. So don't fucking compare you sulking about your friend and refusing to go to therapy to me losing my brother as a kid when it was all my fault!" Bill shouted at Richie, his hands balling into fists.

The room fell silent once more. "I'm sorry." Richie choked out. Bill blinked, relaxing his hands. He looked at Richie's face. He looked scared and sad.

"No, I'm sorry, man. I shouldn't be treating you like shit because I'm still sad about him. You're right. I'm just a depressed asshole who can't move on." Bill sighed.

"No you're not... I am." Richie cried. "And... And I just don't want to admit it to myself because I'm scared of what everyone else will think."

"It's okay, Rich. No one is going to judge you. He was your best friend."

Richie scoffed slightly to himself. "Yeah." He shook his head. "You wouldn't get it, Bill. You aren't like me."

"I understand what you're going through, Rich. Georgie was my brother, and Eddie was your best friend. He's like your brother. You loved him, just like I loved Georgie." Bill muttered and sat next to Richie. "Right?"

"Yeah... Right." Richie shook his head.

"Then why are you still shaking your head?"

Richie looked at Bill, taking in a shaky breath and taking off his glasses. Richie put his head in his hands and cried, finally letting go of the tears he was trying so hard to hold back. Bill hugged him. "It's okay Rich." He muttered, rubbing his back.

"I loved him, Bill." Richie choked out.

"I know you did," Bill replied, continuing to rub his back.

"No, you don't understand, Bill." Richie sighed and pulled away from Bill's hug. "I loved him. I still love him." Richie spoke, his heart racing. Bill stared at him. "I'm in love with him, Bill, and he's gone, and I never got to tell him I loved him." Richie cried. Bill looked at him in shock. He didn't say anything, but his face softened up after a moment when he understood what Richie was saying.

"Do you think he loved me, too?" Richie asked Bill, wiping the tears from his face and putting his glasses back on.

"Yeah. Yeah I do."