allthelifethereis | Recent Entries

It takes him a while to realise what's happened. All of her things are still there, in the townhouse, in the office that they've set up in the loft space. It's like she just stepped out of her life, and everything is waiting for her to come back. But her phone doesn't connect, and her room just feels...empty. Like she's never coming back again.

Shit.

For a few long, horrible moments, Bill's got no idea what he's supposed to do now. He ought to tell the others, right? It ought to be him who tells them. He stares at his phone and, of course, it's Eddie who he texts first.

Meet me at the coffee shop near Barton? I gotta tell you something in person.

Hilde's old enough that he doesn't really think about leaving her alone for a couple of hours at night. He promises himself that he'll be back before she wakes up, anyway. He just needs to get out of the house, needs to get his head clear, needs to...

He doesn't know what he needs, not really. Even with the difference in his age, even with all of the years missing between them, Bev has always been his person, and the thought that she's gone makes something in his chest ache in a way that he almost can't stand. For a while, he just walks, hands shoved into his pockets, but then he finds his way to a familar door.

When Jade opens it, Bill's standing with his forehead leaned against the frame. He shakes his head.

"I don't know why I'm here," he says, voice cracking. "Of all the places I could fuh-fucking be."

He's got no idea why he feels slightly nervous. He'd messaged Jade, asking if he wanted to meet up for a drink and, honestly, it doesn't have to be more than that, does it? They're friends -- at least, Bill thinks of Jade as a friend -- and friends can meet up for a beer. Doesn't matter that Jade's made it clear that he'd be interested in other things, and that Bill can't remember the last time he got laid. That's just details that don't mean anything? Right?

The place he'd chosen is casual, quiet enough to have a conversation, with interesting things behind the bar without being miserably pretentious. He's come straight from his office at Barton, bag slung across his chest and glasses still on. He leans his elbows on the bar, surveying what they have on draft, chooses something with a ridiculous name and picks a booth. He's been rereading Don Quixote before his class starts up again, so he makes himself comfortable, thumbing through worn pages, and he waits.

He's barely holding it together by the time he walks through the door and shuts it behind him. He'd left Eddie in the apartment, most things explained, but a lot of things still left unsaid, promised to come back in a couple of hours. He figures they could both do with some room. He doesn't know if Gwen is home or not, and he's got no intention of falling apart in front of her...doesn't know if Neil is home or not, and can't find the voice to call for him. He shrugs out of his coat and keeps going, climbing the stairs until he's in the privacy of the suite he shares with Neil at the top of the house. Once he gets there, he sits down on the bed and buries his face in his hands. It's only a moment before his shoulders shake with a violent sob.

"Fuck," he mumbles under his breath, scrubbing at his face with the heels of his hands. "Oh, fuck me."

continued.

Before he met Neil, he might have been mortified by the fact that someone might know why they're in there. But now, he shifts, his hips leaning forward, one arm reaching up to grip the edge of the door as he looks down at Neil, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh," he says. "I think you can figure it out."

Life finds its new normal. They've got Neil set up in the den downstairs, and Bill spends most of his time in there, too, going up to their bedroom to use their shower and change. He's got work to do -- the screenplay that his agent wants him to write, the new novel starting to itch in the back of his head just as the last one is coming to fruition, so he works in the chair and, when Neil is sleeping, he puts down his laptop. He's on a leave of absence from Barton, just for a while, but he needs some things from his office. While he's up at Barton, he decides to grab a coffee and stands in line, swaying on his feet slightly. He feels like he hasn't slept properly since the night before Halloween.

The queue moves nad he steps forward too quickly, knocking into someone's shoulder.

"Shit," he says. "Sorry."

Bill's having a pretty trying day, to be honest. He'd freaked out, a little bit, when he woke up, and Neil had helped him to calm down, made him take deep breaths and drink a coffee and remember that it wasn't going to last forever. He'd taken a shower which had been...interesting, and then he'd put on clothes that more or less fit and he'd gone to work. His students, weirdly, had taken it in stride -- the Darrow born ones didn't even notice that there was anything amiss and the transplants, like him? Well they were used to weird shit, weren't they?

It's close to dinner time before he's letting himself back into the townhouse, shrugging out of his coat and dropping his keys on the table next to the door.

"I fucking hate this," he announces to the house as a whole. "I feel like my whole centre of balance is wrong."

He's not going to propose. It's not an engagement ring. Still, it feels like kind of a big step, buying Neil a ring for his birthday. It's a simple silver band designed to be fidgeted with, a band within the band engraved with the phases of the moon. Bill had seen it in a store and thought that it was perfect. He'd kept the box in his pocket through dinner, and it isn't until they're back in the town house that it feels like the right time.

"You want your present now?" he asks, stepping in behind Neil and wrapping his arms around the other man's waist.

Bill can't shake the feeling that he's being followed. After class let out, he'd decided to walk home by a more circuitous route so that he could get a coffee and maybe something for dessert. And somehow, he'd picked up a tail.

For about the third time, he stops, shifting the strap of his bag against his chest and glancing over his shoulder, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Hi," he says, finally. "Can I help with with something?"

To start with, the town-house had been more of a convenience than anything - somewhere with enough bedrooms, enough living space, the whole top floor to call his own so that Stan and Richie could have their own space. Now, he'd actually come to like it - his cramped office space between the bedroom and the ensuite; the weird, terraced garden, the kitchen. How lived in it felt. How his life had crept into the cracks. He likes looking around and seeing Neil's things there, mingled with his own. Even if they spend as much time at Neil's place as they do at the townhouse, he likes feeling like they're sharing space.

Letting himself in, he drops his keys on the console in the hallway.

"Hello?" he calls, picking up his post and leafing through it. "Anyone home?"

He'd said that he was going to make the most of this, if Neil was only going to be this way for a week, and he'd meant it. Which leads to them walking, hand in hand, towards one of the slightly seedier lingerie stores on Darrow's shopping streets. Bill would have been happy to shell out for somthing more expensive, even if he only got to see it worn once, but, he figures, he'll have more chance of sneaking into the changing rooms at a lower end establishment.

"What're you in the moood for?" he asks, squeezing Neil's fingers, tugging him for a kiss. "I'll get you anything you want."

Bill's at that sweet spot, not drunk but buzzed and he wants nothing more in that moment than he wants Neil. He uses his key to open the door to Neil's apartment, nudging him through with hands and hips, kicking it shut behind him. He blindly gropes, dropping his keys in the bowl that Neil bought for him, on the table next to the door.

"God, I could fuck you right here," he says, growls, nudging Neil back against the wall.

The key sticks at first but, after a moment, he manages to get the front door open. The townouse is light and airy, painted with neutral tones. It doesn't have a lot of personality, yet, but Bill's allowed to paint, if he wants, as part of his lease. He's told Richie and Stan that they can decorate their rooms however they like. He'll foot the bill for supplies. More than anything, he wants them to feel at home.

As he wanders through the rooms, he reaches back and snags Neil's hand, threading their fingers together.

"What do you say about starting at the top and working our way down?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder.

He finds himself in a routine. He's got the other Losers, a handful of friends his own age besides. He gets laid occasionally. He works on his book. He teaches classes. He grades. He's managed to track down a handful of his books, and they're stored on a bookshelf that's well on its way to being stuffed. It's not a bad sort of life.

Not long after he'd arrived, he'd had keys cut for the Losers, all of them. He'd wanted them to know that is apartment was a safe place. That, no matter what, he'd be there if needs them.

So far, he hasn't regretted that decision.
He settles down on the couch, reading submissions for the back to back workshops he has in the morning, a beer open at his elbow.

In the aftermath, Bill finds it difficult to settle. The other Losers had warned him that weird shit happened all the time in Darrow, just like in Derry, and he'd believed them, but it was a complete different thing to see it for himself. He checks in on all of them and then he finds himself down at the boardwalk, wrapped in coat and scarf, glasses on so that he can read, a coffee at his elbow. He sits, staring at the sea, just trying to find a calm place inside himself.

Trying to settle.