Stan | Richie
"A real house? Not an apartment?" Stan asked, not entirely sure why he was surprised by that, and yet he was all the same. But he could be wrong at times, obviously, and here he was wrong about the kind of life he pictured Richie having, but that was what he got for not talking about the life he'd left behind, but it was too prickly a subject to go much into just yet, too fresh, too tender to say what he'd given up because he couldn't get over his fear. But here was Richie owning a house and paying someone to do his lawn work.
It was good though, in a way he couldn't really say - to know that Richie had that, at least for a little while. They weren't going back to it for the time being, and it wasn't like he'd get to see it if they did go back- there wasn't anything waiting for him there now. This was it.
This place and Richie and Eddie and this life they were making here for all that it was strange it was all he had now.
But Stan thought maybe in time he'd be okay with that too, when he wasn't scared out of his mind anytime he didn't see the two of them, when he felt a little more settled and a little less like any waking moment it might be revealed to him that they were actually trapped in some elaborate plot that would get them back to It.
He huffed and shrugged a little bit, "Yeah well it's true." Stan reasoned, he loved them all best. It didn't matter that there were five of them, he loved all of the losers best. He might have forgotten that for a while, but it was still true, and remained true here in this place. Stan didn't want to wish that they were here with them, but a part of him did, to get their gang back together, to be able to look at all of them and tell them he was sorry properly for not being strong enough, or brave enough, for not being able to come back with them. But he wasn't going to get that chance he was sure, they were here and the others were back in their lives and Stan hoped they were good lives, that they all had something worth having, and worth keeping.