It was kind of weird, being given permission to be angry. And maybe Richie was -- not necessarily because Stan had made that decision exactly, but because it was -- it was final, and it wasn't fair and he shouldn't have had to make it in the first place. And yeah, maybe because Richie was the one left who had to deal with it. With both of his best friends gone. And there was always just this little part of him that thought -- it should have fucking been him, not them.
Except here he kind of didn't (or shouldn't) have to think that, because he was curled up on the bathroom floor with one of them right now, and because he shared a bed with the other pretty much every night and Richie wasn't alone.
He just had to figure out how to better sort his emotions, maybe. To figure out how to deal with such deep seeded guilt, anger and sadness all while being maybe the happiest he'd ever been in his entire life. It was hard.
Talking would probably help, sure. Stan had a point there. So Richie nodded, even if he wasn't sure he'd do it anyway because he'd never liked being a burden or a downer -- he was meant to be the funny one, after all. "I know. Losers stick together," he said, and that'd been practically an oath once, among them all. "It does make me feel better, actually. Eddie's fucking horrifying. You go back on a promise and he'll fuck you up on his own."