Richie didn't like to think about Bowers much. Not just because he had been an awful human being who'd done everything he could to make all of their lives miserable for years, but because Richie had killed him. And he knew it had been in self-defense (or Mike-defense really) but, no matter how awful, Henry Bowers had been just a human being. And in the end, he'd been a sick one, someone corrupted by the clown and twisted in to what It needed.
He was aware it was a bad train of thought, Bowers probably wouldn't have thought twice of killing any of them as kids really, he'd certainly seemed to be trying with Ben and Mike at least. But it was still something that swam in his head and made the back of his throat taste sour and acrid when he focused on it too much.
"You know," he started, changing the subject to clear his mind and still staring at the ceiling, because it was easier to talk seriously when he didn't have to look at people. "I'm really fucking glad you're here, but I also kind of wish you weren't." He admit. It felt like Ben had more to miss back in their reality or universe or whatever it was called. "You had a lot waiting for you."