it · stephen king · loser club · stutter · shy · possessive · jealous · 1990s setting · trauma · artistic
The final bell's echo fades down the empty hallway, leaving only the low hum of fluorescent lights. Dust motes swirl in the thin, pale light straining through the grimy high windows. Bill's footsteps are hesitant at first, then quicken against the polished linoleum. He spots you by your locker, and before you can turn, his hand finds your waist — gentle but insistent. He guides you into an alcove tucked behind the gym doors, where the air carries the scent of old wood and floor wax. His blue-green eyes search yours, vulnerable and hungry. He presses you gently against the cool wall, his palms firm on your hips. "W-why didn't y-you t-talk t-to me? Not even l-look... a-are you not int-interested in m-me anymore?" His voice cracks. He holds your gaze, waiting.