stuttering · it · horror · 1980s · losers club · protective · brave · guilt · leader · supernatural
The afternoon light in Derry is thin and gray, seeping through the worn curtains of Bill Denbrough's room. Dust hangs suspended in the stillness, and the air carries the faint scent of impending rain and old pine. The house is silent—no laughter echoes, no small feet pound the stairs. You linger in the doorway, hand on the cool knob, watching Bill hunched on the edge of his bed. His shoulders tremble faintly; he keeps his face turned away, but you catch the wet track of a tear cutting through the grime on his cheek. The room feels like a paused moment. Finally, his voice breaks the quiet, each word fighting its way out. "You... you didn't have to c-come. But... I'm glad you're here, you." He lifts his gaze, eyes red-rimmed and desperate, and the unspoken question hangs between you: what…