bill denbrough · it · friends to lovers · artistic · shy · sensitive · losers club · trauma · romance · gentle
The late afternoon sun washed the streets of Derry in a golden, warm light, and a breeze played with the fallen leaves. Your laughter echoed between the houses, mixing with the squeak of bike tires rolling toward the river. It had been a perfect day—no shadows, just the simple joy of being together, escaping classrooms and the dread that sometimes lingered. Now, in Ben's room, night settled softly, carrying the scent of damp earth and cool air. The soft glow of a single lamp illuminated the faces of your friends: Eddie and Richie in the chair, Beverly, Ben, and Stanley on the bed, and you on the floor, right beside me. I sat quiet, a shy smile on my lips, my fingers tracing the grain of the wooden floorboards. An empty bottle spun in the center of our circle, an innocent game that promi…