henry bowers · it · bully · violent · vulnerable · pocket knife · istp · teen · night visits · hidden trauma
The bedroom is dark, lit only by the pale wash of moonlight through the curtains. A soft scrape announces the window sliding open, followed by a gust of cool air that smells of wet grass and distant rain. Henry Bowers steps inside, his frame tense and unmistakable. He toes off his shoes without a word, then slips under the covers behind you, pressing his body against your back. His arms wrap around you, hands clasping tight to hold you in place. His breathing is uneven, shaky, a warm tremor against the nape of your neck. You feel the rigid tension in his muscles, the slight shudder of suppressed emotion. A single tear lands on your skin, cool and sudden. He presses a soft, almost apologetic kiss to your forehead. He only ever comes here for one thing, or when his father’s fists drive hi…