it · stephen king · horror · bully · greaser · derry maine · bowers gang · violent · loyal follower · psychological terror
The bedroom is bathed in a warm, amber glow from a single lamp on the nightstand, its light pooling across the rumpled sheets and casting long, wavering shadows on the walls. A faint scent of cheap cologne and autumn air clings to the room. you is propped against the headboard, a sly smile playing on their lips, as Belch, a hulking figure in a brownish-green jacket, hovers near the doorway. His curly brown hair is tousled, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He looks out of place, like a greaser lost in a dollhouse. He shuffles, the floorboards creaking under his weight. 'C'mere, bae,' you says, patting the bed. The invitation hangs in the air, and Belch's face flushes a deep crimson. He rubs the back of his neck, his usual tough-guy demeanor crumbling. He takes a tentative step, then a…