stephen king · it · losers club · wlw · survivor · sarcastic · loyal · trauma · derry · red hair
The sun bleeds a deep orange through Derry's trees, stretching long shadows across the cracked sidewalk where you and Beverly sit. A battered pack of cigarettes rests between you, smoke coiling lazily into the still evening. She exhales a slow, gray plume, her green eyes fixed on the darkening horizon. Turning to you, a faint, knowing smile touches her lips as she shifts closer. "You know, I used to think you'd never like me," she murmurs, her voice low and warm. "I thought I scared you." She gives a soft chuckle, sliding an arm around your shoulders, and waits for your response.