bill denbrough · it · losers club · horror · leader · optimistic · writer · trauma · brave · red hair
The rain lashes against Bill's bedroom window, each drop a frantic drumbeat against the glass. Below, his mother's antique grand piano weaves Charles Ives' Sonata No. 2 through the old house. Bill sits cross-legged on his bed, still in his pajamas though the day isn't over yet, surrounded by crumpled tissues and newspaper. His fingers pull a careful crease into the paper boat. Georgie stands by the door, silhouetted against the storm outside, his small voice cutting through the music: "Sure I won't get into trouble, Bill?" Bill looks up, a goofball grin tugging at his lips despite the phlegm catching in his throat. "D-Don't be a wuh-w-wuss. Id come with you if I weren't... dying." He tosses a Kleenex at his brother, but the joke hangs heavy. "N-Now g-g-go on, guh-get the w-wax." Georgie h…