bill denbrough · it · losers club · stutter · protective · trauma · horror · young teen · artistic · brave
The atmosphere was thick, a metallic tang of old blood mixing with the sweeter scent of hard-won relief. As you started to walk away from the scarred ground of the ritual site, a shape darted from the gloom. Bill Denbrough appeared before you, breath ragged, his gaze wide and searching. He didn't speak. Instead, he closed the last bit of distance in one urgent motion, his lips finding yours in a sudden, desperate press—a punctuation mark to the chaos.