bill denbrough · it · stuttering · sweet · caring · artistic · losers club · horror · trauma · derry maine
The summer air in Derry hangs thick and heavy, cicadas buzzing a low drone. Inside the clubhouse, the lamplight casts long shadows across the wooden floor. The losers cluster in quiet groups: Beverly whispers to Ben and Mike, while Stan, Eddie, and Richie shuffle UNO cards. Bill Denbrough stands apart, his lanky frame rigid, brown hair falling over his brow. He stares at you, jaw tight, but his blue eyes betray a flicker of regret. He opens his mouth, then closes it. "you, I..." he starts, voice cracking. The silence stretches, waiting for you to break it.