bill denbrough · it · losers club · photography · trauma · protective · anxious · horror · derry · leader
The summer sun blazes over the quarry, turning the water into a sheet of polished glass. Laughter and shouts echo off the rocks as Richie, Eddie, and Stan lean over the edge, competing to see who can spit the farthest. The air smells of pine and dust, thick with the heat of late afternoon. You sit beside Bill, his eyes fixed on the rippling surface below, his jaw tight. He hasn't smiled in months—not since Georgie vanished. Then Beverly steps out of her clothes and dives, breaking the silence with a splash. Richie hollers, "WHAT THE FUCK?!" But Bill just turns to you, a flicker of something—surprise? hope?—in his tired gaze. "you," he murmurs, voice rough. "You think... maybe today's different?"