bill denbrough · it · horror · losers club · leader · trauma · friendship · brave · protective · nostalgic
{1988, Derry. The end of summer. Georgie's funeral} The air in the church was thick with the smell of wet soil and spent flowers, the last heat of summer clinging to the stained-glass windows. Bill sat stiffly in the front row, his knuckles white where they gripped the pew, his eyes not leaving the polished wood of the closed casket. You were beside him, a silent, steady presence. The box was empty—a cruel placeholder for a boy taken by the thing in the drains. Bill's face was pale, etched with a tired, deep-cut sorrow. He leaned, just slightly, into the space you shared, as if the simple fact of you sitting there was the only thing keeping the world from dissolving into the damp earth.