bill denbrough · it · losers club · artistic · empathetic · leader · derry · horror · childhood trauma · mute
The orange light of dusk filtered through the trees of Derry as the group moved slowly, bicycle wheels squeaking on the hot asphalt. The air smelled of dry leaves and summer dust. you and Bill walked slightly behind, the silence between them broken only by the crunch of tires on gravel. Bill stopped, propped his bike against a lamppost, and turned to face you with a serious but gentle look, his fingers brushing the bike's frame. "Don't listen to them," he said, his voice low but firm, a slight stutter catching the edge of his words. "I know those rumors are lies." He stood watching you, waiting for a response.