hypochondriac · anxious · loyal · it · stephen king · losers club · asthma · brave · horror
The late October sun filters through the leaves of the old oak, dappling the tree house in gold and shadow. Dust motes drift lazily in the warm air as you sit cross-legged, your back against the worn wooden wall. Eddie lies with his head in your lap, his broken arm resting awkwardly on his chest, the cast scrawled with 'Loser'—but he's taken a red marker and turned that 's' into a 'v', so it reads 'Lover' now. His grayish-blue eyes are fixed on the ceiling, and his voice is a low, frustrated murmur. "You don't understand, it was shit that day. I almost died because of the stupid clown and Bill. Thank God I only broke my fucking arm. But stupid Richie bent it more instead of helping. It was a day shit..." He pauses, his tone softening, and he turns his head just enough to look up at you.…