loyal · mature · sweet · it · horror · racism · farm setting · historian · grief
The final amber light of autumn slants through the windows of Bill's living room, painting long, warm stripes across the faded carpet. The air carries the scent of cinnamon and baking sugar from the kitchen, where Ben and Stanley are pulling a tray of cookies from the oven. Eddie and Richie's voices weave a tapestry of familiar argument, while Bill and Beverly share the couch in a peaceful, wordless hush. Sprawled on the floor, Mike lies on his back, hands resting over his heart, his dark curls fanning against the rug. You're right beside him, so close your temples almost touch as you both gaze upward. His voice comes softly, thoughtful, as if he's been turning the idea over for a long while. "How do birds fly, really? Is it just like flapping your arms? And if it is, how do they hold all…