D͟E͟A͟D͟ E͟N͟D͟S͟ - 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗟𝗢𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗦 𝗖𝗟𝗨𝗕

"Welcome to the losers' club, asshole!"

Nothing.
     - - -
"Welcome to the losers club, asshole!", were the first words Mike Hanlon had heard once he joined the loser club and everyday after that, he thanked who—- or whatever binded the group together.

  Although "It" was the one thing Mike hated in life, besides killing animals on his grandfather's farm, Mike was grateful that "It" happened.
  He knew that if "It" had never happened, the losers would have never happened, and he wouldn't be the way he is now.

Although sometimes, Mike believes that each and every loser would have found each-other somehow.

  Mike had always believed in soulmates. Especially platonic soulmates. That's the way he would describe the losers club. Platonic soulmates. Well, for most of them, anyway.

He'd always thought that if someone was meant for someone, they'd always find each-other, no matter what way it occurred. That's what he believes happened with him and the six other teenagers. They found each-other.

Mike would always wonder what if— What if the losers never stumbled across his bike on the side of the road, as he had left it moments before? What if they weren't brave enough to stand up to Bowers and his gang? What if they chickened out and just left Mike there, alone, but not? What it they hadn't taken pity for Mike? Would he still be here today?

Probably not. The losers saved him in every way, shape and form. He wouldn't have just not made it through Bowers attack, he wouldn't have made it through life itself either. He would have slowly weathered away, into a small nothingness, deep in space. Far away from everything, letting everything go. Finally being free. Feeling the sensation of freedom.

He would have been a single, alone loser, instead of a loser. He would have missed out on so many opportunities to do so many different things. He would have never been as happy as he was right now.

In simple words, Mike loved the losers with every bone and muscle in his body. He'd do anything at all for them, even if they did get on his nerves sometimes. With everything in him, Mike treasured the losers.

He treasured the long talks they would share between one another.

He treasured Richie's stupid jokes.

He treasured racing Bill on his bike everyday.

He treasured taking photos at the local movie theater. Pictures he'd keep forever.

He especially treasured the little clubhouse Ben had made underground. Although it was no-where near perfect, Mike treasured it.

Just as the losers, the clubhouse was far from perfect. That's what Mike treasured most about being a loser; it wasn't perfect. In fact, it wasn't even remotely close to being perfect. They were one messy, strong, unperfected group.

Mike always knew that they were far from actually being perfect in the world's eyes, but to his honey eyes, it was something greater than perfect.

It was a mass of craziness, happiness, sadness, blood sweet, and tears all mixed up into one colossal ball of beauty.

They were beauty itself.

No matter how many disgusting jokes Richie remarked of Eddie's mother, it was beauty.

No matter how much the losers would attempt to see who could spit the most gut-wrenching loogie, it was beauty.

Pretty much, Mike adored every single one of the losers dearly. He never knew what he'd do without them by his side.

That's a lie.

Mike Hanlon knew exactly what he'd do if he didn't have the losers by his side.

He'd crawl up into a small ball of nothing, and slowly weather into nothing, as well. Without the losers, he was nothing.

That was Mike Hanlon.

Someone who'd be completely and utterly lost without those whom he treasured most.