𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄 〣 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇

ii.

a/n: warning! homophobic slurs! please point out my grammar mistakes, thanks!

Bill Denbrough sat on the tiled floor of the boy's bathroom, tilting his head back to press against the wall of the stall. Tears fell from his eyes and ran down to his ears from the way his head was angled. His hands were shaking, clenched into weak fists while his knees were pulled up to his chest in an attempt to make himself smaller.

"You gonna come out, fag? Or am I gonna have to come in there and drag you out?" Henry Bowers taunted, banging on the locked stall door. Victor, Belch, and Patrick could be heard laughing in the background.

"I-I'm n-n-not a f-f-fa-fag," Bill protested, shoving his fists over his ears to block the bullies out.

Henry cackled and slammed his fist against the door, causing the smaller boy trapped inside to jump, "Then why were you drawing the Jew in class? Huh, Mushmouth?"

Be brave, be brave, be brave, Bill thought. They can't hurt you, not here. And if they try, scream. Scream your goddamn head off.

"N-N-None of yuh-your f-f-fuc-king busin-ness," He spat boldly.

"Listen up, queer. Open this goddamn-"

The bell cut Henry off mid sentence. Bill froze, knowing that kids were being released from lunch, and that some of them were bound to come here before their next class. He heard the bullies shuffling around, still laughing, and then the bathroom door opened and four pairs of boots stomped out. Bill was alone.

Wiping his nose on the sleeve of his jacket, Bill stood from the bathroom floor. He picked up his backpack and stepped out of the stall. He almost couldn't believe he'd come out of that situation unscathed. He looked around the empty bathroom, and noticed something tapped to the mirror over one of the sinks.

It was the picture of Stan he'd drawn; that picture was the reason he was in this whole mess. The paper had been soaked in water so it clung to the mirror, and the carefully calculated pencil lines were running. Black smudges that could only be ashes from cigarettes X'd out the eyes, and spelled out the word 'FAGGOT' in big bold letters across what had once been Stanley's chest. The drawing was ruined.

Bill sniffled, blinking back more tears as he peeled the paper off of the mirror. He crumpled up the wet, ruined drawing and threw it in the trash can as he left the bathroom. He wiped his eyes, silently praying none of his friends would find him as he headed towards sixth period Calc.

He wasn't surprised that Stan was nowhere to be found; Bill knew that he'd probably already be in AP Chem, his anxiety about being late to class most likely getting the better of him. Thinking of his curly-haired friend made Bill smile slightly, one last tear trickling down his cheek and being wiped away before it reached his chin.

He entered his Calculus class to find Miss Dyer—who was young, pretty, and generally kind—writing the day's lesson plan on the chalkboard. He sat in an empty desk in the back, pulling his notebook out of his backpack.

A moment later, Eddie Kaspbrak entered the room, his arms wrapped tightly around his stack of textbooks and his asthma inhaler clutched in his right hand. He took the empty desk next to Bill's, spilling his pile of books onto the floor next to his chair.

"Where've you been, Big Bill?" He asked. "You missed lunch."

"O-Oh no, I m-m-missed an eh-entire forty minutes of yuh-yuh-you and R-Rich-chee p-p-practic-cally eye-f-fucking," He said sarcastically, giggling to himself.

"It's not like that, Bill!" Eddie yelped, raising his inhaler to his lips as his face went crimson. Bill just shook his head as his petite friend triggered his inhaler. When Eddie could breathe normally again, he tucked his inhaler into the breast pocket of his yellow polo shirt and glared at Bill. Had it been anybody else, the glare may have been intimidating or even scary. But, since it was Eddie Kaspbrak, it was just flat-out adorable.