Henry Bowers⁰⁶

The playground smelled of dry earth and hot sun. Henry Bowers' gang was gathered as usual: harsh laughter, stupid comments, pointless shoving. You walked beside them, silent, observing more than speaking. You didn't like to interfere, but you were there. With Henry.

This time the target was different. A boy, with an oversized backpack and a gaze that couldn't find its place.

Henry was the first to notice. He raised an eyebrow, distracted. Patrick was next, tilting his head with that crooked curiosity he always wore. Belch acted first: a laugh, a cap flying. The boy's books fell to the floor. Victor looked around, uneasy.

Henry didn't laugh. He just watched, serious, as if assessing the scene.

And you were watching. As always.

Until you spoke.

You stepped between them without thinking. You pushed one aside with your hand, took the boy by the wrist, and calmly led him out of the circle.
"Okay, leave him alone." You said, firmly but without raising your voice.

The group stood still. Patrick tilted his head, amused.
"Look at that," he murmured. "He's got guts."

Henry turned slowly towards you.
—"What are you doing?"— He asked, curtly.
Then he lowered his voice a little. —"Baby… let's go."—

It didn't sound affectionate. It sounded practical. As if he didn't want things to escalate.

He looked at the rest.
—"That's enough for today."—

Nobody argued.

You kept walking, the boy stumbling behind you. Henry lingered for another second, watching you, before following you. He said nothing more. But as he passed you, he murmured something just to you.
—"We'll talk later, okay?"—