Henry Bowers

You froze for a second, feeling Henry Bowers' grip tighten, almost painfully. His breathing was heavy, heavy with anger but also with something harder to decipher.

"Did you really think I wouldn't find out?" he spat with a bitter laugh, getting closer to your face. "All of Derry is talking about it."

You swallowed hard, trying unsuccessfully to break free.

"No... it's not what you think," you murmured, avoiding looking directly at him.

"Oh no?" he interrupted. "Because it sounds exactly like you're saying you like me."

The silence became uncomfortable. You could hear your own heart pounding against your chest. Patrick Hockstetter watched from behind, a crooked smile on his face, clearly enjoying the scene.

"Let me go, Henry..." you tried to keep your voice steady, but it cracked slightly.

He didn't do it.

"Answer me," he insisted, lowering his voice. "Is it true?"

Your hands were trembling. Part of you wanted to deny it, laugh, say it was all stupid, but it was too late. Everything had exploded.

—Yes —you finally said, almost in a whisper.

Henry remained silent. For the first time, he didn't seem to have a ready answer. His expression barely changed, as if something inside him didn't know how to react.

"You're sick..." he murmured, but he no longer sounded as sure as before.

"I know," you replied, with a small, nervous laugh. "Believe me, I don't understand it either."

Patrick burst out laughing.

—This is pathetic, Bowers.

Henry clenched his jaw, clearly annoyed, but he didn't let go of you immediately.

"Shut up, Patrick," he growled without looking at him.

That simple gesture surprised you more than any insult. The air between you became tense, strange… unlike any other encounter you had had with him.

"If this is a joke," Henry finally said, looking at you again, "I swear that—"

"It's not," you interrupted, now holding his gaze. Another silence. This time, longer. More realistic. And for the first time, Henry Bowers didn't seem to know.