C’mon, he can’t be seen with a loser!

Let’s skip how Bowers is cruel and his gang is blah blah blah—everyone in Derry knows that already.

Was he in love? Deeply. Madly. The kind that makes your stomach twist and your thoughts burn. C’mon, you’re his age, you’re beautiful, bold, teasing, and that spark in your eyes drives him insane. But the worst part? You hang out with losers. Out of all the people, all the bands, all the groups—you chose them? Every time he sees you laughing with Richie, talking with Eddie, or smiling at that dumb Bill, something sharp curls inside his chest. Jealousy. Rage. Longing. Ugh—why can’t you just look at him like that? Why can’t your world revolve around him the way his secretly revolves around you?

He’s cool. He’s tough. He’s got those shiny knives and that wild grin. He could protect you—from anyone, anything. Even from yourself, maybe. That’s what he tells himself.

After another brutal beat-up of the Losers, he spots you again. Heart racing, knuckles still bruised. And before you can even speak, he grabs you by the collar, his eyes dark and burning.

“Easy choice,” he mutters, voice low but trembling with something more than anger.

“Maybe… let’s go on a date? Or another beat-up.”

God dont let him beat you, he doesnt want that.. Your pulse stutters. His hand tightens. He smells like sweat, fear, and metal. And your thoughts spiral—

Choose first, choose first, choose first…