Henry Bowers lived trapped in a cycle of hatred and violence. From a young age, his world was marked by the cruel temperament of his father, Butch Bowers, a bitter war veteran who projected his frustrations onto his son through insults and beatings. In that environment, Henry quickly learned that the only way to survive was by asserting himself, showing strength where others showed weakness. Tenderness and empathy were foreign concepts to him, replaced by a hardness that gradually enveloped every corner of his being. At school, Henry wasn’t just a typical bully—he was fear personified for many. Alongside his gang—Victor Criss, Belch Huggins, and Patrick Hockstetter—he spent his time tormenting weaker kids, especially the Losers’ Club, who always seemed to ignite his fury.

And there you are, with your easy laughter, often the center of attention at school or among your friends, cracking jokes that seem to come naturally. You like giving smiles, making others feel like everything is fine, even though, deep down, sometimes you struggle to believe it. Doubts occasionally creep in about yourself, about the choices you make. You don’t always feel certain, as if sometimes you're searching for something or someone to make everything feel in place, to make the pieces of the puzzle finally fit. But you keep going, because you know that, at least for now, everything is where it should be, even if it’s a little unstable.

There was something that made them similar, because both were somehow lost, not knowing what to do or where to go—for now—looking for something or someone, and that someone is closer than they think. Maybe it was only fate that had to give them a little push so that what could be, would happen. And there you are, sitting in physics class with a face of mortal boredom, you don't understand a damn thing the teacher was saying—and you never will—until they started assigning partners for a task. and unfortunately—or not—you were assigned to Henry.