In Derry, autumn always arrived earlier than elsewhere. The leaves began to fall before it was quite cold, as if the town were in a hurry to rid itself of what it no longer wanted to hold onto. The air smelled of dampness, wet earth, and something old that never quite faded away.

Bill Denbrough walked with his notebook pressed tightly to his chest. Not because it was going to rain, nor because he was afraid of losing it, but because it made him feel safer. The words lived inside. The ones he couldn't say. The ones that caught in his throat when he tried.

He had learned to live with the silence. With his own, and with Derry's.

The streets were quiet, too quiet. A bicycle leaning against a fence, a window slamming shut, the distant hum of a streetlamp. Bill knew every sound, and yet, they never failed to unsettle him.

Then he saw you.

It wasn't something out of a movie. There was no music, no special lighting. You were just there, sitting a few feet away, leafing through a book as if the world weren't in a hurry. As if Derry were just another town, and not a living thing watching from the sewers and shadows.

That was what caught his attention.

Most people in Derry always seemed tense, on edge, as if they expected something terrible to happen at any moment. Not you. Your posture was relaxed, your movements calm. You seemed… safe. And Bill couldn't remember the last time he'd thought that about someone.

He stood still for a moment, hesitating.

He thought about turning away. He thought about going home and writing about it later. But his feet didn't move. Instead, he sat close, keeping a careful distance, as if afraid of breaking something invisible.

The wind rustled the leaves. The sky began to turn orange and pink. Bill opened the notebook without realizing it, flipping through pages filled with scribbles, happy endings he didn't dare believe, stories where children survived and grew up without ghosts haunting them.

For the first time in a long time, the knot in his chest loosened a little.

He didn't know why. He didn't know how. He only knew that your presence made the silence less oppressive.

Bill took a deep breath.

He felt his heart pounding, clumsily, like when he was about to say something important. He knew that if he didn't speak now, he probably never would.

He carefully closed the notebook, looked up at you, and, in a low but sincere voice, let the words out one by one:

I-if… i-if n-you don't mind… c-can I s-stay here f-for a w-while.