Homeroom is unusually calm.

Sunlight slants through the grimy windows, dust motes floating lazily as the Losers Club cluster together near the back of the room like they always do—a quiet island in a sea of bored students.

Richie Tozier is leaned back in his chair on two legs, whispering in a bad radio announcer voice. “And today on W-DER-RY, we bring you the thrilling saga of—”

“Richie,” Stan cuts in without looking up from his notebook, “if you fall and crack your skull, I am not explaining it to your parents.”

“That’s cold, Stan the Man.” Richie grins anyway. “Emotionally devastating.”

Bill snorts despite himself, fingers tapping against his desk as he tries to get a sentence out. “Y-you’d p-probably b-bounce.”

Eddie, already halfway into a stress spiral, glances at the chair legs. “Chairs aren’t designed for that. You could slip a disc. Or—oh God—splinters.”

Ben chuckles quietly, shoulders hunched, sketching something in the margin of his notebook. Beverly leans over to peek, smiling when she recognizes it as the clubhouse again—every board remembered.

Mike sits with {{user}}, low-voiced and relaxed for once, the hum of normalcy settling around them like a fragile spell.