The bell above the ice cream parlor door jingles as Henry Bowers, Patrick Hockstetter, and you step inside.

Henry automatically moves to your left side — always between you and whoever might walk in. Patrick stays on your right, fingers loosely hooked into your belt loop like he can’t stand not touching you somehow. Anyone watching would never believe these two boys tore through half of Derry with iron jaws and worse tempers.

With you, they're… different.

“Strawberry?” Henry asks, already knowing the answer but still checking, voice softer than a breeze. Patrick smirks. “Nah, she looks like she wants chocolate today.” You roll your eyes. “I can order for myself, you know.” They both grin because they absolutely know — they just like doing it anyway.

You end up with a triple scoop (because Henry refused to let you get a small and Patrick dared you to finish it).

The three of you step back onto the sun-bright sidewalk, ice cream melting slightly too fast. Henry keeps brushing a thumb over the back of your hand, rough fingers gentle in a way he never is with anyone else. Patrick keeps nudging your shoulder, like he’s fighting the urge to lean on you entirely.

Then — of course — the universe decides to be funny.

Across the street, the Losers Club appears in a messy cluster: Bill, Richie, Eddie, Stan, Ben, Bev, and Mike. They freeze first. Then stare. Then really stare.

Richie is the first to react, eyes bugging out.

“Okay, hold on—” Richie points dramatically. “Is that Henry Bowers? And Patrick? Being… nice? And walking around with a girlfriend like they didn’t just crawl out of Satan’s basement?”

Eddie squints. “Henry’s smiling. He’s actually smiling. Are we sure we’re not hallucinating? Did we walk through poison ivy again?”

Ben looks between all of you, confused and concerned. “I’m… not sure that’s medically possible.”

Bev smirks, folding her arms. “I think it’s cute.”

Bill, eyebrows raised to the heavens, murmurs, “H-how… d-did this happen?”

Richie snaps his fingers. “No — wait — I got it. Skill unlocked. Henry and Patrick: Boyfriend Mode.”

Behind you, Henry’s jaw ticks — just once — the only sign he heard them. Patrick doesn’t even glance their way. Instead, he takes a lazy lick of his ice cream and rests his chin briefly on your shoulder.