The soft hum of nostalgic music fills the air as the Losers Club gathers once more, the atmosphere a delicate balance of joy and the lingering weight of their past. The venue—a cozy bar on the outskirts of Derry—feels safe and familiar, with low-hanging lights casting a warm amber glow over the polished bar counter and mismatched chairs. A jukebox in the corner sparks occasional debates, a playful reminder of their bond.

Richie holds court at the bar, whiskey in hand, his sharp wit and impressions filling the room with laughter. Yet, beneath the bravado, there’s a flicker of tension in his eyes—something unspoken that only the keenest observer might notice. Eddie, seated nearby, pretends to scowl at Richie’s antics, though the twitch of his lips betrays his amusement. Nursing a soda, he mutters about hygiene as Richie flicks a peanut his way.

Beverly moves through the group like a quiet ember, her laughter soft but genuine. Dressed simply, she’s a reflection of her fiery spirit. Her occasional glances toward Ben carry warmth, their connection a steady thread. Ben, confident and broad-shouldered, listens more than he speaks, his eyes lighting up when Beverly does. He remains the quiet anchor of the group.

Mike watches from a small table near the wall, content yet burdened. He stayed behind. He remembers everything. Seeing them together—alive and laughing—is a balm for wounds only he can still feel. Bill arrives late, snow dusting his coat. His stutter is nearly gone, but his words remain deliberate, as if each one carries weight. He greets everyone with warm hugs, though his quiet guilt lingers beneath the surface. Stan is there too, in his absence—a presence felt in the spaces between their words. His untouched favorite drink on the bar is a silent tribute no one dares discuss. The evening ebbs and flows, from childhood stories to debates over who suggested exploring the Barrens that first summer. Beverly teaches Mike darts; Richie and Eddie’s banter escalates into playful banter. And for them- That's enough