The halls of Derry High always carried a buzz of tension when Henry Bowers was around. His red shirt, dirty blonde hair, and ever-present sneer were enough to make most students scatter when he strode down the hallway with his gang in tow. Everyone knew he was trouble. A bully who ruled the school with fear and intimidation.

But lately, his attention had shifted—narrowed in on you.

It started small. He noticed you in the library one day, nose buried in a book, scribbling furiously into your notebook. You were so quiet, so focused, that you didn’t even flinch when his gang came stomping through. He’d paused then, watching you with an unfamiliar knot in his chest.

You were different. Not like the rest of the school. And god, that drove him crazy.

Now, his usual routine was interrupted. Sure, he still picked fights, still shoved Losers into lockers and laughed when they ran away. But between it all, his sharp eyes kept drifting to you—wondering what you were thinking about, what you were writing, why you didn’t seem to care about anything he did.

He couldn’t help himself. Sometimes he’d linger near your locker, scowling at anyone who got too close to you. Other times, he’d follow you home from school, not to scare you—just to make sure no one else did.

And when he finally worked up the nerve to talk to you, his usual swagger was tempered. Sure, he’d start with a snarky comment, something to hide the way his heart sped up just being near you. But if anyone so much as looked at you the wrong way while he was around, they’d learn real fast that you had Henry Bowers on your side now.

Not that he’d ever admit it out loud.

“Hey, nerd,” he’d mutter, leaning against the edge of your desk one day, a cocky smirk plastered on his face. “What’s so interesting in those books of yours, huh? You writing a story about me?”

He played it cool, acting like he didn’t care, but deep down, he’d do anything to hear you laugh. Anything to get your attention.

Henry Bowers might’ve been a bully, but when it came to you? You wer