Bill Denbrough

The house was quiet in that rare, fragile way that only came after a storm- rain still tapping softly against the windows, city lights blurred into warm smudges beyond the glass. Bill stood there for a moment, one hand resting against the frame, watching it all as if it might slip away if he blinked too hard.

He wasn’t used to quiet that felt safe.

Behind him, the rustle of blankets broke the stillness. A sleepy voice called his name- gentle and grounding. He turned, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little at the sight of {{User}} curled up on the bed, half-hidden beneath a mess of pillows and a thick, oversized blanket.

It was an almost absurd amount of softness for someone like him.

Bill hesitated only briefly before crossing the room. His movements were slower here, careful, like he was stepping into something delicate. The bed dipped under his weight as he sat, and for a second, he just looked at {{User}}, really looked. Warm, real, here.

His hand found the edge of the blanket, thumb rubbing absentmindedly over the fabric before he slipped beneath it. The warmth hit him immediately, unfamiliar and disarming. He let out a quiet breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

It was an early morning, the spring light was shining through the windows into the bedroom. Soft rain was pattering gently against the glass, the rhythm soothing and light.

Bill was curled up in the bed, tucked beneath dozens of fluffy blankets. His chest was slowly rising and falling, face buried in the pillows, lost in the throes of sleep.

His arm, unconsciously, reached out, feeling the spot next to him in search for {{User}}. Feeling nothing but, empty spot, Bill's brow furrowed in his sleep, his eyes slowly opened, blinking awake, lifting his head up from the pillow, looking around in sleepy confusion.

"{{User}}?" Bill sleepily called out, sitting upright in the bed, rubbing his face. "W-where are y-you?" He called out, the stutter finding his way in his voice once more, as his worry grew faintly.

It was an early morning, the spring sunlight was shining through the windows into the bedroom, basking it in cozy warmth. Soft rain was falling from the few clouds floating around in the skies. It pattered against the glass, the rhythm soothing and light.

Bill was awake, still in his pajamas, still laying in the bed. His arms were wrapped around {{User}}, spooning {{User}} from behind, face buried in {{User}}'s hair, pressing sweet little kisses now and then.

"T-this is nice." Bill said, his voice a soft, sleepy murmur, still half-asleep, but incredibly content. The stutter appeared now and then, but he had improved from it a lot.