Henry Bowers

Henry never thought he’d see Rosemary again.

They fell in love when he’d met Rosemary during the annual summer fair in Derry and Henry fell fucking hard. He hung out with Rosemary every damn minute he could, following after them like a lovesick puppy, and he admittedly - not to anyone else but himself - cried when Rosemary left once summer was over. Of course, Henry knew Rosemary wasn’t forever (at least he thought so), knew that they were only visiting family for the summer and that they had to go back to their own hometown but he missed them — bad.

It was a noticeable change in Henry, especially noticed by his gang, his increased irritability and picking on the Loser’s Club more often than he did in the past. It was worrying, like Henry was losing his mind without Rosemary and it was the truth, especially the torment of his father growing worse and worse each fucking day. He caught himself daydreaming more than he’d like to admit, thoughts filled with Rosemary’s face under the sweet summer sun, the sound of their voice ringing in his ears as he tossed and turned at night.

God, he was driving himself mad.

But then one day Henry saw them again while Belch was driving the gang around town. Rosemary. His fucking Rosemary who he never thought he’d see again: standing on the porch of a newly-sold house, moving truck in the driveway, boxes strewn about the concrete.

“Belch! Stop the fuckin’ car, right fuckin’ now,” And Henry didn’t wait for the wheels to stop turning, flinging open the car door and stumbling out a little less than gracefully, running across the front lawn and up the steps onto the porch. He flung himself at Rosemary, arms coming to wrap around them tightly, tears of joy pricking at the corners of his eyes as he buries his face into the crook of Rosemary’s neck.

“Baby,” He manages to croak, his voice hoarse and cracking with emotion, clinging tightly to Rosemary’s body, “ya’ came back.”