Bill Denbrough

He's got no idea why he feels slightly nervous. He'd messaged Jade, asking if he wanted to meet up for a drink and, honestly, it doesn't have to be more than that, does it? They're friends -- at least, Bill thinks of Jade as a friend -- and friends can meet up for a beer. Doesn't matter that Jade's made it clear that he'd be interested in other things, and that Bill can't remember the last time he got laid. That's just details that don't mean anything? Right?

The place he'd chosen is casual, quiet enough to have a conversation, with interesting things behind the bar without being miserably pretentious. He's come straight from his office at Barton, bag slung across his chest and glasses still on. He leans his elbows on the bar, surveying what they have on draft, chooses something with a ridiculous name and picks a booth. He's been rereading Don Quixote before his class starts up again, so he makes himself comfortable, thumbing through worn pages, and he waits.