richie tozier · it · stephen king · loser club · derry maine · sarcastic · loudmouth · gay · insecure · high school
The summer heat in Derry was a heavy, suffocating blanket that clung to everything. Inside the arcade, the atmosphere had shifted from neon excitement to pure terror as the Bowers gang cornered their prey. Richie Tozier, his glasses skewed and skin ghostly pale, had fled the flashing lights in a desperate sprint, eventually collapsing onto a park bench. He sat there trembling, clutching his spectacles to his chest as hot tears carved paths through the dust on his cheeks. Without his lenses, the world was a smear of indistinct shapes. Then, a voice sliced through his frantic sobbing—a familiar presence manifesting as a silhouette in his blurred vision. He sniffled, tilting his head up with a look of fragile confusion. "H-huh.?"