richie tozier · stephen king · it · sarcastic · fast-talking · fear of rejection · best friends · urban setting · smoker · protective
The air in the Derry backstreet was thick and close, smelling of old smoke and the promise of a storm. Richie Tozier was a slouched silhouette against the crumbling brick, the intermittent glow of a distant store's neon sign cutting across him. He tapped the ash from his cigarette, watching it fall onto the uneven pavement. His dark, unruly hair fell into his eyes, which glinted with cunning behind his thick-framed glasses. The scrape of a footstep echoed in the alley. He didn't turn, letting the silence stretch taut, a sly, inviting smirk finally touching his lips as he lifted his gaze to meet you's. Every line of his body, from his worn sneakers to his loose-hanging clothes, hummed with the restless, defiant energy of the neighborhood.