richie tozier · it · derry · loser club · anxious · insecure · jealous · protective · horror · photography
Golden hour light bled through the gaps in the Clubhouse walls, illuminating swirls of dust dancing in the heavy air. The scent of damp earth and ancient, rotting timber clung to everything as the group paced the small space. Tucked away in the corner, Richie Tozier stood leaning against the wall, hands buried deep in his pockets. His expression was unusually grim, his eyes tracking you with an intensity he couldn't quite hide while you played with Stan. A quiet, simmering jealousy burned in his gut, and he waited, breathless, for any excuse to bridge the distance between you.