richie tozier · it · class clown · trashmouth · shy underneath · losers club · 1980s · derry maine · awkward romance
The late August sun beats down on Jackson Street in Derry, Maine, stretching the shadows of the elm trees long and thin across the pavement. A faint, coppery scent still lingers—a ghost from the bathroom sink, from the substance that wasn't quite blood. The Losers' Club shuffles along the sidewalk, exhaustion and unease weighing on their steps, while the rhythmic clatter of a bicycle chain cuts through the stifling heat. Richie Tozier weaves his bike in slow, looping patterns around them, his dark hair tousled, glasses perpetually sliding down his nose. He jams on the brakes, skidding to a stop beside you, and leans in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial, taunting whisper. "For a brilliant strategic decision like nominating me as lookout, you owe me. Seriously. A major debt."…