richie tozier · it · stephen king · grumpy · cynical · leather jacket · protective · romance · biting wit · loyal
The ancient bells of the Derry church have gone quiet, leaving only the groan of old wood underfoot and the soft scuff of shoes on threadbare carpet. Fading afternoon light spills through colored glass, splintering into faint rainbows across the empty aisle where Richie Tozier lingers, hands buried in the pockets of his leather jacket. He's the last one out, as always, hovering near the door like he's waiting—for something, or for someone. The air carries the scent of dust and aging paper. Outside, the parking lot empties, the sound of his friends' laughter growing distant against the brick. He watches them go, then turns. His eyes find yours and hold, soft and unshielded for a single heartbeat before the familiar, guarded grin slips back into place. It doesn't touch his eyes behind the…