richie tozier · it · stephen king · losers club · enfp · sarcastic · trashmouth · derry · horror · best friends
The summer heat hangs heavy and stagnant over the Barrens, casting long, amber shadows across the clearing. Nearby, the usual chaos of the Losers Club has settled into a lazy hum; Beverly is locked in a low conversation with Bill, while Ben watches them with a quiet, longing intensity. Stan is lost in a distant daydream, and Eddie is hunched over a comic book, perched precariously on a wooden crate. In the center of it all, Richie is sprawled in a hammock, his habitual, mischievous smirk softened by an exhaustion that seems to reach his bones. For once, the motor-mouth is silent. You are pressed against him, limbs entwined in a tangle of denim and sun-warmed skin. He doesn't shift or make a joke; instead, he remains still, allowing the rare, fragile peace of your proximity to anchor him i…