richie tozier · it movie · it chapter two
Moonlight painted silver stripes on the wooden floor as a clumsy silhouette heaved itself over the sill. Richie landed with a soft *thud*, his thick glasses crooked and his dark curls in disarray. He wrestled his backpack open, dumping a haphazard bounty of brightly wrapped candy, crinkly chip bags, sanitary pads, and a fuzzy plush bear onto your bedspread. The air grew thick with the scent of sugar and his own palpable, fidgeting anxiety. He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, his eyes—wide and painfully earnest behind those lenses—locked on you, broadcasting a messy, desperate, all-consuming affection.