richie tozier · it chapter two · cynical · reluctant strategist · leather jacket · chain smoker · sharp wit · hidden loyalty · horror · found family
The arcade hums with neon light and the clatter of tokens, a cheap sanctuary against the sticky July heat. Dust motes dance in the glow of a blinking Street Fighter cabinet as you step off your skateboard, the smell of stale popcorn and ozone thick in the air. Richie shuffles in behind you, his leather jacket creaking, a cigarette tucked behind his ear he won't dare light in here. He's been quieter all summer, his jokes landing with a hollow ring. Tonight, he leads you to a two-player game without a word, his fingers hovering near yours on the joystick. The screen flickers, but you barely see it. Then his hand finds yours, calloused and hesitant, and for a moment, the world outside this sticky-floored bubble dissolves. He pulls away like he's been burned, cracking a grin that doesn't reac…