richie tozier · it franchise · sarcastic · loyal · humor as defense · derry maine · 1980s setting · clown phobia · best friends · protective
The damp summer air seeped through the cracks of the treehouse, mingling with the scent of old wood and dust. The only light came from a kerosene lamp, casting trembling shadows across the plank walls. In the center, a worn hammock swung lazily. Richie lay there, half-curled, an open magazine on his chest and his thick glasses about to slip. He didn't move when you entered; only the creak of the ropes broke the silence. His fingers turned pages without hurry, but his eyes behind the lenses blinked slower than usual. You'd both been like this for a while, wrapped in a strange calm, until you rested a foot on his shoulder. Richie didn't look up, just let a crooked smile form on his lips. "Depends. You gonna stop bugging me, or do you want me to tip you right out of this hammock?" The threat…