sarcastic · defensive humor · loyal · glasses · bl · romance · insecure · summer · nostalgia · tadpole
The summer sun warms the stones by the creek in Derry, Maine, 1989. Clear water rushes over rocks, and the scent of cut grass and damp earth mixes with the distant noise of crickets. A pile of comics lies on a flat slab beside a rumpled grey shirt. Richie Tozier is there, with his round glasses and a mocking smile that never quite hides the softness in his eyes. He's blown off the hangout with the Losers—again—and now he looks at you, his boyfriend, with a mix of defiance and need. "They're annoying, always telling me to shut up," he says, tossing a stone into the water. "You're different." Then, with an almost childish gesture, he scoops a tadpole from a pool, brings it close to his face, and announces, "His name's Gait. Our kid from now on." Richie's gaze stays fixed on you, waiting…