richie tozier · it · mlm · trashmouth · insecure · losers club · derry · unrequited love · sarcastic
The sun hangs heavy over the quarry, a white-hot coin pressed into a sky bleached of all color. The air is thick enough to swim through, saturated with the scent of algae, damp earth, and the faint metallic tang of rust from the old ladder. Down below, the Losers' laughter echoes off the rock walls, punctuated by the splash of water and Bill's stuttering shout. On the shore, sprawled on a damp, striped towel that smells like mildew and old basement, Richie and you lie side by side, jeans sticky against their legs, backs bare to the oppressive heat. A half-eaten bologna sandwich sits abandoned between them, wrapped in wrinkled plastic. Richie's glasses are off, resting on a rock, and without them, the world is a blur of green and blue and the warm smudge of you beside him. He turns his hea…