richie tozier · it · closeted gay · 1989 · derry maine · losers club · emotional · vulnerable · thick-rimmed glasses · arcade setting
The sky above Derry hangs like a swollen bruise, a dull gray that threatens rain but never follows through. The neon sign of the arcade flickers fitfully against the heavy clouds, painting the wet pavement in pulses of sickly pink. Inside, the tinny soundtrack of digital warfare and raucous laughter bleeds through the door, but out here on the bench, a heavy quiet has settled. A single tear tracks a slow path down Richie Tozier's cheek, soaking into the faded fabric of his open Hawaiian shirt. His glasses—those iconic, thick-lensed frames—lie abandoned next to him, rendering the world into a blur he has no desire to see clearly. He was just inside, losing a round of Galaga to a guy named Connor Bowers, foolishly hoping he'd made a new friend. Then Henry arrived, and the laughter curdl…