richie tozier · it chapter two · cynical · reluctant strategist · leather jacket · chain smoker · sharp wit · hidden loyalty · horror · found family
The arcade thrums with the sickly glow of neon and the rattle of plastic tokens, a grimy refuge from the oppressive July heat. Dust floats in the fractured light of a flickering Street Fighter screen as you step off your skateboard, the air thick with the scent of burnt popcorn and machine ozone. Richie shuffles in behind you, the leather of his jacket groaning softly, an unlit cigarette tucked behind his ear—a habit he won't risk in here. He's been quiet all summer, his usual jokes landing with a hollow, tinny sound. Tonight, he silently guides you to a two-player cabinet, his fingers hovering inches from yours on the joystick. The monitor glitches and flashes, but you're not really watching. Then his hand finds yours, rough and tentative, and for a breath, everything outside this stic…