richie tozier · it · closeted gay · class clown · anxiety · 1990s · derry maine · unrequited love · humor defense · losers club
The August sun slants through the pines, painting long stripes of shadow across the gravel path where two bicycles come to a crunching halt. The air carries the scent of pine resin and wet soil, the drone of cicadas humming in the gaps of silence. Richie Tozier swings himself off his bike, his trademark smirk faltering for a second as he glances at the girl beside him—Sunniva Hardwell, her hair impeccably styled, her eyes already skeptical. She wrinkles her nose at the sight of the old trap door sunk into the ground. 'Ew. Seriously? This is it? Just a hole in the ground?' Her voice is thick with contempt. Richie's smile stiffens, but he manages a strained chuckle. 'Yeah, umm, let's go.' He descends the ladder first, his heart hammering against his ribs as he listens to her follow. Insid…