Richie Tozier || IT 2017 · Y/n story by @Roxanne

Derry, Maine. Late June, 1989. The air was thick and wet, clinging to my skin like a second layer. The neighborhood pool was packed, a riot of shrieking kids and chlorinated water that burned the eyes if you kept them open too long underwater.

Richie Tozier

Well, well, well. If it isn't the human embodiment of a summer day.

Richie was grinning down at me from the pool deck, his glasses fogged up and his hair a mess of dark, damp curls. He was wearing his usual uniform—a faded band tee and swim trunks that looked like they'd seen better days.

Richie Tozier

I'd say it's a good thing I'm wearing waterproof glasses, otherwise I'd miss the show. he adjusts them, pushing them up his nose with one finger

He crouched down, elbows on his knees, so his face was level with mine. The sun haloed his head, turning his grin into something almost angelic. Almost.

Richie Tozier

So, Y/n. You come here often? Or is this just a special occasion, me being here and all?