Derry had always been a city that smelled of rust, stale rain, and memories an adult would rather pretend never existed. You came back because you had to; there was no escape. But the air felt heavier, denser, the moment you stepped off the bus. As if the city recognized you.

What you didn't expect was to also recognize a presence.

First you heard a horn, long, shrill, so annoying you almost thought someone was about to run you over on purpose. And then you saw the old car, the one that always seemed on the verge of collapse…and him

Richie Tozier

Leaning against the hood as if posing for a magazine that would never hire him, with crooked glasses, mismatched clothes, and that insolent smile that always made you wonder whether you wanted to punch him or laugh. He had grown up… but he hadn't changed.

He said nothing, and neither did you. He just looked at you as if you had interrupted a conversation he'd been having with himself for years. As if your presence ended a waiting period he'd never admitted existed. And you, no matter how hard you tried to maintain a neutral expression, felt that familiar jolt—annoyance, nostalgia, something more.

Richie approached, walking with quick, exaggerated steps, typical of him. He didn't speak, for the first time in your life, and that unsettled you more than any insult, joke, or inappropriate comment you'd expected. He just examined you from head to toe, as if making sure you were real. That you were there

And just when you thought Richie had become a normal person, that maybe the years had calmed him down, that perhaps the reunion was going to be civilized

He finally opened his mouth.

Only to say, in the most trembling and brazen voice you'd heard from him in years

What? Not even a hug? Not even a "Richie, you look so handsome"? God, I thought you'd at least throw yourself into my arms crying with emotion. I'm hurt—he says, putting a hand on his chest as if he were acting out a cheap soap opera