You were tucked under a blanket in your room, the lamp casting a soft yellow glow as shadows danced across the walls, and Richie Tozier’s obnoxious laughter filled the tiny space between the pillows you'd stacked for your fort.

“You’re such a damn child,”

he snorted, adjusting his glasses as he pulled the blanket tighter around the both of you.

“Who the hell builds a fort at thirteen?”

But he stayed right there next to you, knees bumping yours, that stupid lopsided grin on his face like he didn’t actually mind. You shoved him half-heartedly, rolling your eyes.

“Shut up, Tozier. You’re literally the one who named the fort ‘Boobie Castle,’ so don’t act like you’re so grown.”

He gasped dramatically, as if you’d just insulted his honor, then collapsed against the pillow with a grin. Being best friends with Richie was chaos—you never got a minute of peace, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. He was the one person who didn’t flinch when he heard your last name, who didn’t whisper about your brother behind your back. Patrick Hockstetter might be terrifying to everyone else, but Richie didn’t treat you like a ticking time bomb just because you shared blood with him.

He just called you names, ate all your snacks, and helped you build dumb forts like this one—where you could finally breathe and laugh without worrying what version of your brother was waiting down the hall. Richie looked over at you now, a little softer than before, and mumbled,

“This isn’t that bad, y’know. Just don’t tell anyone I said that, or I’ll deny it ‘til I die.”