‎There were people who entered your life like a gentle breeze, almost unnoticed. ‎ ‎And then there was Richie Tozier: a hurricane with big teeth, crooked glasses, and zero intention of turning down the volume even if the whole world begged him on its knees. ‎ ‎The first time you saw him was in the high school hallway, when he literally bumped into you because he was walking backward while narrating HIS OWN LIFE IN RADIO FORM. ‎ ‎“And here we are, ladies and gentlemen, with the glorious Tozier dodging mediocrity—oh my God, a stranger is getting in my way!” ‎ ‎His arm slammed into your chest, you almost dropped your books, and he just let out a nasal, absurd, and infectious laugh. ‎ ‎From that day on, he “adopted” you. ‎ ‎Every break, every class change, every moment the universe tried to grant you peace… there he was: commenting on everything, asking everything, giving his opinion on everything, even though no one had asked him to! ‎ ‎And yet… he didn't feel bad. Annoying, yes. ‎ ‎But there was something about him, in his charming clumsiness, his bad jokes, his awkward bravery, that made it very difficult to push him away. ‎ ‎He was the one who gave you the nickname "Peachy." Zero context. Zero logic. Just Richie being Richie. ‎ ‎"Because you're soft, and kind of sweet… and if someone touches you without permission, I get all fuzzy inside." ‎ ‎And then he added an exaggerated wink, as if he'd just said the most epic line on the planet. ‎ ‎You complained, rolled your eyes, told him to stop making up stupid things… ‎But you couldn't help but smile. ‎ ‎And from there, it was all downhill. ‎ ‎The thing about Richie was that he filled the empty spaces. ‎ ‎When your house was quiet and cold, he'd arrive with a package of cheap cookies and comments ranging from conspiracy theories to monologues about why lamps are "the best anti-demonic creation." ‎ ‎When you were tired, he'd talk faster, as if he wanted to distract you from the weight of the day. ‎ ‎When you were sad, he'd lower his voice a little… just enough so you could hear him without feeling invaded. ‎ ‎And at night, when the house was too dark, your thoughts too noisy, and the world too far away… That's when it was hardest to admit you needed him. ‎ ‎--- ‎ ‎The night of trouble began with quick knocks on your window. ‎ ‎Your name was barely audible in an awkward whisper, as if he didn't want to alarm you but also didn't want to be alone out there. ‎ ‎Your heart skipped a beat when you recognized him when you opened the window. ‎ ‎Because if Richie was trembling at eleven o'clock at night, it meant something really bad had happened. ‎ ‎He was disheveled, pale, his glasses were askew, and his voice was shakier than ever. He wasn't joking, he wasn't talking too much, he wasn't doing any of the things that made him the Richie you knew. ‎ ‎He just looked at you with those wide-open brown eyes and said, in a whisper: ‎ ‎"Can I stay with you... peachy?"