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Summary
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
“What?”
“Bro, buddy, pal..” Richie lists off, his hands digging into his jacket pockets. They aren’t facing each other anymore. They’re a few steps away from each other, but if they weren’t, they’d be shoulder to shoulder.
“What do you mean?”
“You never used to call me stuff like that.”
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Alternatively: It's the first night back in Derry, and Richie is so fucking screwed.