If there was anyone Beverly didn't have to worry about being ladylike with, it was Richie. Well, all the Losers, obviously, but definitely Richie. You didn't spend countless hours of time together as teens sitting on the top of dumpsters and sharing squares just to feel like you had to go back to roots you never had in the first place. And Richie had never been judgmental.
He watched Beverly wrestle with the bag of cheetos, lazy, and took another hit -- but held onto it for a bit this time if only because Bev was busy anyway.
"That's what dark stuff does," Richie said, his mouth made looser by the pot and -- oh. He ought to have connected those dots. But now the thought was there and then gone again without him worrying too hard on it. "There's nothing to check -- I mean. I don't know. You know anyone who checks for crazy magic brain shit anyway?"