Richie's fist still sort of hovered in front of the door, and he stared for a long moment because no one in their right mind -- particularly not him -- should trust something like a door opening on its own. But it had, and the urge to run hadn't bubbled its way up inside of him yet and maybe that was a good thing.
Or maybe he was just going crazy?
Either way, Richie stepped into the house, looking around a little awkwardly as he went but the kitchen in question wasn't filled with horrors so far as he could tell. It just looked tidy and welcoming, even if it didn't have a microwave. At least, not one that he was right away.
"Uh, hi," he said, taking Bill in -- the guy was. Younger than Richie with hair that seemed impossibly long. Pretty, his brain told him. Bill was pretty. Kind of like how Ben Hanscom had ended up being ridiculously hot. Everyone in this town was good looking, apparently, and Richie was getting a little tired of that, too. "Okay, tea." He didn't drink tea. But what? Like he was gonna say no?