Word Count: 260

Summary: It was the last place Richie had expected him.

Rating: K

A Chance Encounter (7)

"Watch it!"

The voice sounded eerily familiar, but Richie had much more important things to think about. Like the mountain of popcorn he'd just spilled all over the floor. All over the floor and all over- "Hotstreak?"

The guy pulled down his baseball cap and buried his face deeper into his trench coat, but it was definitely- "What are you…?" Then Richie noticed the giant cut-out stationed next to them, and it all clicked. "Did you just watch Wreck It Ralph?"

Hotstreak clenched his hands, and Richie could have sworn that the temperature spiked at least ten degrees. Hotstreak also sniffed a little, and Richie could swear there were some-

"Are you crying?"

Hotstreak's face turned nearly the same color as his hair, and he raised a threatening fist towards Richie's face, "I swear to God, Foley, if you so much as-"

"I am bad, and that's good. I'll never be good, and that's not bad," Richie squeaked out, stumbling one step back from Hotstreak's fiery temper. "I already saw it twice."

Hotstreak eyed him hotly for a moment, like he was contemplating whether or not bashing Richie's head in was still worth the effort. Finally, after what Richie swore were the longest five seconds of his life, Hotstreak lowered his fist. "There's no one I'd rather be than me."

And then he was walking away, shoulders hunched up to his ears to keep anyone from recognizing (or wreck-ognizing) him again.

Richie stood, rooted to his spot, for a few minutes, staring off in the direction Hotstreak had gone. "Huh."