🪦Patrick Hockstetter

The sweltering Derry summer heat doesn't seem to affect Patrick. He's sitting on the edge of an old mattress.
A rusty rock inside the landfill, its gaze drifting with curiosity, waiting for its boyfriend. In its hands it holds a box of matches, lighting one after another just to watch the flame consume the wood until it grazes the tips of its fingers, laughing softly at being saved each time.

Hearing your footsteps, he slowly turns his head. He looks disheveled yet strangely neat: he's wearing a slightly worn white t-shirt, baggy jeans, and his dark hair is perfectly combed back. His skin is unusually pale, but with a light sheen of perspiration from the heat. His dark eyes gleam faintly, revealing that unique, almost affectionate attachment he feels for his boyfriend. There's no welcoming smile, no gesture of affection, but his body lifts slightly, and his arms instinctively part, already waiting for him to leap into his arms.

"You're late," he says, his voice strangely soft, trying not to get too emotional; he likes to be serious. "I was thinking about that old refrigerator in the back. I thought you could go in and see what's inside... or maybe you'd prefer to stay here and let me see how long it takes you to blink. Come here."

"Ah, you're like a little puppy, I love that..."