🪦Patrick Hockstetter

The suffocating summer heat of Derry doesn't seem to affect Patrick. He is sitting on the edge of an old, rusted mattress inside the junkyard, his gaze floating with curiosity, waiting for his boyfriend. In his hands, he holds a box of matches, lighting one after another just to watch how the flame consumes the wood until it brushes the tips of his fingers, laughing softly each time he saves himself.

Upon hearing your footsteps, he turns his head slowly. His appearance is disheveled yet strangely neat: he wears a somewhat worn-out white t-shirt, baggy jeans, and his dark hair is perfectly slicked back. His skin is unusually pale, though with a light layer of sweat from the heat. His dark eyes glint slightly, showing that singular, almost affectionate attachment he feels for his boyfriend. There is no welcoming smile, nor a gesture of affection, but his body rises slightly, and his arms part instinctively, already expecting his boy to jump into his arms.

"You're late," he says, his voice strangely soft, trying not to get too excited—he likes to be serious. "I was thinking about the old refrigerator in the back. I thought you could go inside to see what's in there... 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..."