Liar // Patrick Hockstetter x fem!Reader x Henry Bowers

Twenty-Nine 》Idiot

After following Patrick for a while, you started to wonder where he was heading.

Was he taking you to his house? Because you definitely didn't want that. Although he seemed to be in a good mood, your guts still twisted a little bit at the thought of being alone with him... in a house you'd never been to before.

"Patrick?", you spoke, trying to get the attention of the boy, who was walking infront of you.

When he turned his head to the side, looking at you and encouraging you to keep going by nodding his head, you asked: "Where are we going?"

While asking, you closed up to him with quick steps, staring at him with interested eyes.

"What do you think, idiot?", he mumbled, nudging your forehead.

"How am I supposed to know where you want to go?"

"You're stupid as fuck.", he groaned, "We're going to my place."

After ending his sentence, he threw his arm around your shoulders, causing you to cringe. But you kept yourself from doing anything - you just looked around like his action didn't effect you at all.

•<>•<>•<>•

"Are you sure you want me to come inside?", you questioned, raising your eyebrows. "Would ya stop complaining or overthinking for one second? Just walk in already."

With a quick nod, you hurried into his house and he threw the door close. "After me.", he announced as he walked away from you.

Since Patrick didn't care to take off his shoes, you didn't care to take off your's either. But before you actually followed him, you wanted to take in your surroundings.

You were standing in a small, mostly beige-colored floor with a dark, wooden ground. Some brown accents here and there, a coat hook on the left side, a light brown dresser on the right side and a few stains of God knows what on the walls.

So, that was how the big, bad Patrick Hockstetter lived? It looked pretty average if you skimmed over the fact, that everything had a somewhat dirty touch to it.

Then you heard whistling. That asshole was calling out to you as if you were a fucking dog... great!

"[Y/n], move your ass over here!", he yelled from wherever he went.

You scurried forward and followed the way he had walked previously. You spotted him when you reached the kitchen.

Whilst entering it, you looked around again. A simple, plain-looking kitchen counter along with a decent-sized fridge and a small, round kitchen table.

You didn't know what to do. Were you supposed to ask him for a drink now? Or did he want you to just sit down?

"Sit. I'll get us some beer.", he answered the unspoken questions.

Looking around the kitchen to determine your seat, you catched his eyes, flicking to the counter top.

If he wanted you to sit there, you wouldn't complain. But he didn't say anything.

He didn't even notice that you were watching his stare. So, when you hopped onto the granite, his eyes shot up to be met by a small smile on your lips.

Patrick was being really nice in comparison to his usual attitude and you didn't plan on being the one to disappoint or anger him.

After one last look down your sitting body, he turned around and walked to the fridge.

He grabbed two bottles of beer before he kicked the fridge door close with his foot.