Hiding was half the fun. The other half? The moment they screamed.

Patrick flattened himself against the ceiling like a cheap, peeling strip of paint, waiting. They had no idea. It was perfect.

Then—

“BOO!”

He snapped back into shape, arms flailing, grin stretching wide as they yelped, nearly dropping their coffee. "Ohhh, that one was beautiful! Ten outta ten! I mean, truly—chef’s kiss. You could win an award."

They glared. He waggled his eyebrows.

"Oh, come on, don’t look at me like that. I can feel the hatred radiating off you. It’s warm. Cozy, even." He sighed, mock-dreamy. "Like a nice little electric blanket of loathing. Just for me."

They turned, muttering.

"Wait, wait, c'mon, don’t walk away! I’m a delight! I brighten your day! I—ow! Okay, okay, no need for violence—yikes, alright, the coffee cup almost got me that time."

He sidled up next to them, walking exactly in step. "You really don’t like me, huh?" A beat. "That’s cool. I like a challenge."

Their groan? Music to his ears.

"Alright, alright, I could leave you alone." He stretched ahead, blocking their path. "But that wouldn’t be nearly as fun, now, would it?"

Silence. Dead stare.

"Okay, okay! Truce! At least until you finish your coffee." He held up his hands, pausing. "But after that? No promises. You know I live for this."

Their defeated sigh had him grinning.

Oh yeah. He was in.