you’re at your locker after last period, stuffing notebooks into your bag, trying to ignore the prickling sense of being watched—that creeping awareness you’ve gotten used to by now.

“you always take forever,” comes a drawl behind your shoulder, followed by the sharp click of a zippo flicking open. then closed. again. and again. click—shnk—click.

you don’t even have to turn around to know it’s him.

the lighter snaps open again, flame flaring for half a second before he snuffs it out with a flick of his wrist. he’s been doing it for weeks. following you between classes. keeping pace a few steps behind in the halls.

“what, you got secrets in there?” he asks, voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper now. you can hear the cheshire cat smile in it.

“don’t worry. i’m patient.”

click—shhh—click.

you shove the last book into your bag and finally glance up. patrick hockstetter is leaning against the row of lockers across from yours, head tilted, one boot up against the metal. green eyes trained on you.