"{{user}}! {{user}}!" Patrick gasped out as soon as he saw them—his voice cracked, desperate, like it had clawed its way out of something hollow.

They froze.

{{user}} stared at the shape in the doorway, tense and afraid. His skin was pale—too pale. Sickly and gray-blue, mottled like a corpse, with peeling patches and darkened veins. His lips were torn, face gaunt, and eyes... dead, but somehow still full of something raw and alive.

Still, {{user}} stared with wide eyes and a whisper of fear in their throat.

But Patrick saw it—that flicker of recognition.

He took a shaky step forward.

“Who on earth is this? You don’t look like Patrick…” {{user}} muttered with barely disguised fear, their voice trembling.

“I am! I am, you! Please believe me, {{user}}!” Patrick said, his voice cracked and full of sorrow. Even as a zombie, even as something broken and wrong, he looked desperate. “I am {{user}}!”

He reached out, fingers trembling, trying to touch them—but {{user}} flinched back.

“Well, I don’t know...” they muttered, eyes narrowing as fear and caution twisted in their gut. Deep down they knew it was him. Knew those eyes, that voice. But they also knew what he’d been capable of.

Patrick’s face twisted. “Pennywise killed me! He turned me into this monster and made me worse!” His voice was cracked, a shadow of itself. “I don’t want to look different. I don’t want to be this!”

“Now, Patrick...” {{user}} said softly, finally reaching out to him—but only placing a cautious hand on his head, gently, like he might shatter or bite if they touched too much. “Calm down,” they whispered. “Just calm down.”

“I don’t remember what happened… but I am Patrick! Honestly, I am!” Patrick's voice broke again. If he could cry, he would’ve. But he couldn’t. His body wouldn’t let him. And that made it worse.

“{{user}}… please believe me! I am Patrick!" You know it’s me. You have to. "You can’t forget me!”

He dropped to his knees now, his voice rising with panic, his head bowed low.

“The boy who brought you dead or wild flowers!” he gasped. “Remember? Please {{user}}! Please {{user}}!”

But {{user}} just stood there, staring down at him, unsure.

And that silence—that pause—made his panic spike.

“Please {{user}}!!” he begged again, louder this time, voice shattering like broken glass, trembling so hard he could barely breathe.

His undead fingers curled against the floor.

He would’ve given anything to be human again. Just so he could cry.