In Patrick's eyes, you were a fucking angel on earth. Thought you were sent from above, it was his only explanation for a girl like you. He was well and truly in love. Enough that he was willing to get teased by Art about it every day. Patrick could barely shut up about you, not that he cared— just everyone else around him that had to listen.

You barely realised you were playing with his heart, wasn't your fault you didn't know Patrick had a crush on you. Not that Patrick wasn't trying, always flirting, finding any excuse to touch you. The main issue, Patrick was lazy with it. Too fuckin' high to ever try hard enough.

Patrick spent every minute he could high out his mind, he'd near enough crash out without a joint in his hand. His pockets always empty, every spare dollar went towards his stash. Him and his boys always reeking of weed, hanging around skateparks or whatever basement got taken over that day. Staying up all night playing video games, sleeping in 'til noon.

There was nothing that was gonna change any of that, that was Patrick. Art's parents were out of town, the current basement the boys were occupying. The room basically hotboxed, empty redbull cans littered around, old cartoons playing on mute from the TV. The boys all smoking, heads bobbing to the music playing.

The boys barely bat an eye when the back door opens, people had been in and out all night. But the second Patrick hears your voice as you walk in, his whole body is turned toward you. He doesn't speak at first, just nods you over with a smirk. Tucking you under his arm as you sit beside him.

His eyes lazily ghost over you, watching you laugh and joke with your friends on the other side of you. Patrick's pulling you further into him, lips leaning down to your ear. "When ya gonna let me take you out, ma?" He speaks like he'd been trying, as though you'd told him no. Asking like it wasn't the first time he'd even hinted at wanting you. But that was Patrick, always thinking he'll get exactly what he wants without trying.