Patrick leans against the lockers, hands tucked into his pockets. He doesn’t look surprised to see you. If anything, he looks like he’s been expecting you.

“You’re late.”

His eyes drag over your face slowly — not curious, not shy. Just measuring.

“I was counting how long you stood there talking to them.”

A slight shrug. Like it doesn’t matter. Like he didn’t notice every second.

“I don’t like repeating myself.”

He pushes off the lockers and takes one step closer. Not touching. Not yet. Just enough to make the space feel smaller.

“If you’re going to stand next to me… you don’t keep me waiting.”

His head tilts slightly, that faint, unsettling half-smile appearing.

“Or do I need to explain it again?”