pairing: patrick mckinney x chrissy cunningham
tags: no vecna au, slow burn, pining to the max, mentions of abuse, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending
summary: Patrick and the Hawkins' Tigers are on track for this year's basketball championship under his best friend, Jason Carver's leadership. And that's about the only thing he's looking forward to senior year besides graduating and moving far, far away for college....
Well that, and any chance he gets to see his neighbor, Chrissy Cunningham.....who happens to be Jason's girlfriend.
The slide of the deadbolt sunk straight to the pit of Patrick’s stomach. The lock clicking into place resonated, only adding to the lingering tension from the shouting match he had just costarred in with his dad. He clenched his fist, shoving it into his pocket, while blood boiled up his neck to spawn the instant headache he’d become intimately familiar with.
It took everything Patrick had to not punch the frame of his bedroom door; he didn’t want to load any more ammunition for his father to weaponize against him. He had six months left. Six months until he picked up his life in Hawkins and moved into a dorm room six hours away. August couldn’t come soon enough.
His hand trembled in his pocket, adrenaline pumping through him recklessly like a bursting faucet. He tried to ignore his father’s booming voice from downstairs, rehashing the scene to his mom… he’s ungrateful—how careless can our son be! Same old song and dance, his mom had to pretend to be captivated by.
This had to be the umpteenth time his father locked him in here this year, any chance to berate him subsequently became a good enough excuse to grab his collar and shut him away. He stopped resisting years ago.
It wasn’t actually the muddy gym sneakers, the missed curfews, or the bad grades in Stats class. Patrick solved the mystery of the intense fights spawning up lately all on his own (no statistics needed). His father simply resented a single, undeniable truth. The strict control he’d exerted over the years was slipping. In a few months, Patrick would be eighteen—an adult capable and free to make his own decisions. These four walls would cease to double as his involuntary, solitary cell.
And for the record, this prison was poorly-run.
Patrick sniffed a deep inhale in an attempt to quell the surging tension beneath the surface of his muscles. He was a kettle close to boiling over, steam ready to fire hot and high. He pushed out a long exhale when he looked outside his window. The waxing moon washed the white picket fence in pale blue light, a sharp contrast to the row of rhododendrons Mrs. Cunningham planted last year.
Chrissy’s light was on, glowing through the sheer rosy curtains to reveal the silhouette of her plush teddy bear on the sill. Her bedroom overlooked the same shared fence from the second floor, facing his room ever since they were kids. Patrick unclenched his fist finally, crescent imprints stinging the inside of his palms, and threw on his letterman jacket over his hoodie.
Chrissy set up their signal, and there was no way in hell he was going to stay cooped up all night, pretending he didn’t see it.
The window opened without a squeak, courtesy of the grease he sprayed inside the tracks last week, and he propped up his basketball next to the window in case she was waiting for him to respond. With one last glance around his room—cleaned spotless and bed made with army precision—Patrick lowered himself out the window, traipsed over the roof, and climbed down the lattice with well-practiced maneuvering. Hopefully, no one unlocked his door during his jailbreak.
Fuck Dad, he decided.
Patrick stalked down the line of the fence, staying in the cover of its shadow in case of any curious eyes. Once at the treeline, he scurried into the woods and followed the faint path from years of late night venting. His fingers traced the rough bark of the broken pine tree, finding comfort in it. He turned left, ducking below the felled oak and into the tiny clearing hidden by the brush.
Chrissy sat on their log, ankles crossed, writing in a notebook with her flashlight tucked under her chin.....
