Henry went home not long after that. Heading down a long gravel road leading to a house that felt haunted by the presence of his father. It was late into the afternoon, the almost reaching "evening" as a title.
Henry liked to think. That was something not many people knew about him. In his own mind he'd have conversations and debates that lasted hours. About all different topics. It was almost never the same except a certain topic. A very specific topic. This one had the name - Patrick. No matter what happened, any ounce of time, his mind always settled back to Patrick. Moments, comments, memories, or simple debates over Pat's actions: it was always just Patrick, Patrick, Patrick.
On this walk, Henry couldn't stop thinking. There wasn't a certain thing that he was thinking about but more of a mess of thoughts overlapping and screaming in his ears, chanting to the point of a headache. Some stood out though, "What the fuck," "why did that happen", "Pat is so fucking weird", "what the fuck", "wonder what happened to that kid, I fuck him up", "I don't want to go home", "I don't want to see him", "I don't want to see anyone", "Christ, what happened with Patrick earlier,"
His thoughts raced, they never stopped. Cluttered.
There was a slight waver in Henry's steps. The soles of his feet burned from walking all day, walking on gravel wasn't fun when the shoes are falling apart-perks of being poor. But something else caused Henry to walk this way, it was his body fighting itself to continue moving. He really didn't want to go home, not after yesterday, not after earlier.
Reluctantly he continued until he reached his doorstep, then the door, the living room and finally his bed.
There was no luxury better than having a bed to fall onto at the end of a long day.
The blood from the fight earlier had dried, crusted, and cracked. Almost pasted itself onto Henry's body. Even with the blood well dried, the burning still stayed. The burning from his melted away knuckles.
He laid there for a while, face into the mattress. Letting himself relax into the sheets and for a short moment, his mind went quiet.
Pure silence
Not long after that Henry fell asleep.
Not long after that the sun had set and the sound of Butch's car veered away from the house and down the gravel road, headed to the pub.
It was peaceful or at least Henry pretended it was.
His eyes creaked open, eyeing around his room without moving his body. He was confused, he felt like he weighed a million pounds, like he wasn't able to move no matter how much he wanted to.
Confusion, panic, worried.
A knock quietly echoed throughout the house.
Knock.
Knock
Knock
Henry heard the knocking downstairs, the trance of mobility disappeared as he slowly slipped off his bed and left to the door.
"Who the fuck is it"- he had a good idea "it's fucking pitch black out", Henry muttered to himself as he took the steps towards the door.
It opened with a creak.
"Hey Bowers, gonna let me inside," It was Patrick, with a stupid grin, it faded away quickly though.
Henry moved out of the way of the door letting in Patrick.
"Hey." Henry said in a low tone not able to look at Patrick. The raven-haired was worried but not badly. There wasn't any fresh blood on Henry, that was good. But Henry didn't do the simple thing Patrick asked him to.
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You are Real (Henpat/Henrick)
Fanfiction(Patrick Hockstetter x Henry Bowers) Henry knew one part of his past was haunting him, he wished that it was nothing more than a nightmare, but the memory held true and the person still cursed it. The memory felt like it was burning him; however, he...
