I Wrote This By Patrick Star Novels & Stories

Then, he walked up to where I was and stop In front of me, putting on an irresistible charming smile. “First,” he said and inserted his hands into his trouser pockets. “You can call me Patrick. And secondly…there is something important you are going to do for me which will benefit both you and i" "Benefit me," I asked confused "How"

Argh, I couldn't wait to go home. It was my turn to write on their jersey, and I did it quickly, avoiding Zachery's eyes. "Wait, you look familiar," he said as I bent down to write on Katie's jersey. I swallowed hard, biting my lips, my mind racing on an excuse to make up. For me, I pressed down hard, trying to narrow my truths and harden my voice. "Yeah, yeah, you. You look familiar," he continued, and I straightened my shoulders. "Of course I do." I stepped back a bit, slightly behind Jeremy.

POV: ELISABETH Heading towards the publishing house, Patrick, despite maintaining an erect posture, showed evident signs of tension in his body. His sighs were noticeable, as were the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, even in the cold Seattle weather. “It’s going to be okay,” I whispered to reassure him. “You’re Patrick Morgan; no one can bring you down.” He nodded, turning back to stare out the window in silence. What didn’t Patrick want me to see?

"It's a pity Patrick and you're just going to be gay! Please, be mine!" "Okay, class! Quiet!" Sir Zafar shouted and looked at Patrick, "Are you done with your introduction, Mr. Lim?" "Not yet! So ... I'll continue. I'm Patrick Lim, nineteen years old. Then this fat and ugly witch next to me is my twin and she'll be the one to introduce you," and he even pointed out to Patricia. Patty glared at her twin before standing up, "Way to go, Pat. So, hi everyone! I am Patricia Lim, nineteen years old, and I live at Ong Yiu. My hobby is darts! That's all!"

Alex glanced at me when he saw a group of people just before him writing their names on the cave walls. " Should we write our names?" He asked. " Totally...." I muttered, grinning. He picked up a small stone and gave it to me. " You first..." He said. " Thanks," I replied, and started scribbling. . . . Patrick's P. O. V

One step at a time. Yes. And Chapter 90 of Patrick's POV, 1500 words:

“You're correct. |, too, found it difficult to fall asleep, so | decided to take a stroll in the orchard. Napping isn’t a habit of mine. Allow me to introduce myself first. I’m Patrick. And you?” Luna glanced at him, remaining cautious. Without responding, she continued to gather oranges. “You've collected quite a number of oranges. Will you be able to finish them all? Oranges don’t keep well for long; they spoil easily,” Patrick kindly urged. Luna stole a glance at Patrick. Why did this person talk so much? However, when she looked at his smiling face, she couldn’t discern any ill intentions.

"Forget it, you can just do your work. I'll go to sleep first. Don't be too late." Just as I was about to leave, Patrick suddenly got up and held my waist. He directly let me sit on his lap. He kissed me on the neck. "I hide no secrets from you. You can look at my works as you like." He said, kissing me on the neck with his thin lips, "And, a beauty like you improve my efficiency." As he spoke, his two arms circled around me. His hands landed on the keyboard to edit the email. I took a rough look. He was writing the email to that team in Country R. It was filled with all kinds of complex professional words, and I couldn't understand them at all.

I opened it and was moved by what was written: "I don't know if I have answers to all the questions, but I want to apologize for every time I hurt you. I still don't know what you're doing to me, but you enchant me, fascinate me, and make me want to be with you. I swear I tried to run from this, but I can't stay away from you anymore. Please, let me explain, let me apologize. Patrick Guzman."

On the other side of the plaster wall. Patrick made his way over, leaving the security of the door to cut across diagonally. His gate was awkward and unsteady, like that of a newborn calf just learning to walk, but he made it without falling. He placed his forehead against the cool plaster and said, “Is there really someone there?” “Yes, what is your name?” “Patrick. What’s yours?” “Clare. Are you hurt?” “Yeah. I think I hit my head or something. I don’t really remember. Can you let me out of here?”