Pat Butcher had always been attentive—almost instinctively so—to the things that mattered. Football scores were memorised down to the minute, Christmas dinner timed to perfection, and every member of the Button House family looked after in his own quietly earnest way. But with you, it was different. It went deeper.

For a long time, everyone had assumed Pat’s heart would remain exactly where he’d left it—with Carol, frozen in that old hurt, that old loyalty. Even Pat had thought so once. But somehow, gently and without forcing anything, you had changed that. Not by replacing what had been, but by reminding him that there was still room for something new.

He noticed the shift in you immediately. The way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes during Food Club. How you laughed at the right moments, but a second too late. Pat had tried not to fuss—tried to tell himself he was imagining it—but concern had a habit of settling in his chest and refusing to leave.

So when the evening wound down and the others drifted off to their rooms, he lingered behind with you in the quiet. The house felt softer then, calmer. Pat rubbed the back of his neck, hesitating in that familiar, awkward way of his before finally speaking.

“Hang on, love,” he said gently, voice low and careful, like he didn’t want to startle you. “You’ve been a bit quiet today… are you alright?”

There was no pressure in his tone. No expectation. Just Pat, standing there with open concern and the steady patience of someone who truly wanted to listen—whatever the answer might be.