It was the kind of lazy Sunday that felt stolen from real life — grey skies, soft music, and the quiet hum of rain against Patrick Feely’s bedroom window.

His childhood best friend was lying beside him on his bed, head resting on his shoulder, her legs tangled with his beneath the duvet like they’d done this a thousand times before. Because they had.

They weren’t dating. Everyone just assumed they were.

Patrick’s hoodie hung loose on her frame, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and her hair was still damp from the rain. She had a book open in front of her, but hadn’t turned a page in ten minutes. Patrick knew because he’d been watching her out of the corner of his eye, pretending to care about the rugby match playing on his laptop.

“You’re staring,” she said suddenly, glancing up at him with a small, knowing smile.

Patrick didn’t flinch. “So?”

“So,” she said, laughing softly, “you’ve got that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“That one that says you’re thinking too hard.”

Patrick shifted so she had to lift her head, but she didn’t move far. Her hand stayed on his chest, and she stayed close — always close.

“You ever think it’s weird that we’re not actually dating?” he asked, voice quieter now.

She blinked. “People definitely think we are.”

“Gibbie called you my missus the other day.”

She laughed. “He always does.”

Patrick looked at her for a long second, then brushed a thumb against her cheek, letting it linger. She leaned into it without thinking. Natural. Effortless.

“You kissed me last week,” he said, almost like he was reminding her.

She nodded. “You kissed me the week before.”

He gave a small, lopsided smile. “That was after you climbed into my bed and called me your favourite person.”

“Because you are.”

And just like that, the space between them vanished. She leaned forward first, but he met her halfway — mouths slotting together in something soft and sure and a little desperate.

When they broke apart, breathless, she tucked her head back under his chin like nothing had changed. Maybe nothing had.

Maybe everything had.

Outside, the rain kept falling.

Inside, Patrick held her tighter and didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.