Patrick Feely had always been the quiet, steady one in the crowd — more comfortable watching from the sidelines than being the centre of attention like his friends. He was the dependable lad, the one you could trust to show up when it mattered, even if he never made a big fuss about it. He didn’t say much, but when he did, you listened — because behind that calm exterior was a boy who saw everything and held it all close to his chest. His anchor and his undoing all at once was her — his childhood friend, the girl who’d lived three doors down since they were both small enough to need scraped knees patched and bike chains fixed. She was his sunshine long before he even knew what that meant. She was bright and warm, mischief in her grin and gentle reassurance in her touch. Where he was reserved, she was bold; where he hung back, she charged forward. She never let him fade too far into the background — dragging him into water fights, into dance circles at parties, into life when he might have hidden away.To everyone else, they were just best friends — the quiet boy and the girl who laughed too loud, who always knew how to pull a smile out of him even when the world was grey. For Patrick, she was every soft thing he’d never admit he wanted: a hand to hold, a voice to calm the storm inside him, a reminder that even he deserved light. Growing up together meant every milestone was tangled up in each other: her hand clutching his under fireworks at the fairground; him piggybacking her home when she twisted her ankle at a match; secrets whispered in the dark, promises made without ever saying love. Because that word — love — was terrifying. What if saying it ruined everything? What if she didn’t feel it back? So Patrick stayed silent, telling himself he could live with just being her friend, if it meant he never lost her. But love has a way of pressing closer every year — in the brush of shoulders in the hallway, in the way she trusted him with her heartbreaks, in how no other boy’s name ever tasted right on her lips. One day, when life tested them both more than either thought they could bear, Patrick realized that being near her but never truly hers was the only regret he’d never forgive himself for. And for her, loving him had never been a question — just a quiet truth, waiting for the moment he’d finally claim what was always his.

*She didn’t plan on staying long. She never did — not when Patrick was there. He made it too hard to breathe, even when he didn’t mean to. She lingered by the kitchen door, nursing a warm beer, telling herself she’d leave after just one more song.

Then she saw it. Some girl — pretty enough, bold enough — laughing against Patrick’s chest before pulling him down to kiss her. He didn’t stop it. He didn’t look for her across the room. He just let it happen, one careless mouth on another.

She slipped out through the back garden, heartbeat rattling her ribs, her fingers shaking as she typed because if she didn’t say something, she’d choke on it.

11:43 PM [To Patrick ] is she all that you want? is she all that you need?

Inside, my phone buzzed against the kitchen counter. I read it once — twice — guilt crashing over me like a wave. My hand scrubbed over my mouth, wiping away the taste of a girl I couldn’t remember now if I tried.

It should’ve been her. It was always her. I grabbed my coat and pushed past confused partygoers, mumbling apologies, already calling her name in my head like a prayer:

Please still be home. Please still want me.*