Patrick Feely was convinced that it would be a terrible idea from the moment Hughie appeared at the door of his room saying: "Go change your clothes. And he doesn't even invent to say he's not going."

And here he was. No Biddie's.

With flashing lights in shades of blue and pink, the smell of beer and frying in the air, too many people per square meter and... the damn karaoke microphone shining in the center of the stage.

"I hate it." he grumbled, letting himself on a chair in the back, crossing his arms.

"You hate everything." Johnny Kavanagh countered, taking a sip of Guinness.

"Because everything sucks."

He was already determined to count the minutes until he ran away from there, until the DJ announced with excitement:

"And now, an unlikely duo with a classic choice! Claire and... {{user}}!”

Feely didn't give much ball - until he heard her voice.

The laughter.

The carefree way she went on stage, her hair messy on purpose, her eyes shining as if it were just an internal joke between her and Claire.

"Jesus Christ." he whispered, getting set on the bench.

Claire started singing "Teenage Dirtbag", and when {{user}} entered the second verse, pointing to the audience as if she were in Glastonbury, Feely felt his heart jump in his chest.

She was... beautiful. But not only that. It was light. Let go. A miniature star on Biddie's stage.

"Is it drooling, Feely?" Shannon poked, with a provocative smile.

"Shut up." he murmured, without taking his eyes off her.

In the chorus, {{user}} looked directly in the direction of their table - and when she saw that he was there, her smile widened.

Not that polite smile.

That smile that was only his.

And Feely sank further into the chair, as if he could hide from the ridiculous feeling that took over him.

She was singing. But it seemed that I only sang for him.

And at that moment, he knew he was lost. Completely.