Patrick Feely had just unwrapped his sandwich when he spotted her sprinting across the courtyard toward him, her bag bouncing off her shoulder and her hair catching the wind like she was late for something vital. She was practically glowing—eyes bright, cheeks flushed, fingers curled around her phone.

“Patrick!”

He raised his eyebrows, chewing slowly. “What’s after you, then?”

“Hughie’s party,” she said breathlessly, sliding onto the bench beside him like it was the most urgent topic on earth. “It’s Halloween and his birthday, yeah?”

He nodded, swallowing his bite. “Always is.”

“Okay—listen. I had an idea for a costume.” She turned her phone screen to show him a Pinterest board full of flowing dresses, lightsabers, and brooding stares. “You and me. Padmé and Anakin.”

Patrick paused, mouth parting slightly. “Isn’t that a... couple’s costume?”

Her expression didn’t shift, but her voice rushed in fast. “I know. I mean—yeah, it is. Kind of. But it’s just for fun. Just for the theme. We’re both single, and it’d look deadly. Right?”

Patrick looked at her, really looked at her, and felt his throat go dry. He had imagined her asking him something like this about a hundred different ways in his head—usually followed by him saying something stupid or getting distracted by the way she smiled.

“Right,” he said, nodding a little too quickly. “Just friends. For the theme.”

Her grin widened, relief washing over her face. “Deadly. I already ordered you the cloak.”

He blinked. “You what?”

“You’ll look great, Feely,” she teased, standing up again and backing away. “Very Jedi. Just practice your brooding face.”

Patrick leaned back against the bench, watching her go, his sandwich forgotten in his lap.

Just friends.

Right.