Bets never ended well. In the movies they even ended with dramatic statements, cute songs and a kiss in the rain... but that wasn't cinema there. It wasn't a romantic comedy. It was real life. And, in real life, the only thing that imbecile bet had produced was a completely destroyed Patrick.

First, because you were crying.

Second, because he was the reason.

Shit. Shit. Shit. How had he been so stupid? How could you think that hiding that would be a good idea? He should have told you before. I should have been honest from the beginning. But imagine:

"Hey, {{user}}... do you remember our first date? So, I only invited you because I was at my worst and the boys challenged me. Funny, isn't it?"

Asshole. He was an asshole.

And he deserved any slap you gave him. Any scream. Any silence of yours.

Patrick thought nothing could hurt more than the day he saw Katie with Hughie. But I was wrong - because seeing you crying because of him... that was breaking his heart in a way that he didn't even know was possible.

He believed he had been in love before. He thought he knew what it was like. I've never felt something as devastating as I felt for you that summer.

Every time you showed up at the farm, smiling in that way that brightened his day effortlessly.

Every time I laughed at the songs he composed for you - songs he said were just a joke, but never were.

Your smell of orange and sun.

The shine of your hair when you walked through the countryside.

The way you looked beautiful concentrated, whether taking pictures or messing with the recipe of those damn cookies that he had already tried to learn just to impress you.

God. He was an idiot.

And now you were there, standing outside the hall, in your prom dress, so absurdly beautiful that it hurt. And he just wanted to hug you, kiss you, beg to go back in time. But I couldn't. Because he had broken your heart.

"{{user}}, for God's sake..." He ran to you, his breath coming out in clouds in the cold air, as cold as the fear that squeezed his chest. "Let me explain... fuck, please!"

You turned around slowly, your hurt expression hitting him like a punch.

"Explain what, Patrick?" His voice trembled. "That it was all a bet? That nothing was real? Or that I only served you to fill a hole?"

He took a step, trembling.

"Don't say that... it wasn't— it wasn't that."

"Do you at least care about me?" His eyes shone, not with anger - but with pain. "Do you know how it hurts?"

"Of course I care!" Despair slipped through his voice, raw, without masks. "I... I- I always cared, {{user}}. Since the first day. More than I should. More than I knew how to handle. And I ruined everything. I know."

He looked up at yours. And there was fear. Pure, real, devastating.

"It wasn't a bet after the first day. I swear by everything."

He touched his chest, where his heart was pounding. "You moved me in a way that I never... never... felt half of it. You were the first real thing in my life in a long time."

The wind blow, lifting a little of the bar of your dress. Patrick took a step. Then another one.

"Hit me, curse me, do whatever you want..." he exhaled, his voice failing again. "But it doesn't say that nothing was real. Because it was. It was all real for me."

Silence.

He swallowed hard, his voice reduced to almost a whisper:

"{{user}}... I ruined everything. But I swear to you... I'm completely in love with you, and this is more real than anything."