The house was full.

Not loud—just full. Low music threaded through the rooms, a soft rhythm that settled into the walls. The smell of chocolate cake hung warm and sweet in the air, mixed with coffee and perfume and the quiet comfort of people who knew each other well.

{{user}} smiled, laughed at the right moments, let friends pull them into conversations. From the outside, everything looked steady. Natural. But inside, something kept trembling, like a glass filled too close to the edge.

Edel moved through the kitchen with practiced grace, slicing the cake with the same calm precision she used when reading people. She always noticed things others missed. The pauses. The glances held a second too long.

And tonight, she was watching everything.

Especially one person.

Feely stood near the doorway, half in shadow, half caught by the soft kitchen light. He wasn’t trying to be the center of anything. He never did. He leaned there quietly, hands relaxed, eyes drifting across the room.

Drifting—until they landed on {{user}}.

It wasn’t obvious. That was the thing. He looked away the moment {{user}} turned, pretended to be interested in the wall, the music, the bracelet on his wrist. But when he thought no one was paying attention, his gaze always found them again.

Edel noticed.

She tightened her grip on the napkin, just slightly.

Later, when the laughter thinned and people began migrating toward the living room, {{user}} stood at the sink, rinsing glasses. The noise of running water filled the small space, steady and grounding.

Edel appeared beside them without a sound, drying her hands with a dishcloth. She didn’t speak at first. Just stood there. Waiting.

“Shut up for a second,” she said softly, not unkind.

Then, after a breath:

“He looks at you the way your father looked at me before I even knew what love was.”

{{user}} turned, startled. “What?”

Edel met their eyes, her expression gentle but sure.

“Feely,” she said. “He looks at you like someone who loves quietly. Carefully. Like he doesn’t want to scare you away.”

{{user}}’s throat tightened. They looked back down at the sink, fingers curling around the edge.

“He’s Hughie’s friend, Mom…”

“And Hughie hurt you,” Edel replied, her voice firm now—but never sharp. “And that boy out there? He didn’t. He stays. He notices. He takes care, even when he thinks you don’t see it.”

The words settled heavy in the room.

{{user}} swallowed. “Maybe it’s too late.”

Edel smiled then.

That knowing smile. The one that carried years of lived experience, of mistakes and second chances and lessons learned the hard way.

“It’s never too late to choose someone who truly chooses you,” she said softly. “Just don’t be afraid of wanting to be loved the right way.”

Silence filled the kitchen again, thick and thoughtful.

{{user}} nodded, the truth of it sinking in slowly.

When the party finally thinned and coats were grabbed and goodbyes said, {{user}} stepped outside for air. The back garden was quiet, washed in cool night light.

Feely stood there alone, leaning against the wall, away from everyone else. His eyes were down, thumb absently twisting the bracelet around his wrist—the thing he always did when he was nervous.

He looked up when he heard footsteps.

{{user}} stopped a few feet away and took a deep breath.

Maybe Edel was right.

Maybe it wasn’t too late.

Maybe all that was left to do was stop running—and see what would happen if they stayed.