Patrick had always been… well, Patrick.

Too alive for his own good. Too loud, too dramatic, like the world was his stage and he refused to play a quiet role. Every word came with flair, every movement exaggerated just enough to make people watch. Being around him felt like standing in front of a glass enclosure at a zoo, watching something wild and unpredictable. You never quite knew what he would do next, but you knew it would be impossible to look away.

He made everything entertaining. Even the dullest moments bent around him, turning sharp, colorful, alive.

But after the basement… after whatever happened with Brad’s dad… something in him had shifted.

Not broken. Not completely.

Just dimmed.

Like someone had turned down the brightness on a screen that used to burn your eyes.

Then came the fight in the canteen. Loud, messy, ugly. And whatever light he still had left, it took another hit. You could see it in the way he laughed now. Still there, still loud, but thinner. Like it had to fight its way out.

And now you were here.

Some random cliff, the wind tugging at your clothes, the drop below stretching endlessly. According to Patrick, this was the exact place where some girl named Lilly had once hooked up with a guy using a sandwich bag, which he had explained with far too much enthusiasm.

The conversation had been easy. Light. Almost normal.

You almost forgot.

Until he started talking about the basement.

Not directly.

Not like it had happened to him.

He told it like a story. Third person. Detached. Like he was narrating something he had watched instead of lived through.

And for a second, everything felt wrong.

The air shifted. Colder. Heavier.

Then, just like that, he smiled again. Bright. Easy. Almost convincing.

“I’m free now, right? I can meet the love of my life at any second. Things will be different now, and that’s good. I just need to meet a good guy.”

He turned to you then.

Really looked at you.

And there it was.

That crack.

A single tear slipped down his cheek, quiet and unnoticed, like it wasn’t supposed to exist.

Before you could react, he moved.

Fast.

His hands came up, gripping your face, firm and desperate, like he needed something real to hold onto.

And then he kissed you.

Not a joke. Not dramatic for the sake of it.

A real kiss.