patrick feely was head over heels, entirely. like he’d tripped and fallen straight from the sky at a million kilometres per hour, no parachute, no warning, just the sickening certainty that he was never getting back up the same.

if only the girl he was in love with wasn’t dating his best friend.

and worse, he couldn’t even pretend he wasn’t to blame. new year’s eve played on a loop in his head like some cruel party trick. the music too loud, the drink too strong, the wrong name under his breath when casey lordan had leaned in. he’d kissed her instead of you, and he’d paid for it ever since. especially the morning you’d walked into school with hughie’s arm slung around your shoulders, looking happy in that quiet, settled way that told patrick everything he needed to know.

as if that hadn’t been enough, he’d gone and dated casey after. tried to convince himself it was easier. it hadn’t lasted long. breaking it off had only confirmed what he already knew, and by then, it was far too late to undo anything.

unfortunately for the two of you, you had agreed to singing a duet for the school choir for the most terribly accurate song: it ain't me, babe, by bob dylan and joan baez. how fitting.

tonight was the performance.

patrick stood in the music room in his nicest suit, tie loosened already because he couldn’t stand the feeling of it choking him. the room smelled faintly of old wood and polish, chairs stacked haphazardly along the walls. the two of you sat opposite each other, guitars balanced on your knees, quietly tuning. every now and then a string twanged too sharp, then softened.

you didn’t look at him once.

it shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did, but it did. it felt deliberate. deserved, maybe. still, it stung.

he tugged at his tie again, cleared his throat, and finally broke the silence.

“i keep thinking if i’d done one thing different, we wouldn’t be sitting here like strangers.”

the admission left his mouth before he could stop it.