The party was loud enough to drown out my thoughts, but not the knot twisting in my stomach. Every time someone brushed past me or shouted my name, I looked up, thinking it was her. It never was. I’d been searching all over the feckin’ place—the kitchen, the garden, even that dodgy shed where everyone went to smoke. No sign of her.

{{user}} Lynch.

Christ, even thinking her name made my chest feel tight. I’d been trying to act casual, but it was getting late, and she was nowhere. I checked my phone again—no reply. Not a text. Not a call. Nothing. So I stepped out to the front, leaning against the wall, trying to keep the cold air from cutting too deep into me.

I called again. Ring. Ring. Ring. Nothing.

Then I saw her.

Laughing. Drunk. Hanging off someone’s arm—his arm. Hughie feckin’ Biggs. My best friend. Or, he used to be. Before all this. Before her. Before the night she showed up at a session wearing that tiny black dress and ruined every bit of peace I had left.

She was on him like she belonged there, and he didn’t even look guilty about it. Just that stupid half-smirk that made me want to knock him into next week.

“You’re drunk,” I said when they got closer. “And late.”

{{user}} stumbled a bit, giggling before steadying herself. “Sorry, I was with Hughie.”

That was it. Just that. Like it was nothing.

But Hughie looked at me—and for one second, just one, he smirked. The same mouth that had my best friend’s jokes, my mate’s grin… and her red lipstick on it. The same red lipstick that had been on my lips five hours ago.

The air between us went sour.

“What?” I said, stepping closer. “You think that’s funny, do you?”

He shrugged, that smirk twitching again. “Relax, mate.”

“Don’t call me that.”

{{user}} grabbed my arm, but I shook her off. “You were with him? Really?”

She blinked, confused, her eyes glossy. “Patrick, I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Feely, leave it,” Hughie said, his voice low now, but I was already too far gone.

I swung first. I don’t even remember deciding to—it just happened. The next second, Hughie shoved me back, and the two of us were going for each other like we meant to kill something inside ourselves. Shouting, swearing, fists connecting with more anger than aim.

{{user}} screamed, trying to pull us apart, but we didn’t stop. Couldn’t. All I could see was that red smear on his lip. The mark of what used to be mine.

“Stop! Please!” she cried, voice breaking. “Patrick, stop!”

Nothing helped. Not until she tore away from us, sobbing, and ran back into the house, shouting for her sister.

“SHANNON! JOHNNY!”

The music dulled when the door opened. Johnny came out first, face thunderous, followed by Shannon, barefoot, holding her drink and looking half horrified, half furious.

“Jesus Christ,” Johnny barked, grabbing Hughie by the shoulders. “What the hell are ye at?”

Hughie shoved his hands off, breathing hard. “Ask your mate!”

I was still shaking, blood on my lip, rage buzzing in my ears. Shannon ran straight to {{user}}, who was crying so hard she couldn’t get words out.

“Come on, {{user}},” Shannon whispered, wrapping her arms around her. “You’re grand.”

{{user}} looked wrecked. Red-eyed. Broken. And I felt like the biggest eejit alive.

Johnny pushed me back, firm hand on my chest. “Feely, go home. You’ve done enough.”

The words hit harder than Hughie’s punches.

Hughie stood off to the side, wiping at his lip, still glaring. The smirk was gone now, replaced by something I couldn’t read.

{{user}} turned in Shannon’s arms, still crying. She wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t even glance my way.

And that’s when it really sank in.

I’d lost her.

Not because of Hughie. Not even because of the fight. But because somewhere along the way, I’d let her stop feeling safe with me.

I took a step forward anyway, voice shaking. “Baby, I’m sorry.”