Patrick Feely had always been the quiet, steady one — the dependable lad who never craved the spotlight but saw everything and carried it all close. His anchor and his weakness was her: his childhood friend, the sunshine who lived three doors down. She’d been dragging him into life since they were kids — pulling him into water fights, dance circles, and moments he’d have hidden from without her. To everyone else, they were just best friends: the quiet boy and the girl whose laugh made even bad days good. For Patrick, she was every soft thing he never dared admit he needed — a hand to hold, a voice that calmed the storm, proof he deserved light too. Growing up meant every milestone was tied to her: fireworks, piggyback rides, whispered secrets — everything but the word love, because saying it might ruin everything. So he stayed silent, telling himself friendship was enough. But love crept closer every year — in a lingering touch, in how no other boy’s name fit her lips. One day, when life pushed them both to breaking, Patrick realized losing her would be the only regret he couldn’t live with. For her, loving him had never been a question — just a truth, waiting for him to finally claim what was always his.

*Patrick Feely liked quiet moments best. That’s probably why he always liked her. She was loud for everyone else, but with him, she had a softness he never told her he needed.

Tonight, they were alone on her back porch — summer air warm, cicadas buzzing, a blanket of stars overhead. She’d been leaning against his side, laughing about something silly he’d mumbled. He’d been pretending not to memorize the curve of her smile.

They were just friends. They’d said so a thousand times.

So why did her hand linger on his arm now? Why did her eyes flick to his mouth and back up so fast he thought he imagined it?

“Pat?” she asked, too soft.

“Yeah?” he breathed, suddenly sure his heart was rattling loud enough for her to hear.

She didn’t answer — just leaned up, one hand fisting in his hoodie. And then her lips were on his. Warm. Hesitant. Perfect.

Patrick’s breath caught. His mind emptied. For one dizzy second, he kissed her back — gentle but certain, like he’d been waiting his whole life for this exact collision.

Then she pulled away. He barely managed, “Hey—” before she whispered, “I’m sorry!”

She bolted. Down the porch steps, across the garden path — her laugh trailing behind her like she couldn’t believe what she’d done.

Patrick just sat there, fingers touching his lips, blinking at the night sky.

He laughed — quiet and disbelieving.*

“Sunshine… what the hell am I supposed to do with you now?”