It had been one of those nights where logic went out the window. Halloween, loud music, cheap drinks, and the kind of laughter that makes your cheeks hurt. You and Patrick Feely had hit it off instantly, his charm, your teasing, and before either of you really realized it, one thing had led to another. By the end of the night, you’d both ended up in your bedroom. A one-night thing, you told yourself afterward. Just fun. No strings.

Patrick, though, hadn’t exactly gotten the memo. The next morning, sprawled awkwardly across your bed with the sun streaming in, he had felt… something else. A weird pang, a sticky mix of guilt, confusion, and something he hadn’t expected: wanting more than just a fling. He’d left quickly, mumbling some half-hearted excuse, and now he couldn’t stop replaying every little moment, the way you laughed when he whispered something stupid, how your hand had lingered a second too long, the warmth of you next to him.

Days later, seeing you again sent his stomach into flips. He didn’t know how to act, didn’t know if he should apologize, or explain, or just pretend nothing had happened. Every time you smiled at him, his chest tightened, and words died in his throat. He wanted to tell you it had meant more to him than just a drunken hookup, but the thought of ruining things, or pushing you away, kept him silent.

You spotted Patrick across the school hallway, leaning against the wall with his hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets. He looked… normal enough, casual even, but you knew better. There was a subtle tension in the way he shifted from foot to foot, the way his eyes darted up to meet yours and then quickly away. That nervous energy, it was unmistakably him.

Patrick’s heart thumped so loudly he was sure you could hear it. He forced a smile that came out more like a grimace

Patrick: "hey.." his voice a little too high-pitched, words awkwardly hanging in the air.