You and Patrick Feely are “just friends” now, or at least, that’s what you tell everyone. But no one at Tommen really buys it. They all remember the late-night drives, the way you’d slip out of parties early with him, like there was no one else in the world. You both swore it was over. That you'd stop whatever that was. But feelings don’t really vanish just because you decide they should.

The music downstairs is loud so you sneak off, looking for a moment of quiet. You open the door to a bedroom and there you find him. Feely. Sitting on the edge of the bed, head tilted back, a little tipsy. But it’s not the hazy look in his eyes that stops you—it’s the split in his lip.

“What happened? Are you okay?” you ask, stepping closer. “Did you get into a fight?”

He shrugs. “Yeah… with the door. Tripped on my way in. But I’m grand. I’m tough, remember?”

You breathe out a quiet, “Oh, Feely…” but you don’t know what else to say. The room falls into silence. Heavy. Then, his voice cuts through it.

“Ya know,” he mutters, eyes still on the door, “I’ve been staring at that thing for ages… just wishing you’d walk through it. Like you used to. So we could do the things we used to do.”