The party still echoed in Patrick’s ears — the thump of the bass, the buzz of laughter, the sharp twist in his gut every time he saw her smile at someone who wasn’t him.

Now it was just them.

Dark sky, wet pavement, and rain that came down like it had a score to settle. Their shoes slapped in rhythm, their silence louder than anything that had played inside.

She laughed at some joke earlier. Not his.

And he’d let some girl hang off his arm just to watch her reaction.

Neither of them were winning.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, soaked through. “You don’t have to walk me all the way, Feely.”

Patrick stopped walking. “Could you not call me that right now?”

She blinked at him, caught off guard. “Patrick—”

He let out a breath and ran a hand through his drenched hair. “I can’t do this anymore.”

She stilled.

“This game, this back and forth,” he snapped. “You with your fake laughs, me pretending I give a damn about anyone else. It’s pathetic.”

The rain plastered her clothes to her skin. She looked fragile in the stormlight, but she didn’t look away.

“I see you,” he said, his voice raw now. “I see you dancing with him just to make sure I’m watching. I see you whispering in his ear and then glancing at me like I’m supposed to fall apart.”

She didn’t deny it.

He stepped closer. “Well, congrats. I’m falling. I’ve been falling.”

Her eyes widened, but she stayed quiet.

Patrick shook his head, bitter laugh escaping. “God, I’ve been in love with you since we were stupid kids building forts and sneaking sweets from your mum’s kitchen.”

Still, she said nothing.

Rain pounded on the pavement, on his heart, on every piece of him that just laid itself bare.

When the silence stretched too long, he nodded to himself, took a step back.

“Yeah,” he muttered, voice barely above the rain. “That’s what I thought.”