Chapter 2

I sat on my bedroom floor for what felt like hours.

My phone showed it was already past 11 AM. I needed to pull myself together and go downstairs. If I stayed holed up in my room much longer, it would look suspicious when Patrick woke up.

Stay cool, Fanny. Act like nothing happened.

I splashed cold water on my face, changed into fresh clothes, and tried to make myself look like I'd just woken up instead of someone who'd been having an emotional breakdown.

After taking a deep breath, I headed downstairs.

The kitchen smelled like Marina's usual morning routine—fresh coffee and whatever organic breakfast she'd been preparing. The house was quiet—she must have already left for the yoga studio.

I walked to the coffee machine, my hands trembling slightly as I poured. Shit, I needed to pull it together.

That's when I heard footsteps on the attic stairs. Heavy, uneven footsteps.

Patrick appeared at the bottom of the staircase, hair disheveled, wearing that same black t-shirt from last night, looking like he'd just woken up. His eyes swept across the kitchen and found me immediately—that look made my whole body flush with heat.

"Fanny?" He seemed surprised to see me in the kitchen. "You're up."

"Yeah..." I gripped my coffee mug tightly, trying not to let my expression betray the panic inside.

He walked toward the kitchen island, running a hand through his messy hair. I caught his familiar scent—cedarwood cologne mixed with the lingering alcohol from last night. My body instinctively tensed.

"About last night..." he started, his voice still husky from sleep.

I nearly spilled my coffee. "What about it?"

That damn smirk tugged at his lips. "I meant that green dress you wore. It was beautiful."

"Thanks." I forced a smile, feeling my cheeks burn.

I stole a glance at him and noticed red scratches on his wrist. My pulse quickened—I'd left those marks last night. In that chaotic moment when he... when we...

"What are you looking at?" Patrick noticed my stare.

"Nothing." I quickly looked away.

But he deliberately rolled up his sleeve, making the marks more visible. "This?"

My face burned like fire. "I... that's not..."

"Don't deny it, Fanny." His voice was low, carrying some emotion I couldn't read. "We both know what happened last night."

I was about to respond when I spotted a pink hair tie hanging from his guitar bag. My heart plummeted to my stomach.

"That hair tie... is it Luna's?"

Patrick followed my gaze, his expression becoming complicated. "Fanny..."

"Don't. Just... don't. I get it." I stood up, feeling like a weight was crushing my chest.

He stood too, wanting to say something, but I was already turning to leave.

"Fanny, wait." He called after me. "You're misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding what?" I turned back, fighting to control the tremor in my voice. "That you have a girlfriend? Or that what I did last night was stupid?"

"You weren't stupid." He stepped toward me, more serious than I'd ever seen him. "What happened last night..."

"Nothing happened last night." I cut him off. "We were drunk and made a mistake. That's it."

He stopped, looking at me with an expression that broke my heart. "If that's what you think."

I fled to the living room and curled up on the couch. But minutes later, Patrick appeared in the kitchen doorway holding a carefully prepared plate of avocado toast.

"Your favorite avocado toast, no cheese." He said softly, walking toward me. "I remembered you can't have dairy."

I looked at the food, tears welling in my eyes. He remembered every one of my dietary preferences, remembered my food allergies, remembered that I liked just a tiny sprinkle of sea salt on my toast...

"Thanks... you don't have to be so good to me." My voice was barely a whisper.

"I want to be good to you." He sat beside me, placing the plate on the coffee table. "I've always wanted to be good to you."

When he handed me the toast, our fingers touched. That electric feeling rushed through me again, reminding me of how his hands had moved across my body last night...

I jerked my hand back. "Patrick, we can't..."

"Can't what?" He leaned closer, voice low enough that only I could hear. "Can't be honest about how we feel?"

I looked into his eyes, seeing too many emotions I couldn't understand. Love? Possessiveness? Or just post-alcohol impulse?

"I saw Luna's text." I said quietly. "Last night was amazing, when can we meet again."

His expression changed. "Fanny, that's not what you think."

"Then what is it?" I stood up, the food falling to the floor. "Tell me, Patrick. Tell me what Luna means to you. Tell me what last night meant to you."

But he didn't answer. He just looked at me, pain and struggle and other things I couldn't read in his eyes.

I bent down to pick up the fallen food, my hands shaking. "Sorry, I dropped the breakfast you made."

"It's okay." He crouched down to help me, our faces close together. "Fanny, listen to me..."

"Don't say it." I closed my eyes. "Please, don't say it."

Because I knew that whatever he said would only make everything more complicated. And I couldn't handle any more chaos.

When James and Marina came back, we'd cleaned everything up. I sat on the couch pretending to read, Patrick tuning his guitar. Everything looked normal.

But I could feel his gaze settling on me from time to time, just like last night. And that pink hair tie still hung from his guitar bag, reminding me of Luna's existence.

Reminding me that I could only ever be his sister.