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The morning after Patrick’s birthday party, Jared woke with a dull, heavy headache.
It wasn't sharp enough to make him wince but it was kinda steady, like a pressure sitting right behind his eyes and around his skull. The room smelled of weed and spilled beer, and Jared noticed someone had left the window open, so cold air drifted across his face.
He stayed still for a moment, eyes closed, knowing the memories from last night would settle into place the second he moved.
The first thing that came back to him was the colored lights, the loud music vibrating through the floor and, most importantly, Patrick’s long blond hair tied loosely at the back of his neck, with strands slipping free every time he threw his head back when he laughed. And the oversized black shirt hanging off his narrow shoulders. And the mole on his forearm he spend too much time admiring. And his eyes. The way they lost focus as the drinks kept coming and the night went on.
In crowded rooms, Patrick always drew attention without trying. His laughter carried easily over the music, it was bright and unrestrained, kinda like the type that made strangers turn toward him and want to be included in whatever he was doing. Under the lights though, his sharp features stood out even more. The clean lines of his jaw, the narrow bridge of his nose and the pale fall of his hair catching every flicker of movement that made him looked so vivid it almost felt unfair.
Jared could never shake the quiet (and sometimes even stubborn) thought that Patrick didn’t truly belong in places like those. Not because his best friend seemed uncomfortable, but because he couldn’t imagine someone so bright, so strangely tender beneath all that 'rockstar' façade, being rightfully meant for rooms so loud and careless. He knew he worried too much about things he couldn’t really control— things that weren’t even his to worry about. But he just couldn't help it.
Jared snapped out of his own thoughts and dragged a hand over his face.
He remembered everything. Especially the kiss.
—
By noon, Patrick was stretched across Jared’s couch like his limbs had been dropped there carelessly. His hair had come completely loose, falling around his face in ocean waves. In daylight he looked thinner, almost too light for his own body.
He groaned. “I feel like I got run over.”
Jared stood in the kitchen with two mugs of instant coffee, watching him.
“Pretty sure you tried to fight a chair,” he said.
Patrick squinted. “That sounds fake.”
“You lost, by the way.”
Patrick let out a weak laugh that quickly turned into a wince. He pressed a hand to his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t remember anything after midnight.”
Jared set the mugs down slowly.
Of course he didn’t. Midnight had been before it all happened.
Patrick rubbed his face, his brows drawn so tightly together they nearly touched. “Did I do anything embarrassing?”
Jared hesitated before warily turning around.
He gave himself permission to look at Patrick and the familiar shape of his mouth, his long lashes, his soft openness that made people gravitate toward him without trying.
The same face that had been inches away the night before. The same mouth that had pressed against his.
"Nah," Jared shrugged. “Nothing unusual.”
Patrick visibly relaxed, sinking back into the cushions.
"Good,” he murmured. “I was worried I might’ve like… confessed something weird or cried or something.”
Jared’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table. 'You did confess something, but not in a way you’ll ever remember', he thought, but didn't say it.
—
It hadn’t happened in a dramatic moment.
No sudden silence, no music cutting off, no shift in the air that warned something important was about to happen. It unfolded in the same messy, ordinary way the rest of their nights usually did, tucked into the background of noise and exhaustion and smoke.
They’d ended up outside on the back steps because the house had grown too loud and hot. As soon as they stepped out, the cold air hit them hard enough to make them both hunch into themselves, shoulders rising instinctively. Their eyes met and they dissolved into a breathless laughter, the stupid kind of laugh that only came from being too drunk.
The porch light behind them flickered slightly, casting a weak yellow glow that didn’t quite reach the yard, leaving everything beyond the steps swallowed in darkness.
Patrick had been unusually quiet by then.
Not completely out, just slowed down, like the world was moving a little too fast for him to keep up. He sat with his elbows resting loosely on his knees, fingers dangling between them, the joint burning slowly near his fingertips. His long hair had slipped from its tie, blond strands falling across his face, catching the dim light every time he shifted.
And he wasn’t looking at Jared either.
He was staring straight ahead into the dark yard, eyes unfocused, breathing deep and slow, as if trying to steady himself against something Jared couldn't tell what it was.
Jared had noticed the way Patrick’s shoulders kept brushing against his, lingering instead of pulling away. It wasn't accidental contact, it was something softer, almost unconscious, like he was seeking balance. Stability.
When Patrick finally spoke, his voice came out low and uneven, softened by the alcohol and fatigue.
“You know you’re my favorite person, right?” And it didn’t sound like a joke.
Jared laughed anyway, because that was his reflex. Because he didn't wanted to be there anymore. It was too heavy on him. “Yeah. Obviously man. I’m hilarious.”
Patrick shook his head slowly, strands of blond hair sliding over his cheek. He lifted his gaze then, and for the first time that night, his eyes were focused and heavy with a kind of raw openness Jared had never seen from him before.
“No,” he murmured. “Not because of that.”
He seemed to hesitate after saying it, like the words had slipped out before he could decide whether to keep them or not. His lips parted slightly, as if he might add something else, but instead he just stared at Jared, searching his face with an intensity that felt almost childlike, like most of Patrick's behavior when he's intoxicated.
The distance between them had already been small. Patrick leaned closer without any clear moment of decision, his movement slow and uncertain, guided more by instinct than intent. Jared could see the way his breathing had changed and the faint flush along his cheekbones that wasn’t just from alcohol.
For a second, it felt like time stretched thin.
Jared didn’t move.
He could see every detail: the faint tremor in Patrick’s lower lip, the vulnerability in his eyes, the way his hands tightened slightly against his knees as if he was bracing himself.
When their mouths finally touched, it wasn’t clumsy in the way drunken kisses often were. It was hesitant, careful and almost tentative, like Patrick was afraid of pressing too hard, afraid of doing something that might break the closeness between them.
The warmth of it hit Jared immediately, sending a sudden rush through his chest that made his breath catch. His hands rose without thinking, coming up to cup Patrick’s face, fingers sliding into the cool silk of his hair.
Patrick leaned into the touch at once, the tension in his shoulders melting, as if that contact alone steadied him.
For those few seconds, there was no noise from the party, no cold air, no weight of everything they had never said. Just the lingering warmth between them.
Then Patrick pulled back slowly, blinking like someone waking from a deep sleep. Confusion flickered across his face for an instant before it melted into a small and embarrassed laugh.
Patrick didn’t say anything else, he just rested his head against Jared’s shoulder, breathing warm and heavy through the fabric of his shirt.
Within minutes, his weight went slack.
He’d fallen asleep there, completely unaware of what had just happened.
—
Back in the living room, Patrick pushed himself upright, still wincing.
“Did we at least have fun?,” he questioned like he was still looking for his friend's reassurance.
Jared forced a small smile. “Yeah dude.”
Patrick smiled too, the same open expression that had always made it easy to forget things, even for a little while.
Except this time it didn’t help.
Because now Jared knew exactly how close that smile could get. And he knew Patrick didn’t remember giving it to him.
Patrick took a sip of coffee and grimaced. “This is terrible.”
“You’re welcome.”
Patrick laughed properly at that, the noise bright despite the hoarseness in his voice.
Something inside Jared tightened at the sound. The burden of his heart too heavy on his chest.
Patrick stretched, arms lifting above his head. His shirt rode up slightly, revealing the sharp line of his ribs and the faint hollow of his waist.
Jared’s gaze dipped before he could stop it, just a second too long at the strip of exposed skin and at the quiet rise and fall of his breathing. His eyes traced the curve instinctively. Heat flickered low in his stomach as he felt something tight start to wake beneath his ribs. Something that felt dangerously close to wanting. He forced himself to look away.
“Thanks for taking care of me,” he said casually.
Jared swallowed. “Of course.”
He leaned back again, eyes drifting closed, comfortable and unguarded. Like nothing had changed between them.
Jared watched him for a few minutes. He could tell him. He could just simply go: 'You kissed me last night.' But the thought alone made his chest tighten.
If Patrick didn’t remember, it might not have meant anything. It might have been nothing more than confusion and alcohol. And Jared didn’t think he could bear hearing that, so he stayed silent.
Patrick’s breathing evened out as he fell asleep again, sunlight dropping kindly in his face.
Jared looked away again.
---
Patrick noticed it after three days.
But not immediately, at first he just assumed Jared was tired. They’d partied hard that weekend, and Jared often got quiet when he was drained. It wasn’t unusual to see him sprawled on the couch, scrolling on his phone, answering in short replies.
But this felt different. Jared wasn’t just quiet. He was careful.
Patrick saw it in small things: the way Jared stopped leaning against him when they sat together, how he laughed half a second later than usual at jokes, how he started leaving earlier than he normally would. Even when they smoked, Jared no longer passed the joint with that absentminded brush of fingers that used to linger without thought.
There was space now.
Deliberate space.
And Patrick didn’t understand why it bothered him so much.
One evening, they were sitting in Jared’s room with the window open, cold air drifting inside. A playlist murmured softly from Jared’s laptop. Patrick was stretched across the bed, staring at the ceiling while Jared sat in the desk chair, turned slightly away from him.
Patrick watched him for a long moment.
“You’re weird lately,” he said finally.
Jared didn’t turn around. “I’ve always been weird.”
Patrick frowned. “No. Not like this.”
Jared gave a small shrug and silence settled between them again, heavier than it was minutes ago.
There was a tension in his chest he couldn’t explain, a sense that something was shifting, and he was somehow not part of it.
He tried to ignore it but he couldn’t ignore the growing feeling that Jared was slowly pulling away from him. And not knowing why was actively killing him.
---
Jared hadn’t slept properly since the night of the kiss.
The memory replayed itself in fragments whenever his mind had nothing else to think about. It wasn't just the kiss itself, but everything surrounding it, every tiny detail his brain had remembered from it.
He remembered how warm Patrick’s breath had been when he leaned in.
How his eyelashes had trembled slightly before their lips touched.
How Patrick’s hands had curled against his own knees like he was holding himself together.
But more than anything, Jared remembered the expression in Patrick’s eyes just before the kiss. It was like a silent decision that made it look less like a drunken mistake and more like something that had slipped out after being held back for too long. And that was what haunted him the most. That Patrick had actually meant it.
Because for a brief moment, Patrick had looked at him like he mattered in a way that went beyond friendship, beyond their usual closeness, beyond the comfortable blur they’d lived in for years.
But now Patrick walked around smiling at him the same way as before, unaware that something irreversible had already happened.
---
The confrontation happened by accident.
It was late at night after another party, a smaller one this time. They’d walked back together, neither of them speaking much on the way home. When they reached Jared’s apartment, Patrick followed him inside without asking, like he always did.
But once the door closed, the silence felt different. Heavy and somehow unavoidable.
Patrick leaned against the wall, arms crossed loosely, watching Jared move around the kitchen without really doing anything.
“Okay,” Patrick said at last. “Tell me what I did.”
Jared froze. “What?”
“You’re avoiding me,” Patrick said, voice softer now. “You don’t like being close to me anymore. You barely look at me. So just tell me what I did.”
Jared shook his head quickly. “You didn’t do anything.”
“Then why does it feel like you hate me lately?” The word hit harder than Patrick intended.
Jared turned around at once. “I don’t hate you.”
“Then what is it?” Patrick asked, frustration slipping into his voice. “Because I can feel you shutting me out, and I don’t even know why.”
Jared’s throat tightened and for a moment he said nothing, his sweaty hands curling slightly at his sides.
Then the words slipped out before he could stop them.
“You kissed me.”
The room went still.
Patrick blinked. “What?”
“On your birthday,” Jared said roughly, but quietly. “Outside. On the stairs.”
Patrick stared at him, confusion spreading slowly across his face.
“I… don’t remember that.”
Jared let out a small, shaky breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “I know. I figured.”
Silence followed again.
Patrick’s expression shifted, not toward rejection, not toward discomfort, but toward something else entirely: shock, then guilt, then something deeper and harder for Jared to read.
“You thought it didn’t mean anything,” he said slowly.
Jared didn’t answer.
Patrick stepped closer.
“Jared,” he said softly, “I don’t remember doing it… but I know I wouldn’t kiss you unless I wanted to.”
Jared looked up at him then, eyes bright with expectation.
“Then why didn’t you say anything after?” he whispered.
Patrick hesitated.
“I don't know.” he admitted, quiet and under his breath. Scared to say the wrong thing.
For a long time, neither of them moved. Then Patrick reached forward slowly, giving Jared enough time to pull away if he wanted. But Jared didn’t.
So Patrick’s hand settled lightly against the side of his face, warm and steady.
“I can’t remember the first kiss,” he whispered. “But I know I want to remember the next one.”
Jared’s breath caught.
This time, when Patrick leaned in, the movement wasn’t uncertain or accidental, it was intentional and straightforward.
Their lips met slowly and carefully, like they were both aware of how precious the moment was, and how long it had been waiting to happen.
Jared’s hands rose to hold him, fingers threading into his hair. And this time, Patrick stayed awake.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together for a little moment, their breaths mingling in the quiet room as they drifted apart from each other.
Patrick smiled softly, his teeth showing unconsciously. “There. Now I remember.”
Jared let out a shaky laugh that carried entire days of tension. And for the first time since that birthday night, the weight in his chest finally eased.