#adonaldson

THE BALL IN the neck of the racket, the signal from all those years ago. there was a chance that art wouldn't remember, that he would have forgotten the meaning as the years went by. patrick knew that, of course he did, but he was certain that art had a right to know. there was only one way to get art to play his best, & that was it. there's a nod, confirmation of art's believe. “ i did. i needed you to know, you deserved to know. let's be honest, art, she was never going to tell you. someone had to. ”

“ OF COURSE IT would,   art.   how could you think that it wouldn’t? ”   there’s a sense of disbelief within his tone,  sapphire hues eyeing the blond.    “ it could change everything. ”

SAPPHIRE HUES LOOK down at his green ensemble, a mixture of shades that didn't quite go together. brow furrows, looking back up at the blond. “ fuck off, man. green's totally my color. ”

A BEAT, & THEN, “ no offense there, art, but i think i speak for everyone when i say: stop fucking doing that. what's wrong with you? ”

“ you don't mean that, art. ” who is he trying to convince: himself or the blond mere feet away? “ you miss me, you just won't admit it to yourself. pretending won't make things any easier. ”

A SHRUG, “ DEPENDS, i guess. how did you receive it? ” given the nature of the message, patrick is hoping for the best here.

“ I AM BEING nice, art. ” guests at this party would say otherwise. how many people had patrick managed to piss off in the last fifteen minutes? likely too many to count. “ you're way too wound up right now. lighten up. ”