i don’t matter?

as he rounded the corner, his pace quickened, desperation evident in his every step. suddenly, he collided with you, sending his clothes scattering across the floor.

"patrick?!" you shrieked, rubbing your forehead. "why are you naked?"

a groan of frustration escaped his lips, accompanied by the mocking giggles of a few girls nearby. embarrassment flushed his cheeks as he pleaded, "can you just unlock your door so i can get dressed?" he was fortunate you lived on the same floor as tashi.

with panicked fingers, you fumbled for your keys. they slipped from your grasp, hitting the floor with a metallic clink. he facepalmed. "fuck, you're kidding me," he whined.

"relax," you sighed, squatting down to retrieve the keys. finally, you managed to unlock the door, and he barged in, quickly pulling on his clothes. he sank into the chair at your desk to put on his shoes as you slipped into your comfy pajamas.

patrick's eyes followed you as you changed into a pair of cheeky shorts, his gaze lingering with surprise and distraction.

"why were you roaming the halls naked, patrick?" you asked, snapping him out of his daze.

"me and tashi got into it, before we were– you know!" he shrugged, a forced frown tugging at his lips. he shook his head as if he was replaying the argument in his mind. "she's such a narcissist," he muttered, slouching.

you climbed onto your bed, letting the comforter envelop you. "i just—" he began, "go ahead, i'm listening," you said, as you pulled the covers over your head.

"i need a place to stay tonight," he sighed, his eyes pleading for your sympathy.

you groaned, the reluctance evident in your voice. patrick scoffed from across the room. "what about art?" you suggested, hoping he'd take the hint. "ugh... his roommate's in there. and he's weird," patrick complained, scrunching up his face. "pleaaaase," he begged, his pout almost comical.

"ugh! fine!" you relented, rolling your eyes. "i'll be out first thing in the morning anyway," he promised, pumping a fist in the air. "whatever," you muttered, "no farting, patrick, or i swear—"

he cut you off, running over to your bed and smothering your cheeks with kisses. he then stepped out of his shoes and jeans, pulling your throw blanket from the bed onto the floor. "can i have a pillow?" he asked, half-polite, half-sarcastic.

"i only have two," you replied, eyes closed.

"and you only have one head," he retorted, pulling the pillow from beneath your head. you landed on another you had below it. your eyes snapped open. "i'm regretting my decision already," you gritted, punching his arm.

"shhh," he hushed, squishing your face. you swatted his hand away. he turned off the main light, leaving the moonlight to cast a soft glow over the room.

patrick made a makeshift bed on the floor, the white noise from your small desk fan filling the silence. after a moment, he called out your name, knowing you weren't asleep. "do you wanna cuddle?" he asked.

what . . .

"just get up here, patrick," you said. you heard him immediately shuffle to his feet, grabbing the pillow and blanket from the floor. he crawled over you, snuggling up under your warmth. "we can't tell tashi," he whispered against your neck.

"fucking hell, patrick. close your mouth and go to sleep!"

the next morning, you woke up to an empty bed. on your desk was a hastily scribbled note: "thank you for taking me in." beside it sat a melted, watered-down smoothie, from patrick before he left at 5 a.m. you shook your head, picking up the cup.

"is this even drinkable?" you wondered aloud, throwing your head in exasperation.

You knock on Art’s door, trying to steady your breathing. “Art, it’s me. I need to talk you.”

The door swings open, and Art looks at you with a hint of surprise. “Hey. Sure, come in.”

You step inside, glancing around the room. It’s the same as always, but the atmosphere feels different, colder somehow. Art sits on his bed, motioning for you to take a seat.

“So,” you start, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’ve been feeling like we need to talk. Lately, you’ve been so distant. I don’t know what’s going on.”

Art looks down, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t realize I was being distant. I’ve just been really busy, you know, helping Tashi with her recovery and all.”

You nod, but your heart sinks. “I understand that Tashi’s hurt and needs support. But what about us? I haven’t seen you in weeks. You barely text me anymore, and when we do talk, it feels like you’re somewhere else.”

Art shifts uncomfortably. “It’s not like that. I’ve just been trying to be there for her. She’s been having a tough time, and I want to help.”

You feel a surge of frustration. “I get that you want to help her, but you’re my boyfriend. I thought we were in this together. You can’t just drop everything for someone else.”

Art’s eyes narrow slightly. “I haven’t dropped everything. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“You’re here physically,” you say, your voice cracking with emotion, “but you’re not really present. I feel like I’m fighting for your attention, and I shouldn’t have to.”

Art stands up, walking over to his desk. “Look, I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this. I’m not cheating on you or anything. I’m just trying to help a friend.”

“Help a friend?” You stand up, unable to keep the tears from falling. “Art, be honest. Are you falling in love with her?”

Art freezes, his face a mix of shock and guilt. “What? No, that’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me, Art!” You shout, your voice echoing off the walls. “I see the way you look at her. I see how much time you spend with her. You’re leaving me in the dark, and it hurts. I loved you first. I put everything into this relationship, and now it feels like I’m fighting alone.”

Art runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. “I didn’t realize this was such a big deal. I didn’t think—”

“Didn’t think what?” you interrupt, your voice rising with desperation. “Didn’t think I’d notice? Didn’t think I’d care that you’re neglecting me for someone else?”

He sighs heavily. “I guess I didn’t. I thought it was just a phase. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You shake your head, feeling the weight of his words. “It’s not just a phase for me. I thought we had something real, something worth fighting for. But now I’m not sure if you ever felt the same way.”

Art looks pained, but there’s an underlying resignation in his eyes. “I don’t know what to say. I never meant to lead you on or make you feel this way.”

“You didn’t just make me feel this way,” you say, your voice breaking. “You made me believe in something that wasn’t real. I need to know if there’s still a chance for us, or if I should just let go.”

Art doesn’t say anything for a long moment, his silence heavy with unspoken words. “I don’t know,” he finally admits. “Maybe we need some time apart. To figure things out.”

The pain in your chest feels like a vice. “Time apart? You mean, you want me to wait around while you sort out your feelings for Tashi?”

Art’s expression softens, but there’s a finality in his voice. “I didn’t want it to end like this. I’m sorry, but maybe we’re just not on the same page.”

You nod slowly, tears streaming down your face. “I guess I’ve been fighting for a relationship that was never as strong as I thought.”

The next day, you return to your dorm after class, exhausted from the emotional confrontation with Art last night. As you approach your door, you spot a small bouquet of flowers resting on the floor. Your heart skips a beat, hope and skepticism washing over you.

You kneel down and pick up the bouquet, noticing the card partially sticking out. With trembling fingers, you pull it free and read the scrawled message:

I never meant to hurt you. I love you, I’m sorry.

Your breath catches in your throat. The words seem so out of place after the intensity of last night’s argument. You stare at the bouquet, the flowers bright and cheery in contrast to the storm of emotion you feel inside. The card is simple, and yet, it stirs something deep within you.

A part of you wants to believe that Art’s apology is genuine, that he’s realized what he’s lost and wants to make things right. Another part of you, however, is wary, remembering the hurt and confusion that led to this point.

You sit down on the floor, holding the bouquet close. You feel a pang of longing for the relationship you once cherished and the man who seemed to be everything you wanted. But the ache from the confrontation still lingers.

Just then, your phone buzzes with a message. It’s Art.

“I know it’s a stupid gesture, but I hope it shows how much I regret everything. Can we talk? I really want to fix things.”

You read the message over and over, the words echoing in your mind. You want to respond, to let him know how much his apology means, but you also need to protect yourself from more heartache.

You rise slowly, clutching the bouquet. After a moment of deliberation, you type out a reply:

“Thank you for the flowers and the apology. I need some time to think about everything.”

You hit send, with relief and sadness filling your chest as you walk into your room and place the bouquet on your desk. The flowers are a beautiful gesture, but they don’t erase the hurt or the distance that has grown between you.

“Ouch,” you hissed, pushing back Patrick’s stomach. “That hurts.” Your voice trembled as you groaned in pain. Patrick was struggling to find his rhythm, his movements awkward and inept. He couldn’t get you off. You were trying to relax, but it was an exercise in futility. This was a path you couldn’t keep treading.

“You’re on my hair,” you groaned, shoving his arm away. Frustrated, he pulled himself out of you and stood up abruptly. “Fuck,” he muttered, pacing the room with palpable frustration. You pulled the cover over your naked body. You watched as he pulled on his pants and then his shirt, you felt a sinking sense of defeat.

“Where are you going?” you asked, your voice tinged with despair.

“Look, I’m not going to keep doing this with you if you’re just going to complain the entire time,” he snapped, tugging his shirt over his head.

“Sorry if I’m a little turned off by the fact that your best friend might ask me to be his girlfriend and I’ll have to turn down the sweetest guy I know because I’m in here having sex with you every other weekend,” you retorted, anger rising in your throat. You stood up, throwing on an oversized hoodie to cover your shame.

Patrick chuckled in disbelief as he laced up his tennis shoes. “He might?” he scoffed. “He’s not even your boyfriend, and you’re not his girlfriend, so why is this so hard for you to do?” His face twisted in confusion.

The reality of what you were doing with Patrick every other weekend made your stomach churn, especially since Art treated you with such kindness. Art had even opened up about wanting to take things to the next level, but your selfish, illogical behavior had led you here, in a room with Patrick, who was now yelling at you.

“So I’m just never supposed to be in a relationship?” you asked, exasperation filling your voice as you threw your hands up. “I don’t want to be in my thirties, still sleeping with a guy who can’t commit to anything other than racking up a record for how many girls he can sleep with.” You pushed past him, picking up the clothes you had discarded in the heat of the moment. You furiously stuffed them into the hamper and slid it behind the wardrobe, trying to hide the evidence of your agitation.

He turned to you, his eyes narrowing in anger, and seized your arm with a desperate grip. “I told you I’m not just in this for sex!” His voice was coated with hurt and frustration. “I poured my heart out to you the other night, told you how much I liked you, and you just brushed me off like I was nothing.” He released your arm with a shove.

“You were drunk,” you replied, shaking your head, trying to dismiss the intensity of the moment.

“So because I had a few beers, my feelings don’t matter?” he shot back, his gaze never leaving you as you stripped the bed, replacing the sheets with a fresh set. “Huh?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t bring yourself to engage with him any longer. “What does Art have that I don’t?” he demanded, stepping closer, invading your space.

“Nothing…” you sigh, “he’s just a sweet person,” you began, but he interrupted.

“I can be sweet! You want sweet? I’ll buy you stupid fucking flowers, whatever you want. What else?” he rambled, his voice rising as he waved his hand around. You turned to face him, your expression weary.

“Patrick,” you sighed, sensing the conversation spiraling further out of control. “Tell me,” he insisted, his voice low and strained, trying to hold on to his composure.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, focusing on replacing the pillowcases.

“So, you don’t even know what you like about him? You just know you like him more than me?” he accused, his breath hot on your neck as he moved even closer.

“No one said anything about liking him more than you,” you replied, confused, your face mirroring his bewilderment.

A heavy silence fell between you as you locked eyes. His gaze flitted over your face, searching for something. Finally, he spoke again.

“Choose,” he demanded. “What?” you replied, though you knew exactly what he meant. “Choose. Me or Art,” he repeated, his breathing ragged. His chest heaved with emotion.

A bitter laugh escaped your throat. “No—” you said, waving the silk pillowcase dismissively. “I’m not doing this with you.”

He hesitated for a moment, then grabbed his backpack from the floor. The zippers clinked as he swung it over his shoulder. “Choose,” he said again, his voice breaking. “Or I’m going to Art.” His eyes blinked rapidly, perhaps to hide his hurt or to hold back tears.

You stared at him, trying to gauge his seriousness. The absence of his usual smirk made you realize he wasn’t joking. “You cannot blackmail me into a relationship,” you said, trying to connect with him, but he remained unmoved, waiting for your answer.

“Okay,” He swallowed hard, his lips trembling. You saw his eyebrows knit together, then snap back as he fought to hold back a wave of tears. “It sounds like you’ve already made your choice,” he said, swinging the door open and walking out, desperate for any kind of attention to fill the void. But deep down, he knew he wouldn't find what he truly needed anywhere else, because he only wanted you.

A couple of hours had passed, and you hadn’t received any texts from Patrick, which was unusual. Normally, by now, he would either be apologizing or escalating the argument further. You nervously bit your nail, tapping your phone against your knee, praying he wasn’t over at Art’s dorm pouring his heart out.

As if conjured by your thoughts, your phone buzzed with a ring. It was Art. Quickly, you pressed the green answer button, “Hello?” you answered tentatively. “Hi beautiful,” he greeted warmly through the phone. You closed your eyes with a deep exhale. “Hey,” you replied, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders, “what’s up?” you asked.

“I just got out of practice, heading to my dorm,” he explained, the sound of his shoes scraping against the pavement audible. “I was planning to stop by, but it looks like it’s going to storm, so…” he trailed off, clearing his throat, “I’ll probably come over after it passes,” he reassured you. “I miss you,” he added, his words tugging at your heart. “Yeah, I miss you too,” you replied softly, snuggling into your comforter.

You felt like the most wretched person alive, holding the heart of someone so wonderful, yet unable to stop thinking about Patrick. “Did you hear me?” Art’s voice brought you back, “Sorry, the phone cut out a bit,” you lied, “What did you say?” hiding the fact that your mind had wandered again. “Maybe we can watch a movie later? I’ll bring some snacks,” he suggested cheerfully. You smiled to yourself, “That sounds good.” You agreed, “Okay, I’ll see you later then,” he said, and you both hung up.

Deciding to freshen up before Art arrived, you resolved to rid your room of any traces of Patrick. You began by disposing of the unused condom he never got around to using, stuffing it in your desk, and tidying up the main area. You took a relaxing shower, hoping to clear your mind under the soothing steam.

Dressed in a cute lounge set and spritzing a bit of your favorite perfume, the one Art always complimented, you heard a knock on your door just in time. Putting on your best smile, you swung the door open to find Art standing there.

Flushed cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, his hair disheveled and tears dried on his face. “Art—” you started, but he quickly cut you off. “Tell me he’s lying,” he pleaded, blinking slowly, trying to hold back fresh tears.

He was drenched from the rain pouring outside, but he seemed oblivious to it all. How could he care about anything else when the thing keeping him alive inside was being torn apart?

You gulped, trying to gather yourself. He didn’t want to dance around the issue, so he skipped straight to the point, “Were you…” he began, interrupted by a rush of sobs that made it hard for him to breathe. Each sob shattered your heart further. “Were you sleeping with Patrick?” he managed to ask, tears flowing unchecked.

You stood there, stunned by Art's raw pain and vulnerability. His question hung heavy in the air, echoing in your mind. You wanted to explain, to deny it, to do anything to erase the hurt etched on his face. But you couldn't lie to him anymore.

Taking a deep breath, you met his tear-filled eyes with a mix of guilt and regret. "Art, I…" you began, but your voice faltered. How could you explain the mess you had made, the choices you regretted?

Art's jaw tightened visibly, fists clenching at his sides. "Just tell me," he demanded, his voice trembling with anger and sorrow. "Did you sleep with him?"

You hesitated, unable to meet his gaze directly. "Yes," you admitted quietly, feeling the weight of your confession like a stone in your chest.

His expression hardened, hurt flashing across his features like lightning in a storm. "After everything we talked about? After everything you promised me?" His voice cracked with betrayal and disbelief.

"We never… we weren't exclusive," you tried to explain, your own voice wavering under the weight of his accusation. "I just thought–"

Art turned away abruptly, his shoulders tense with the effort of containing his emotions. "I thought we were on the same page," he muttered, more to himself than to you.

"I care about us," you said softly, tears welling in your eyes. "But I was confused, Art. I didn't know what I wanted."

He spun back towards you, eyes blazing with hurt and anger. "So you decided to sleep with Patrick instead?" he shot back, his voice thick with anguish. “Did that help you figure shit out?”

You swallowed hard, trying to find the words to bridge the growing divide between you. "No, it wasn't like that," you protested, your voice trembling. "I never wanted to hurt you.”

Art shook his head slowly, his features contorted with pain. "You did," he said, his voice a raw whisper. "You hurt me more than I thought possible."

Silence hung heavily in the room, the tension thick and suffocating. Rain pounded against the window, mirroring the storm inside both of you. You watched helplessly as Art turned away again, his steps heavy and deliberate as he moved towards the door.

"Art, please," you pleaded, your voice cracking with emotion. "Let me explain."

He paused, his hand on the doorknob, his back still turned to you. "I don’t want to hear anything else from you," he said quietly, his voice heavy with resignation. "I’m over this.”

"Don't leave," you whispered, feeling desperation clawing at your chest. "Please, don't leave like this."

He turned his head slightly, just enough for you to see the glimmer of tears in his eyes. "Why should I stay?" he asked, his voice breaking. "To let you keep tearing me apart?"

Tears streamed down your face as you stepped closer to him, your heart aching with every word. "I never wanted to hurt you," you repeated, your voice a choked sob. "I was stupid, and I made a mistake. But I care about you so much, Art."

"Then why?" he cried out, spinning around to face you fully. "Why him? Why not just talk to me? Why not trust me?"

"I don't know," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "I was lost. I didn't think."

"You didn't think," he echoed, bitterness lacing his words. "You didn't think about me at all."

He turned back to the door, his hand trembling as he gripped the knob. "You know, I thought you’d be different," he said, his voice so soft it was almost drowned out by the rain. "I thought we were really making it somewhere," he rubbed a hand across his face, “but fuck was I wrong.”

He stormed out into the hallway, slamming the door behind him with such force that it echoed like a thunderclap, reverberating through the empty space and your tormented mind. The sound enveloped your crushing thoughts, amplifying your regret. How could you have let something so precious slip through your fingers?

Your boyfriend had always prided himself on being a good judge of character. He believed in loyalty, honesty, and above all, trust. That's why when he started dating you, he thought he had found someone who shared those values. You had been together for almost a year. But as the months passed, He began to notice subtle changes in your behavior. You were more secretive with your phone, often excusing yourself to take calls in private. Sometimes, when you were out together, you would receive messages that made you smile suspiciously, messages you quickly dismissed as nothing important.

He confronted you gently at first, hoping for an explanation that would assuage his growing suspicions. You brushed off his concerns, reassuring him that he was the only one in your life. Yet, deep down, He couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.

One evening, after weeks of internal struggle, He decided to confront you directly. He sat across from you in the dining hall, the cozy atmosphere suddenly tinged with tension.

"Babe, I need to talk to you about something," He began, his voice steady despite the nervous knot in his stomach.

You looked up from your coffee, eyes meeting his, with an unreadable expression. "Yeah? What’s up?"

"I’ve been noticing some things lately," he started cautiously. "Things that make me question if you've been honest with me."

Your facade cracked for a moment before you composed herself. "What are you talking about?"

"I've seen the messages," He said, his voice tightening with emotion. "The secretive calls, the sudden changes in plans. I want to believe you, but..."

Your eyes flickered with guilt, but you quickly masked it with a defensive glare. "You're overreacting, babe. You're being paranoid."

"I'm not," He insisted, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "Just tell me the truth. Who is it?”

You hesitated, her fingers nervously tapping on the table. "Babe…”

He felt the world tilt beneath him. The admission hit him like a punch to the gut, confirming his worst fears. "How long?" he managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper.

You sighed, avoiding his gaze.

His heart sank. He stood up slowly, his eyes fixed on your face, searching for something—perhaps an explanation that could justify your betrayal. The dining hall buzzed around you, oblivious to the turmoil unfolding at your table.

"I trusted you," He finally said, his voice strained. "I trusted you more than anyone."

You threw your head back, fighting back tears, throat tight with regret.

───

Lying on your bed, your mind raced like a cyclone. How had you managed to mess up again? You despised yourself for letting it come to this. Your boyfriend—no, ex-boyfriend now—would never look at you the same way again. The mere thought brought a fresh wave of tears.

In the dimness of your dorm, You grappled with the weight of your mistakes. You knew nobody was flawless, but you felt you didn't even belong on the spectrum of decency. Guilt gnawed at your insides, twisting your thoughts into knots of remorse.

The relentless knocks on the door echoed through your room like a drumbeat of inevitability.

Knock, knock, knock.

You groaned, burying your face deeper into the pillow, trying to shut out the world and the person on the other side of that door. You knew exactly who it was, but you weren’t ready to confront him, not yet, maybe not ever. He’d ruined your relationship. Your life.

Knock, Knock, Knock, Knock.

Patrick wasn't going to give up easily, you realized, as you reluctantly dragged yourself out of bed. Limbs feeling heavy, weighted down by the consequences of your actions.

You reached the door and took a deep breath before opening it just enough to peek through. There he was, Patrick, his infamous smirk playing across his lips.

"What do you want, Patrick?" Your voice was laced with exhaustion and a hint of defiance. You didn't want to hear his reproach, yet you couldn't turn him away. “You.” he said, trying to push the door a bit more, but you kept your foot at the base.

"Are you trying to play hard to get?" His lips curled, his eyes glinting with playful arrogance. "I'm down for that. I'm into roleplay, you know this."

His gaze bore into you with an intensity that made you catch your breath. It was as if he craved your presence like a meal he hadn't eaten all day. His eyes burned with hunger.

Running your hands through your hair, you chuckled in disbelief. "That's your problem, isn't it?” His smile disappeared almost instantly. “Everything's a game to you. Everything's a fucking joke, right?"

His brows furrowed as he took in your words, unsure of how to respond.

You winced as he remained oblivious to your cues. Rolling your neck, you took a calming breath, reminding yourself to stay composed. "Patrick, my boyfriend just dumped me," you managed to say, to which he nonchalantly replied, "Big deal. Doesn’t he always?" attempting to push the door open once more, looking perplexed. You shot him a look of disbelief. "Okay? shouldn't you be happy? Now we can do whatever we want."

"You're such an asshole," you muttered under your breath, glaring at him with disappointment.

“What’s up your ass today?”

"You! You're the problem. Everywhere I go, you're always there!" You huffed, letting out a bitter chuckle as you argued with your side chick. Deep down, you knew you had no right to be angry with him; you were the one who owed loyalty to someone else. Despite your self-awareness, you were simply a girl nursing a broken heart. Patrick had shown up, using you selfishly for his own pleasure, which only fueled your anger. If he could be selfish, why couldn't you?

"You're everywhere—on the court, in the quad, even on my phone—crying and moaning about your matches that you can't seem to win because," you added air quotes mockingly, "the linesmen are out to get you." Patrick stood silently, unmoved by your outburst. Your frustration only seemed to grow. "Maybe you're just not cut out for it!" You chuckled bitterly. "You're in the dining hall, and now you're in my room, and I can't shake you off!" Pointing accusingly at his chest, you continued arguing. He remained still, his lips pressed into a frown, his eyes fixed firmly on yours.

His eyes flickered across your face, as though grappling for words. Ignoring his hesitation, you moved to slam the door shut, but he countered with a forceful hand against the wood, causing you to stagger back. "Patrick, get out," you warned firmly, but he remained unmoved, your attempt at intimidation falling flat.

"And do you know what the fuck your problem is?" His brows furrowed with genuine concern and anger, pushing you back against your wardrobe. The door slammed shut behind him, shaking the plaques and corkboard on your wall, a sticky note fluttering to the floor.

congrats babe, love you to no end x ᝰ.ᐟ

"It seems like you've got everyone else's problems figured out, but what about yours? Huh?" he taunted. Roles reversed, you remained silent as he spat out his hurtful words. "Your moron boyfriend didn't break up with you because of me," he pointed towards himself, "he did it because you're a selfish, lying, cheating whore." He leaned in, his face inches from yours, causing you to flinch. "So don't you fucking blame me. You had plenty of chances to choose who you wanted to be with, but instead, you wanted to keep fucking us both.”

Patrick had never spoken to you like this before. Not seriously, anyway. Maybe he'd called you a slut while fucking you senseless, but that was the extent of it. Now, the demeaning names he hurled at you were filled with sincerity. It made you wonder if that's all you had ever been to him from the start—someone to keep his dick wet and get a nut off on. “And that’s on you.” he finished.

Feeling like he was gaining the upper hand in the argument, you knew you had to strike back where it would hurt him the most.

"Choose who I wanted to be with?" You laughed in his face, incredulously. "Patrick, you were never even on my radar," you said, tilting your head slightly. "Your tennis is mediocre, you lack ambition, you’re failing most of your classes, and your parents barely acknowledge you because of all the shit you pull. If you don't even matter to your own parents, why would you matter to me?” your tone laced with condescension.

You felt like maybe you were going too far. The slight tingling sensation in the pit of your stomach confirms that you have.

In a fragile moment, Patrick lingered longer than usual after sex. He shared his frustrations about his parents' relentless pressure for him to abandon his dreams of a professional tennis career. You listened attentively, offering words of comfort and affirmation that his choices were valid, urging him to prioritize his own happiness over external expectations. Tenderly, you kissed his cheek, your touch gentle as you traced comforting circles on his arms. Then, unexpectedly, he kissed you back with a tenderness that spoke of vulnerability and connection. In that instant, a shift occurred, where the boundaries between care and desire blurred, hinting at the beginning of something deeper and more profound between you both. The individuals from that faint memory no longer existed in this room.

Patrick's gaze softened, the tension in his brow easing. "I don’t matter?" A distinct tone of hurt in his voice.

“Patrick, the only thing you have going for yourself is your dick.” You spoke bluntly. Your head was pounding from all the back and forth and the crying from earlier. You were tired. "Fuck you," he spat, turning sharply to leave.

“Yeah.” you nodded. With a forceful slam, the door echoed. You immediately buried your face in your hands. This night was utterly unbearable.

───

You sat restlessly through another Women’s Health Association meeting, the drone of chatter and agendas becoming increasingly unbearable with each passing Saturday. Your initial enthusiasm for community service had waned into a muted impatience. As the minutes ticked by, you stole glances at the clock, willing the meeting to end already. Finally, the room began to empty, and you found yourself outside, the burden of obligation momentarily lifted.

Walking through the grounds, you scanned the familiar faces, searching for one in particular. Among a group near the courtyard, you spotted him. He sat beside a wiry, fair-haired boy and a girl with a radiant complexion that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. They were from the tennis team, you remembered. Drawing closer, you greeted Tashi with a small smile, "Hey, Tashi," you began, trying to engage them in conversation. Tashi responded warmly, returning the smile.

"And…?" you asked the blonde-haired boy beside Tashi. He hesitated briefly before replying, "Oh - It's Art." You nodded reflexively, though your mind was preoccupied with Patrick's coldness, casting a shadow over the conversation.

"Uh, Patrick - Can we talk?" you asked tentatively, hoping to bridge the distance that seemed to have grown between you. His reply was swift and cutting, leaving no room for negotiation.

"No."

"Okay," you nodded, your patience wearing thin. "And why not?" you pressed, tapping your nail against the hard plastic of your school ID card. Patrick finally looked up at you, his expression incredulous.

"Are you fucking insane?" he retorted sharply, his tone cutting through the air.

Your frustration simmered beneath the surface. "No, but you could drive me there if you continue to humiliate me in front of everyone," you thought, though you refrained from saying it aloud. "I need to talk to you," you attempted again, but he interrupted you, his voice laced with disdain.

"I'm not fucking you," he scoffed, tilting his head to the side. "Find someone who actually matters to do it," he added, mocking your words from last night.

There was a brief, tense silence as you stood there, squinting at Patrick with frustration. "Should we leave you two alone?" Tashi interjected tentatively, unsure if she should have spoken up. "Patrick, stop being such a fucking dick. Get up and come talk to me," you urged.

"Ooo...kay," Tashi whispered under her breath, eliciting a snicker from Art beside her.

Patrick slammed his apple onto Art’s lunch tray, causing bits of corn to scatter into the air. He stormed off to a quieter corner of the building, leaving you uncertain whether this was progress or a worsening of the situation. "What do you want?" he grumbled, perching on a random milk crate. "Talk," he waved his hand dismissively.

You struggled to find the right words, the truth evading you momentarily. "Well, I wanted to apologize," you began tentatively. Patrick rolled his eyes immediately, his expression hardened.

"-For everything I said last night," you pressed on, despite his silent resistance. His gaze remained fixed on you, skeptical and impatient, as if he wished the conversation would just end.

"I didn’t mean any of it, okay?" you continued, your voice wavering slightly with sincerity. "I was hurting, and you got caught in the crossfire. I wanted you to feel as hurt as I was, and I was being malicious. I was a bitch, and I’m sorry," you confessed earnestly.

His response was a single, noncommittal hum, leaving the weight of uncertainty lingering between you.

"Are you going to say something?" you finally asked, avoiding his gaze. Several moments passed before he began, standing up to pace the ground. "You know," he sighed, running a hand through his hair, you watched his every move, "I really fucking hate you. But what's worse is how much I hate that I actually give a fuck about what you think of me." You swallowed hard, reaching out for his hand, but he pulled away, needing to speak his mind.

"You– Because you listened when no one else did," he confessed, his voice tinged with regret. "That shit about my parents. I trusted you, and you threw it back in my face."

"I know," you whispered, overwhelmed with guilt. "I'm so sorry, Patrick. I do care about you, more than I should. I'm sorry I used you as a punching bag. I... I like you, Patrick. A lot. And I wish I could take back everything I said and start over."

He returned to his seat on the old milk crate, and you knelt in front of him, placing your hands gently on his knees. "Patrick, I want to fix this. I miss you,” you hesitated, “I want you back." you pleaded softly, meeting his eyes with sincerity.

"Don't," he murmured, closing his eyes briefly. "Do you want me?" you asked, your lips inches from his. "Tell me if you don't, and I'll leave you alone."

Your eyes bore into each other's, the intensity of gazes stretching on for what felt like an eternity, filled with unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

Instead of answering, he captured your lips in a sudden kiss, his hands gripping your jaw to deepen the embrace. His tongue danced with yours, moaning between breaths, as he finally confessed, "I do. I want you."

As you pulled away, breaking the kiss, a strand of saliva lingered briefly before snapping. His eyes followed yours as you moved back, a teasing smirk on your lips. "Still not going to fuck me?" you teased gently.

"Shut up," he retorted with a smirk of his own, pulling you into a softer, more tender kiss this time.

You experienced a brief moment of satisfaction, believing you had finally succeeded in doing something right. A pang of remorse following closely behind, realizing it had come at the expense of hurting someone else.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

he’s a huge fan of kissing. he’s gentle. when he sleeps over in your dorm, he’ll wake you up with pecks all over your face and neck. after your matches, he’s waiting right outside the locker room ready to high five you because you’re super sweaty. not that he sees an issue with that. he would love to pick you up and spin you around, chest to chest. he’d drink a bottle of your perspiration if he could. but you don’t allow it because you feel gross when you’re all sweaty and stinky from the match you just played. he loooves to be all over you. physical touch is his love language. it’s one of the things you love most about him. you love how sweet he is to everyone. when he walks you to your afternoon lecture, he holds the door open for every single last one of your classmates. he doesn’t let you lift a finger. he thinks that you deserve to just exist and be pretty and smart and save up your energy for the sweetest make out session he has planned with you after your class is over. he loves PDA, just holding your hand as you walk through the quad, kissing your cheeks and eyelids while you both sit the dining hall. he wishes he could consume you and live in your skin. it’s so cute and teeth rotting that people hate hanging out with either of you if the other is around.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

you had begged tashi duncan to train you for upcoming finals. when your practice came to an end, her boyfriend, patrick and his friend art came to see her. you cracked jokes about being the third and fourth wheel. he told you he felt like this all the time. you joked saying how you should start your own club and leave them out. whenever tashi and patrick would exclude you and art from their plans, you met up with him and just enjoyed each other's company. he’d make sandwiches and bring mini gatorade (your favorite flavor because he remembers the small details) for you both to sit in the quad and just eat and talk all evening until it got dark out. or until tashi or patrick called either of you to hang out after their “date” (which is obviously just them fucking in her dorm).

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

again, his love language is physical touch. he loves to hold you in bed while you read a book or just to fall asleep. you’ll be laying flat on your stomach playing with his new nintendo ds he just bought - he’d just finish showering or something and he’d crawl right on top of you. towel still hanging on his waist and hair dripping water. he’d ask “can we cuddle?” and you don’t think twice about it before rolling over and embracing him. give him a few kisses on the jaw before resting on his chest and breathing him in. your scents like melatonin for each other.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

when you and art hit a year of dating, he wouldn’t shut up about marriage. you’d remind him you’re still so young and he would go, i know, but when we get older! he loves being around you, you go grocery shopping together so you can have snacks; you’d feel like husband and wife. you would both joke about baby names but the ones you actually did like (that he’d suggested) you wrote down on a little sticky note and inserted it into your diary under the page titled: little pieces of art ᥫ᭡

art keeps his dorm clean majority of the time since he’s met you. the most you’ve seen it messy is when patrick is there for the weekend or his week is super busy but he always attempts to at least tidy the room before inviting you over. art cannot cook for shit but neither can you, so your future kids are fucked. but art can make delicious sandwiches if that counts!!

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

art is the most genuine person you know and he hates seeing your eyes tear up even just watching a movie. his heart clenches at the sight. he wouldn’t want to break up with you but things are just getting so crowded in your personal lives between trying to maintain school, work, tennis, and your relationship. you picked up a job at the nearest bookstore to help pay for your school books. you weren’t necessarily as loaded as art was. he offered to help but you just couldn’t accept any handouts. it made you feel weird. you’d be so tired after your shifts or have to go straight from class or practice to work and you never had time for him anymore. a few texts throughout the week but for someone as needy as art, it wasn’t enough. you’d accidentally stand up your dates with him because you’d fall asleep directly after class. he’d be ringing your phone and you’re out like a light. you apologized a million times and he agreed to just reschedule. on your rescheduled date it was a bit of awkward silence and lots of staring into each other's eyes. i feel like we rarely see each other anymore he’d say, tracing circles on the thighs of his jeans. you tried to explain to him how hard you were trying but he just shook his head staring into the distance. attempting to stop his tears from spilling over. the breakup was mutual, with a kiss goodbye. it actually wasn’t a forever goodbye, just for a little while until things made sense again. (You had to be the reason bc he’d NEVER leave you).

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

he wants to get married as soon you both graduate from college. he’s adorable isn’t he? it’s gonna be a no. “okay fine, not yet. but don’t fall in love with anybody else. please.”

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

he wouldn’t be rough with you unless you wanted him to be. 9 times out of 10 he’s very soft with you. his hands melting like butter on your shoulders when you ask him to massage them after matches. he’d run his hands up and down your back which makes you fall asleep almost instantly. he’s very kind with his words. when you’re upset about school or anything really he’s always there with a listening ear, very understanding. brushing the hair out of your face when he can tell your homework is frustrating you. suggests taking breaks which almost always just means a mini make out sesh until you remember you’re in the library and people are judging. you care about what outsiders think but he only has eyes for you, prioritizing your happiness above all else. he loves to kiss.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

his hugs are firm. you never want him to let you go. you love being in his grip. you could be standing in the dining hall line and he’ll wrap his arms around your shoulders while you wait for the line to move. when your matches are over and you’re fully showered, he’d hug you, lifting you off of the ground. when you meet up for dates or just to hang out, he’ll grab at your lower waist and sway you side to side.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

3 months in. you were laying in the grass on the quad next to tashi and patrick, enjoying the nice cool breeze and people watching. it was stanford’s 120th anniversary, so they held a firework show. as the finale was going off, art turned to you, staring into your eyes. i love you. surprisingly, you said it first. but he followed immediately after. he fell in love with you weeks ago but he didn’t wanna freak you out. so he was glad you gave him the green light.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

he gets jealous, not very easily because he trusts you. it’s very rare he’ll act out but you’ll know something’s wrong when he goes completely mute. you’ll ask him if he’s okay, and he’ll respond ‘yup’ popping the p. he’s so sassy. earlier, he saw the guy you were talking to put his hand on your shoulder to whisper something in your ear. what’s the secret? did he have to put his hands on you? again, he trusted you, he just doesn’t trust them. you reassured him that the next time someone does something similar, you’ll kick them in the balls and he cracks a smile. and just like that, you’re back on his good side. he’s never upset for long.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

his kisses are sweet, tender, and so yummy. especially since he quit smoking. he uses a grapefruit flavored chapstick that he found in your desk a while ago and has just been using ever since. did i say you could have that? he just hums in response, sucking your lips in for another kiss.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

he wants two little ones. either a boy and a girl, or two girls. he plans on spoiling them rotten.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

when he spends the night in your room or you sleep in his, he’ll make your bed for you while you shower (or make up his own). it’s actually nice, because he helps pack your bag the night before with your essentials and fills up both of your water bottles. but anyway, he’ll heat up something in the microwave for you both to share until you can make it to the dining hall for breakfast. after about an hour after eating, you both go on a 30 minute run before parting ways for your classes of the day. he misses you all day until he can see your face again :((((

art donaldson: miss u so much already

you: i left 3 mins ago lolll.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

as mentioned before, he’ll help you prepare for the next day. if he sleeps over, he’ll organize your desk while you’re in the shower, you’ll brush your teeth together and do face masks on the weekends. it’s really cute. if he’s not over in your dorm, he’ll send you a cute little text telling you to have a goodnight, or call you while you wind down just to hear your voice before he closes his eyes.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

he’s a pretty shy boy. when you’d first met, he kept the dialogue short to avoid coming off as an annoying yapper (which he totally is) so you did most of the talking. when he gets comfortable, during one of your first few hangouts alone - you asked if he could help with your math assignment and he agreed. you got bored instantly and started asking him a fuck ton of questions about himself. he answers everything without thinking twice. he even accidentally let it slip that he once had a crush on his best friends girlfriend (which he scolded himself for almost immediately after). you just smiled and nodded the whole time trying to watch him save his own ass.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

he’ll be waiting for you after your class and it might run over time a little bit, he’ll grab a seat on the floor in the hall or on the bench outside and just wait for you. draw little doodles of you or your favorite flowers in his sketchbook. if you text him in enough time, he’ll bring you your favorite smoothie. he can’t wait til your class is over so he can kiss your pretty face that he’s missed all day.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

art is very attentive. he knows every step in your skincare routine. he has the order memorized. when you’re done with the first step, he’s already handing you step two. he knows the gum flavor you prefer, your class schedule, your practice schedule, etc. what he doesn’t seem to remember is to put the toilet seat down after he’s done. he’d mumble sorry and then proceed to do it again 30 mins later.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

he took you to the state fair and you both stayed at the ring toss for like an hour. you were so determined you were going to win - you spent $50 for 10 tries. you didn’t even win but while you were in the bathroom, he bribed the man $100 to let him have the huge stuffed penguin that you wanted to win so bad. when you came out you screamed “did you win me this?!” he just went along with it because he adored the smile on your face and the joy in your voice, he loved the thought of him making you the happiest girl ever.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

he treats you like you’re accident prone or something like when you squat down to pick up something that fell underneath the table, he covers the sharp edges to make sure you don’t hit your head. he double checks to make sure your laces are tied on the court and you slide your foot back and remind him, you’re not a child and you can tie your own shoes!!! he just doesn’t want you to hurt yourself. walks you to your dorm if it’s dark. calls you during your early morning runs without him. if you get into it with one of the girls on the team, he doesn’t intervene because you always tell him to stay out of women’s business, but if it involves a guy, he’s on that immediately. he doesn’t even want you engaging in their weird behavior. he argues for you but you’re definitely in the background ad-libbing.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

he tries super hard but tries not to seem suffocating. he fits everything in his life around your schedule. he has a gift for you for any anniversary, 1 month, 1 year, birthdays, etc. he takes you out to celebrate your wins even if that just means getting you a chocolate croissant from your favorite cafe down the street. whatever you want, whenever you want it. anything to keep you happy. he wants to set the bar so high that you’re not looking any other guy's way.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

leaving the toilet seat up, going silent when he’s jealous, stepping out of his clothes in the bathroom and leaving them there in a pile, as much as you love it, he’ll drop everything for you on the spot. you’ll see him with his friends outside and go to greet them. he’ll tell you they’re going to hang out at his friends place and you mention you’re also hanging out, going to the theater with your friend and he’ll say never mind, can I go with you? and you shut it down quickly “no go hang out with your own friends!” and they’d all clown him afterwards.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

he’s chill. he doesn’t really have a style, he wears whatever is clean. his closet is full of stanford merch and you tell him he needs to go shopping but he’ll say “what i’m wearing is just fine, thank you.” see. sassy.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

he literally can’t breathe without you it seems like. you’re his heartbeat. he’s feeling whatever emotion you’re feeling.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

he communicates his affection through small gestures, like holding hands during quiet walks or wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulders when you’re watching a movie together. words aren't always necessary to convey his feelings.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

hates loud chewing of food, but you argue that he does it too - with his gum. defending people when he’s arguing with them ‘why do you do that?’ you just keep it real. tashi called his ball out and he was arguing that she isn’t valid, but she’s right :( it was definitely out.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

sleeps with his mouth open, so he often gets a sore throat lol, his arm draped across your chest or back. legs tangled with yours. has to be touching you in some way to fall asleep when you’re together.

patrick and your relationship was a tale of two worlds. behind closed doors, patrick treated you with a reverence that bordered on adoration. in the sanctuary of your dorm, he held you delicately, kissed away your worries, and whispered promises that melted your heart. your nights were filled with intimate conversations and tender embraces, where the outside world faded into insignificance.

however, outside this private cocoon, patrick struggled. in public, his demeanor toward you shifted noticeably. during a casual lunch with art and tashi in the dining hall, you noticed patrick's distant behavior immediately. instead of the usual affectionate glances and hand-holding, patrick seemed aloof and detached. you tried to reach out, he recoiled, snatching his hand away with a sharpness that stung.

concerned and hurt, you couldn't ignore the stark contrast between patrick's public and private personas any longer. "patrick, is everything okay?" your voice wavered, eyes searching his face for a glimpse of the warmth you knew so well.

patrick's response was defensive, his discomfort palpable. "can we not do this here?" his words came out sharper than intended, drawing puzzled looks from your shared friends.

tashi's sharp intuition didn't miss the tension. "seriously, why are you being such an ass?" she muttered under her breath, shooting a sympathetic glance at you.

the tension at the table thickened as you excused yourself, your heart heavy with disappointment and confusion. patrick hesitated, torn between chasing after you and retreating into his own thoughts. his mind raced with apologies and explanations he couldn't voice, trapped by a fear he couldn't name.

patrick finally stood up to go after you. fortunately for him, you hadn’t gotten very far. jogging up behind you, he gripped at your fingers.

you gently pulled your hand from patrick's grasp, the hurt in your eyes barely concealed.

you locked eyes for a fleeting moment before words found their way between them.

“you have to choose: either you're fully with me, or we're done.” you said, your voice steady but tinged with vulnerability. wasting no time.

patrick swallowed hard, his gaze shifting from your face to the ground. he had recoiled from your touch moments ago in front of their friends, but now, alone with you, he felt the weight of your words pressing on him.

"don't do this to me," he pleaded softly, his voice betraying the turmoil inside him.

you remained silent, your eyes locked onto his, searching for the truth you needed to hear. time stretched between them, each second feeling like an eternity as you both stood on the precipice of a decision neither wanted to make.

"you have five seconds," you finally said, your voice tight with emotion.

patrick's heart pounded in his chest. he knew he had pushed you to this point with his indecision, his fear of commitment. now, faced with losing you, he had to decide.

a tear escaped your eye, a silent testament to the pain you were trying so hard to contain. you scoffed softly, nodding your head almost imperceptibly as you fought to keep your composure.

"okay," you said quietly, your voice breaking slightly as you turned away and walked back to your dorm room.

patrick watched you leave, a wave of regret crashing over him. he wanted to chase after you, to pull you into his arms and beg for forgiveness. but he remained rooted to the spot, grappling with his own fears and insecurities that had driven them to this moment.

days turned into weeks, and the silence between them deepened. patrick immersed himself in tennis and other distractions, trying to bury the ache in his chest. meanwhile, you leaned on tashi for support, trying to make sense of patrick's abrupt change.

months passed, and patrick heard occasional updates about you through art. regret gnawing at him, a constant reminder of what he had let slip away. he couldn't shake the memory of your trusting gaze, the weight of your ultimatum hanging in between.