langdon and mohan who bond over losing robby’s favour after langdon comes back from rehab. it starts with grabbing food after a shift, then it’s discussions about fellowships and advice on applications and before they realise, they’re sending each other podcasts and articles because they think the other would find it interesting. samira doesn’t realise that their friendship is anything out of the ordinary until, one day before a shift, when frank wordlessly passes her coffee order over, she notices the look on robby’s face. she mentions it to frank when texting to confirm if he’s still on for dinner tonight (he’s still stuck charting and samira’s on the bus home), and she takes the time to really think about robby’s expression and how frank coming over for dinner is now apart of their routine but that doesn’t mean anything, right? it’s a friend dinner, a totally normal and platonic Friend Dinner, just out of convenience. it’s only really because frank is so used to cooking for two and samira barely knows how to use her oven, and it’s just so much easier to share the food rather than frank having so many leftovers and samira having to eat another microwave meal, and it’s cost effective and efficient and since when did she start calling him frank and not langdon?
thinking thoughts about abby and frank langdon being highschool sweethearts, and how they've known each other for so much of their lives that they feel like they kinda can't leave each other. abby langdon who stays with frank during rehab and his addiction not because she loves him but because she feels like she has to. because she's known him since they were 16 and they were in the same english class, and because frank took her to prom and wore a tie that matched her dress, and then she got pregnant and frank proposed and suddenly they have two kids together and live in a beautiful house with a fucking dog frank brought home one day that abby isn't really too sure she actually likes and just! how can she leave the man she's known since she was a teenager because now she has a whole life with him and they have two kids, a dog and a literal white picket fence. i think its just that abby and frank gave each other the american dream without realising that neither of them actually want it and they only really did because they just went through the motions of life without thinking about what They really want until they both realise they're unhappy post-rehab
𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ summary: patrick is painfully aware that his best friend is repressed, and all he wants to do is help him out!
𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ w/c: 3.2k
𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ warnings: suggestive, mentions of masturbation/sex (non descrip.), art smokes & pat drinks
𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ a/n: hi! so, this is my first full length challengers fic i've ever posted!! i haven't posted any writing since maybe 2021, so i'm a little nervous ^_^ pls rb/like if you enjoyed, and i hope you like it!! <3
⋆ title from naked in manhattan by chappel
⋆ underage drinking/smoking i think? it's legal in england so i think it's ok <3
⋆ divider from hyuneskkami
⋆ !! not nsfw, but suggestive !
i love the idea of art donaldson who was raised as a devout christian by his sweet grandma. like, he goes church every sunday, he has a silver cross chain he wears everyday, and he’s so deeply embedded into purity culture — he hasn’t even had his first kiss yet.
it’s not something that he’s thought about much, not really. it’s become second nature for art at this point. it’s just how he lives his life — it’s nothing crazy to him, it’s not out of the ordinary. but, sometimes, his mind does wander. he likes to think about what his life would be like if he wasn’t restrained — maybe that’s not the right word, because he loves his religion… right? maybe restricted? either way, he can’t seem to shake away the thoughts of what he could do if he didn’t have something pulling him away from his desires.
art knows it’s not wrong.
everybody has thoughts. it’s natural. and it’s not like he wants to leave religion altogether. it’s just, that, he’d like to try a little something before going back to his normal devoted life. though, his mind wanders in a way that’s a little too unholy for his liking. it’s all soft lips and wet tongues that art can’t get out of his head. but it’s not like he’s going to act on it, right?
he’s less worried about the fact that sometimes he thinks about girls and boys in that way. no, that’s not the problem for him. his grandma’s already given him the “jesus loves everyone” talk (she always been able to see right through him). no, art’s problem is that when he’s shamefully putting a hand down his boxers (his right hand going to cover his mouth), art is, always, without fail, thinking about his best friend. his best friend who sleeps in the bed only a few metres away from him, in the dorm that they’ve shared for five years.
there’s always a dirty feeling that hangs in the air when he’s finished. yes, art feels bad, but he doesn’t regret it, per se. it’s sort of an ashamed feeling that he gets, when he thinks about what patrick would think of him if he ever finds out. so, art makes it his life mission so that he never will. and it works, until it doesn’t.
art’s never been fire, that’s all patrick. he’s ice for a reason. he’s the cooler and calmer one out of the two — the more balanced option.
but that doesn’t matter when art’s off the court. the way he acts when he’s playing tennis completely disappears whenever he’s away from the tennis lawn, especially around patrick. his cool, somewhat cocky demeanour almost immediately fades whenever he’s within walking distance of his best friend. sure, it’s a little pathetic, but it’s patrick. he can’t help himself even if he tried.
art likes to tell himself that patrick doesn’t notice. he likes to think his best friend doesn’t notice the way he gets all shy, and quiet, and how the tips of his ears turn red whenever he’s around the brunet. he likes to think that patrick can’t hear the slight stutter in his voice when he replies, or the way that his smile never seems to die down.
patrick thinks it’s cute, really. endearing, if he’s being nice.
patrick never really understood the whole purity thing art likes to uphold. if he’s being honest, he thinks it’s kinda stupid. why should you abstain from doing something that makes you feel so good?
he’s voiced his opinions to art before. how he thinks art should get it over and done with. art’s already eighteen, and he’s literally going to university in a year – he should’ve had his first kiss already, let alone his first fuck. but all patrick was met with was pink cheeks, and even more flushed ears. if art wasn’t so cute, he would’ve took the piss out of him even more. but patrick decided to keep his mouth shut after that.
well, until one of their last matches of the year.
since they’re both eighteen, the mark rebellato tennis academy allows them to travel to and from any matches they have, alone. and it is something that both boys love taking advantage of.
their doubles match ended around four hours ago, and yet they’re still sitting in the hotel room they were meant to leave ages ago; both celebrating in their own ways. patrick nurses a beer can, sitting on the itchy carpet, and art guiltily smokes a cigarette, his head sticking outside the window. (he is well aware that addiction is a sin, as patrick loves to remind him, but art has come to terms with the fact that he can’t be perfect, but that doesn’t make him feel any less guilty.) art sits on top of his legs on the only armchair in the room, carefully making sure he flicks the ash outside the window.
patrick has long since finished his beer, and chose to rest his eyes upon art hastily trying to finish his cigarette – the blond murmured something about not wanting to sin for long? it didn’t make sense to patrick, i mean, he was still smoking. he doesn’t think god will care about how long it took art to finish the damn smoke.
“you know,” patrick says, lazily leaning back, his palms resting behind his torso on the rough carpet underneath him with his legs splayed out in front of him, “you don’t have to feel so bad.”
art turns around at the sound of his voice, and looks back with a sheepish expression. before he could mumble out a reply, patrick interrupts him, “you could be doing worse,” he shrugs.
art furrows his brows as he stubs out the cigarette on the windowsill, flicking the butt out of the window, “like what?”
“i don’t know,” patrick hums, feigning thought. “what else is a sin?” his eyes widen before he speaks, gleaming in a way that art doesn’t recognise. “jerking yourself off?”
art chokes on his own spit, unable to stutter out a reply. he makes a noise between a scoff and a laugh, “i shouldn’t be doing either,” he mumbles, not meeting patrick’s eyes. he shuffles himself on the arm chair, moving to sit cross-legged. patrick’s eyes rove over art’s legs, though they both remain silent.
“but you have.” patrick responds assuredly, with a raised brow, looking straight at the boy in front of him.
art doesn’t know what to say. he blinks, then scoffs, then makes a weak noise of disagreement. “what?” he asks stupidly, not really wanting patrick to repeat himself, but his defences are up and he’s not sure what to do. he can’t seem to look patrick in the eyes, but he feels the brunet’s gaze on him – unwavering.
patrick laughs. it’s a quiet, breathy laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. “i’ve heard you.” he states. his eyes remain fixed on art’s, watching his reaction like a hawk.
he doesn’t respond.
“you’re not quiet, y’know,” patrick continues, “even when you try to be.” he speaks in a nonchalant tone that make art’s stomach drop. pat stares over at art, with a shit eating grin. he has that look in his eyes art hasn’t seen before and it makes him feel his heart in his throat, like a large lump he can’t seem to swallow down.
art doesn’t know what to say. what the fuck can he say? should he apologise? laugh it off? deny it?
he ends up laughing uncharacteristically, it’s a little awkward and unsure, and he doesn’t meet patrick’s eyes. he’s exceptionally aware of the fact that his cheeks are red and flushed, feeling the heat run all throughout his body. he clears his throat before he speaks, his eyes glued onto the carpet. but then, art finds himself looking at patrick’s legs which are lazily spread on the floor where he sits, and his throat goes dry. he averts his gaze when he feels his mind go hazy and opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out and patrick laughs.
art’s eyes widen at the sound and, honestly, he’s a little offended that patrick is laughing at him — but he doesn’t say anything, already too ashamed at the fact that his pale skin is flushed a pink hue.
patrick tries (read: fails) to bite back his smile, air already escaping his nose in amusement. “c’mon, artie, got nothing to say for yourself?” he teases. “what would your nana say?”
“can we not—“ art’s words come out rushed and it sounds like he’s having a hard time to actually speak, “—talk about my nana when… we’re speaking about… this.”
his words sound foreign on his tongue, from his prolonged silence, and he looks at patrick expectedly, hoping he’d drop the topic completely. but it’s patrick zweig, and he knows that would never happen.
patrick raises his brows with a shit eating grin, “we all do it,” he drawls, in an attempt to soothe art, and lower his defences so he can start talking. so, he can hear what he really wants from art.
“‘s different for you,” art mumbles, his eyes resting on the fat of patrick’s thigh, too flustered to realise that he probably should be looking away.
finally, he speaks, patrick thinks as he bites the inside of his cheek to suppress his excitement.
he doesn’t want to admit the fact that he’s thought about his best friend long before he first heard him masturbating in the bed right next to him; but he’s so close to something, and he doesn’t want to lose his chance. he doesn’t want to admit that he wants to be art’s first, because that’s not what best friends think about… fantasise about… but if art comes to that conclusion himself, he definitely would not be stopping him.
“and why’s that?”
art sighs; it’s deep and heavy, and it almost makes patrick feel bad… almost.
“you… can, y’know? i…” his voice falters ever so slightly as he feels patrick’s eyes move from his torso to settle on his face. “it’s different with me.” he says quietly.
pat hums in a quiet acknowledgment, “but it’s not like you’re fucking anyone, though.” he says in a more sympathetic tone. he didn’t realise how much was going through art’s mind because of a simple wank.
art sucks in a breath at patrick’s bluntness. “i mean, it doesn’t really matter… ‘s all about temptation… and desire and all that other stuff…”
“but you want to?” patrick asks suddenly, and they both feel a shift in the room – a thickness enveloping the stuffy hotel room.
“hmm?” the blond makes a small noise, confused. “i want to…?”
“you know,” pat shrugs, “you wanna fuck someone?” patrick pauses for a moment, before a lazy smile paints his lips, “you wanna get fucked? lose your virginity?”
art’s eyes widen at his best friend’s coarse language. he’s not saying anything that art hasn’t already thought of, but it’s not something art exactly wants to admit. “well…”
“you do.” patrick states simply. he doesn’t need to say anything more. he knows it’s true, and he knows it more than anyone. even art himself.
art remains silent, his fingers moving to play with the threadbare fabric of the armrest of the chair. a nervous habit, to pick things, something that patrick had been telling him to stop for years.
pat, of course notices the tick, and forces himself to stop his relentless questioning. well, for a second, at least. until the words come out too fast, and it’s too late for him to stop them.
“are you really gonna wait ‘til marriage?” pat snorts, his expression somewhere between disbelief and disgust. he doesn’t know how art can do that to himself. if anything, that is the one thing that feels like a sin to patrick.
art shakes his head. he doesn’t know.
“maybe when i go stanford…?”
“you’ve never even kissed someone before, how’re you gonna fuck somebody at stanford?” pat exhales through his nose in amusement in attempts to stifle a laugh. he thinks if art would finish as fast as he does when his hand is in his boxers in the middle of the night.
“i don’t… i don’t know.”
patrick chews on his bottom lip for a second, contemplating whether or not he should say his next words. he thinks fuck it. raising his eyebrows slightly, he breaks the silence with a hesitant, “i could teach you…?”
“what?” the blond immediately asks — he can’t tell if he’s dreaming or not, or if this is just one sick joke. it can’t actually be happening… right?
“y’know… to last…” patrick’s body language remains casual, but as the conversation goes by, his voice increasingly gets more tentative. he still sits as open as ever — his shoulders wide, and his legs wider, but the small fear of rejection eats at him whenever he’s met with art’s nervous silence.
art doesn’t say anything. he swallows, and patrick’s eyes remain on art’s adam’s apple, he clears his throat when he looks away.
“i don’t know, if you wanna do it?” the brunet shrugs dismissively, “we don’t have to fuck, it’s just, y’know, to help ya out.” patrick says the words almost too casually, and they both can’t believe he could do that so easily.
art feels hot. he’s sure it’s noticeable — he can’t imagine it to not be noticeable.
“what?”
“we don’t have to—“ patrick starts quickly, sure that he’s certainly fucked things up now.
then, art almost jumps in his seat. “—no! we, um… i’d like that.”
patrick only gives him a small smile, his eyes raking over art’s flushed expression. “we’ll start slow…” patrick says with a shit eating smirk, unable to contain his excitement. how the fuck has he gone and managed that?
patrick nods his head towards art, who is still on the armchair. he has to stretch his neck to meet the blond’s eyes, but art’s eyes are gleaming, and patrick can’t seem to control his expression, but he sorta kinda doesn’t care. not when art looks like that, sitting right in front of him, like some biblical forbidden fruit. patrick squints his eyes while looking at art, biting his lip to suppress a smile, then looks over to his spread legs, at the meat on his thighs, then slowly back to art, “c’mere, artie.” patrick’s voice is breathy and faint, and art is clinging to every word.
from his seat, art nod’s slowly, almost rigidly — like he can’t really believe what’s happening, because he can’t. he must’ve stayed sat there longer than patrick liked, because patrick’s looks up at him expectedly, with a furrowed brow and a half smirk, “you coming or not?”
“yeah,” art replies way too quickly, in a breathless tone. he scratches the back of his neck, smiling down sheepishly, only now feeling the heat radiating off his own body, “y-yeah,” he repeats, trying to maintain at least a semblance of dignity. he wets his lips, walking slowly to where patrick is sitting, and he stops just where the brunet’s calves rest.
patrick moves quickly, straightening his back and crossing his legs. a lazy smile paints his lips as he looks up at art, he raises his eyebrows — an invitation, “come sit,” he says simply, and it’s enough for the both of them.
art compiles, happily. he sits down on the floor, immediately feeling the itchy carpet on his thighs, his shorts riding up as he sits cross legged, mirroring patrick. but patrick doesn’t mind one bit, he doesn’t even try to hide his delight at the sight of art’s pale, toned flesh.
their knees nudge each others, and they both can’t contain their smiles.
art laughs airly, though there’s a hint of nervousness to it. he looks from patrick’s hazel eyes to his plump, wet lips. a shiver runs down art’s spine, and patrick smirks like he can feel it too.
patrick runs his tongue across his bottom lip, looking straight at art the whole time, “you sure you wanna do this?” he asks, looking down in an almost sheepish manner, but art can see right through him. he’s been best friends with patrick zweig since they both were eleven, art can always tell when pat is just reaching his limit. .
art nods, then hums. patrick can feel it on his skin. “i do.”
the brunet replies with a grin. he doesn’t say anything as he grazes art’s jawline with his thumb, holding onto his chin with a tender touch. art almost immediately leans into the feeling, his eyes fluttering at his best friend’s touch.
“can i kiss you now, artie?” patrick murmurs quietly, his eyes unmoving from the blond’s lips.
art’s lips part slowly, and he breathes out a quiet, “please.”
patrick leans in, his large hand on art’s jaw going to rest at the back his head, his fingers loosely gripping on his blond curls — pulling him in to meet his lips ever so slightly.
patrick kisses like he’s starving — he’s never had any complaints about it before, so he assumes art will like it. and he does.
he starts off slowly, sweetly — he’s not always an animal. but the little sound art makes when patrick bites down on his bottom lip sounds so good that he can’t resist making art do it again. yeah, so what, he’s being a little selfish, and art probably deserves something sweeter for his first kiss, but its patrick and art, fire and ice, this is just how it works. patrick takes whatever art gives him on the court, and it’s only fair that art does the same when their spit mixes and their hands are all over each other.
patrick’s right hand finds it way over to art’s waist, and he almost lets out a moan at how fucking small it is. but he swallows it down, taking all of the air out of art’s lungs instead.
art’s hands remain conservatively on his lap, and patrick would’ve been offended if he didn’t know it was his first time — but, to be honest, he would never really care that much, because it’s art.
there’s a small frown on patrick’s lips when he feels art’s hand on his chest, pushing him away softly. their lips take a minute to unstick, and patrick looks quickly at art to see if he did anything wrong, and when he’s met with a blank stare, he looks slowly down at art’s hand on his chest.
art’s face is even more flushed than usual, his lips pinker and wetter than ever. he looks sheepishly back at patrick, exhaling breathlessly, almost panting. then his head weakly looks down, at his lap, at his shorts, and… oh.
patrick almost laughs, until he realises he’s in the same predicament. he shakes his head, laughing lightly.
art has a guilty expression, “‘m sorry, but i can’t… y’know,” he moves his head to gesture something more, “...not yet.” he finishes quietly.
the brunet nods understandingly, a small, knowing smile paints his lips. one of his hands rest on art’s thigh, safely close to his knees, and he squeezes it comfortingly. “i know,” he hums, the sound reverberating in the quiet of the room. there’s a cheeky smirk on patrick’s lips, “there’s always next time.”
i can’t stop thinking about santos and langdon. they’re both a mirror of each other and i think it’s hard to be a fan of either of them but hate the other. like they come as a pair, biological twins if you will
idk i think it’s something about trinity having so much care and genuine concern for others but she hides it in an attempt to make herself look stronger. imo i don’t think she wants to look weak. i think as a woman in general there’s always going to be the feeling that you have to prove yourself, especially in such a competitive field like medicine. i think her past also haunts her - losing a friend to addiction, possibly being sa’d? like she has to show she is strong — a defence mechanism but i also think it’s a shield. fake it til you make it yk?
santos knows what it’s like to lose someone to addiction and even if she wasn’t hundred percent sure langdon was using she couldn’t let him slip thought the cracks. despite the fact that she imploded his entire life in one day she also saved it.
and not to mention, santos literally puts her entire job and reputation on fhe line to report langdon. not only that, it’s her FIRST day as an INTERN and langdons basically her supervisor?? yet she still does the right thing instead of brushing it all under the rug, because she is well aware that he is universally liked in the hospital and has many people that will back him. trinity does this out the of the goodness of her heart, out of fear of what will happen if she doesn’t say anything about his addiction. about what will happen to his life if she stays silent. i don’t think she tells robby bc she’s pissed at him or because she hates langdon, she does it to save his life.
& santos and langdon are basically the same person. they’re hot, talented, sarcastic, incredibly smart with a massive ego — but they both also see the worse traits of themselves in each other. langdon sees that trinity is impulsive, she acts without thinking, and trinity sees that frank is arrogant and rude. but these are shared traits, they just hate seeing what they hate about themselves into another person, which is why they clash.
mrta era up to 2007 i feel like patrick’s in his repressed bisexual era. like, it’s the 2000s and going to a boarding school, i’m sure there’s a lot of repressed homosexuals but, like, it’s definitely not an open thing. and patrick has a reputation to uphold. so, he doesn’t experiment, not yet. but, that doesn’t stop him from looking.
in the hotel room scene, when tashi asks if him and art have done anything, he looks away and sighs — that, to me, is regret. regret that they haven’t done anything. regretting the fact that he missed that opportunity. i do truly think that both art and patrick pined over each other in mrta days, but they were both too shy and repressed to do anything about it. other than distant, yearny looks from across the room.
i’d like to think that something happened between art and patrick after tashi leaves the hotel room, just because. but i think, if it does, it gives patrick a taste of what he’s missing. but he keeps that in the back of his mind, because, well, tashi duncan said she’ll give one of them her number!!
i feel like the first time patrick really first got in touch with his sexuality is post-tashi’s-injury. him being (forcibly) art and tashi-less, forced him to meet new people, and consequently, try new things out. i also think that with art and tashi not being with him, lifts a weight of his shoulders. like a newfound confidence — like, there’s not a sense of scrutiny or criticism from anything that he does anymore. that being said, it’s not like he doesn’t miss them.
now, 2019 patrick, is much more confident in his sexuality. i feel like this was portrayed beautifully by luca guadagnino when patrick eats the banana and stares art down. but, also, the tinder/dating app showing both men and women — which, could just be because this man is broke + homeless and just desperately needed a place to stay, but!! he is not opposed to getting dicked down.
i also think the sauna scene shows the difference between art and patrick’s sexuality. i saw a post on here that said that the way each of their towels are wrapped around their body acts as a metaphor for their sexuality. like, patrick’s towel is loose and barely there, showing that he’s comfortable and unashamed in his bisexuality. but with art, it’s tightly wrapped around, and he still wears his wedding band, though the heat would make the metal tighten around his finger. now, this could be a simple act of devotion to tashi, but, maybe a desperate way to hold on to any semblance of heterosexuality he has? idk! but it definitely reflects his internalised biphobia and repression.
ummm this went longer than expected but like !! <3
art donaldson who didn’t really explore his sexuality until post 2019 new rochelle challenger.
like sure, he and tashi had tried some things in the bedroom, but he hadn’t really experimented with men since his and patrick’s hotel room kiss.
but post new rochelle, patrick and art have a talk. a proper sit down. i imagine it to be in some empty car park and they’re sitting on a bench in the night with some beers and cigarettes; patrick’s fuck ass car parked on a side road, and they just catch up.
we know patrick did his fair share of sleeping around for a place to stay in the night, and from seeing that his tinder is set on both men and women, i think it’s safe to assume that patrick’s pretty comfortable in his sexuality — at least, post war (ie. tashi’s injury). but they talk. about everything under the sun — tashi, lily, tennis and themselves. what they missed since the last time they really spoke. more specifically, what art’s missed out on.
i think art would be a little flustered at first as patrick speaks about his endeavours. he’s still sorta in denial about his sexuality. sure, he likes it when tashi pegs him, but like that’s his wife! so, it doesn’t mean that he’s queer… right…
but when patrick speaks about the guys he’s been with in the past, and how he’s made them feel, or even worse, how they’ve made him feel… art gets a weird feeling in his stomach. but it’s not jealousy. why would art be jealous? he brushes it aside and tells himself it’s just because patrick’s being gross and crude and disgusting, and he couldn’t care less about patrick getting fucked by some random guy.
patrick expects art to tell his own stories when he’s finished but he’s met with silence as he awkwardly takes a drag of his cigarette (he makes a mental note to remember to change his top before he goes home, because tashi would crucify him if she found out that he’s smoking again.) art laughs, the small, awkward, dry laugh he always does when he doesn’t know what to say.
patrick looks at him with a quirked brow. “you’re kidding,” he drawls. art just blushes. he takes another drag. he moves his head to the side as he blows the smoke out; and there’s a weird feeling in his chest when he does, because, he knows that ten or so years ago he would’ve purposely blowed his cigarette smoke in patrick’s face just to piss him off.
art looks at the empty road in front of him, not meeting patrick eyes as he speaks. “i couldn’t bring myself to do anything.”
patrick turns his body to face art on the uncomfortable metal bench. he’s intrigued, he looks at art curiously with furrowed brows and pursed lips. it’s the first time patrick has been silent this whole night.
art bites the inside of his cheek before he speaks. “not if it wasn’t you,” he says quietly. “i couldn’t do anything… like that if it wasn’t with you.”
𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚
a/n? of sorts: so i wrote this in one sitting and it turned out to be a little bit longer than i expected but it’s just something that was blurting out of my brain so apologies if this is a bit shit ! ummm i do want to start posting my writing on tumblr eventually but i guess ill start with this bc it isn’t that serious and it was more just a thought i had based on this post by @thebisexualwreckoning
challengers au where, during college, when patrick and tashi are dating, art gets himself a boyfriend and pat is soooo not jealous. art and tashi know exactly what they want but they want patrick to realise it’s exactly what he wants too and poor arts bf who just has to deal with the fact that his bfs best friend is expeditiously down bad and jealous for him
just a little thought about art and patrick after tashi leaves the hotel room <3
𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚
"i thought you were going to tell her about the other time," art says quietly, his face pressed against the pillow, muffling his voice. he doesn't know what possessed him to say that, or why he did. maybe it was because that under the covers, there's a feeling that he's not facing patrick head on — almost as if he's shielded. despite the fact that their beds are pushed together and they're sharing the same sheets.
"which time?"
patrick's question hangs in the air. art doesn't respond because he's not sure himself.
patrick hears art sigh behind him, and he bites his tongue. he doesn't dare turn around to face art.
neither of them speak, because, frankly, they don't know what to say. though, they're both as awake as each other — the only sound in the room being their deep breaths reverberating in the air.
