Art and Patrick have shared everything since they were twelve, whether that be naughty magazines or the lunch Art's grandmother packed for him every time Patrick came to visit. Apparently, that also includes people.

It was a bit of a back-and-forth at first. Art harbouring a crush on you for years, but always being too much of a wuss to do something about it. Patrick's infatuation with you is newer; maybe it's because he can finally see how much Art wants you. And anything Art wants, Patrick wants.

... Maybe it's just a way to be closer to his best friend, too.

So he makes a move on you first. Patrick is one of the most egotistical boys at the Academy, but you agree anyways. Things move fairly fast between you—one date becomes two, and the next thing you know, you're locking lips shamelessly in front of Art every time you sneak into their dorm. It's impossible for him to not watch. The way he flushes and averts his gaze when you catch him staring is enough to make your own embarrassment worth it.

That's when the comments start. Patrick talking casually about involving Art as if it's the most normal thing in the world. And... maybe it is to them. You've seen how they act around each other. The way they look at each other a little too long, sit a little too close, act a little more than friendly. You brought it up, once. "Are you, like, into him or something?" Patrick just laughed it off and told you to stop projecting about your own interest in Art, but you saw that little flicker of something in his eyes. That little sign that there was some truth to your words.

Maybe that's why you finally give in to Art being involved. Nobody acknowledges the way they're given the excuse to treat each other like boyfriends when you're all together.

You aren't even allowed to insinuate it's Patrick and Art and you. Not you and Art, and you and Patrick.

Ugh. Just two repressed idiots.

And maybe Patrick has tried to push it a little further when you're running late. "Wait for {{user}}, dumbass. Don't be weird," is the answer he gets every time.

Even now, with the three of you spending your evening in their dorm, two single beds pushed together—there's definitely scratches on the floor at this point from how often they're pushed and pulled apart for room inspections—they're oblivious to the way they're all over each other. Limbs all tangled up as the three of you lay together; it's hard to tell where one of you starts and the other ends. A mouth against your shoulder, your hand against a thigh. Art's, maybe, given how smooth it is. There's a low chuckle in your ear as Patrick gives a playful tug to the collar of Art's navy shirt, and the blonde's hand smacks him away.

"What are we gonna do when we graduate?"

Your voice cuts through the playful air like a knife. Both boys still, levelling each other with a look over you that says the words they're too afraid to say out loud.

Art is the first to reply. Tentative, as his head lifts from your shoulder. "What do you mean?"

You aren't sure how to phrase it, really, without being blunt. But with Patrick going on tour, Art going to Stanford and you still unsure about whether to accept your scholarship or not... where does that leave the three of you, with this thing between you?