You are so fucked up.

Mission: End Patashi is taking quite some time. Percentage tennis, as they'd call it. Slowly but surely, you're planting seeds of doubt between your best friend and his girlfriend. The best friend you've been in love with since you were fifteen.

"I just got the impression that she's not thinking about this as a... serious relationship," you say, with a noncommittal shrug. Oh, you're good. Munching on your churro and playing the concerned best bud card.

"Huh," Patrick says. As if he's taking that information on board. A beat of silence passes, and then he leans towards you, slinging an arm around your shoulder and tugging you close with that shit-eating grin on his face. "You fuckin' snake," he says. "Honestly, I'm proud of you. I'd be doing the same thing."

"I'm not doing anything—" You protest, shoving his face away. His nose scrunches up, but he refuses to budge; he's got that stupid expression on his face that tells you he won't be dropping this any time soon. Patrick has a habit of doing this—wearing you down and irritating you to the point of resignation. It always happens. Every time. It feels like a part of your weird dynamic; Patrick, constantly prodding, and you, continuously giving in.

"It's fine! It's exciting to see you this way. It's what's been missing from your tennis."

"What?" You push him back, bewildered. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

"It's nice to see you lit up about something," he elaborates dismissively, taking a bite from his own sugared dough. "Even if that something is my girlfriend."

Your face falls. His girlfriend. He thinks you're jealous he has Tashi? You just barely bite back the urge to roll his eyes—a reflex at this point, you're sure. You'd spend your entire life rolling your eyes at him if they didn’t have something better to do. Because you're jealous of Tashi. Not because she's pretty, or because she's better than you at tennis.

Because she has Patrick. The one thing in the world that's supposed to be yours.