"I missed you," Patrick whined, crossing his legs and surveying the items from your suitcase with the distinctive "Stanford" label. He was practically sure you'd gotten too big for your britches and forgotten how the three of you used to splash in puddles and run from your parents. Art sat on the floor, legs stretched out, ruffling his hair as you changed, pulling off your top and pants.

They had so much to tell you. About their first Grand Slam, or how their duo was now the talk of the town and they even made it into a news article! About how Patrick picked up a girl and she conned him. Or how Art still hadn't even kissed anyone. They just needed to be allowed to open their mouths.

You left for Stanford back in high school, leaving them alone. At first, Patrick sulked and didn't even send you letters, while Art secretly did. But he never got a reply.

And now it's not even clear if everything is alright between you? Now there are three of you. But it still feels like you're alone, and they're lost.

Art tilted his head. "So..." Almost baring his teeth, Patrick slapped your butt. "Time to thaw out, cold lady." He grinned impudently, expecting you to hit him as usual.