Four years since you last saw Art.

Four years of time between you tonight when you spotted him at the hotel bar, looking like a ghost of the boy you knew your freshman year.

Four years since he told you it would never work out between you, because he was in love with someone else.

Now, it seemed like that love was making him sick.

You got back late from the venue, an afternoon game followed by footage review until God knows when.

But when you did come back in, despite feeling dead on your feet, the sight of Art, alone, woke you right back up.

The feelings had flip-flopped over the years. You wanted him dead. You wanted him in your bed. No real conclusion had been reached yet.

There was still the sting of the night he told you it was over, how he was still in love with a girl that had a boyfriend.

But at the same time, you never did meet anyone like Art again.

So here you were, ignoring your aching muscles, sitting at the bar with the boy you once knew.

He wasn't drunk, he wouldn't be during an Open, but it seemed his tongue was loose anyway.

He told you everything you hadn't known while you dated him, and everything you didn't know from then until now. All about Tashi, all about Patrick, all about how an hour ago, he caught them leaving the hotel together without a trace.

He knew what was going on, and now so did you. As sad as you were for him... it felt oddly poetic. And if he would ever be susceptible to your words again, now was the time.

He dragged a hand over his face, rubbing his cheek in rough circles. "I can't just go up there and wait for her. Can I?"