Art's not stupid. He knows exactly what he's doing when he gives you noncommittal answers when you mention Patrick coming to your Pepperdine match later. He knows he's probably being an ass about the whole thing, but he can't help it.

"I'm not doing anything," he says, his expression schooled while he picks at the salad on his plate. The cafeteria is mostly empty around you both, conversations murmured while you both sip on Gatorade. "I'm just surprised that you guys are still seeing each other. That's all."

Your eyes narrow ever so slightly, and Art knows you know he's being troublesome on purpose. This is Patrick you're talking about— your boyfriend, his best friend— there's no reason he should be rude right now (jealous, even). But the regret of not doing something more to pursue you other than playing for your number and losing it to Patrick. Maybe he would've if it was someone else, anyone else except Patrick Zweig, but it'd been him and Art let his fears scare him into inaction.

He's only half-listening as you press him on Patrick; is he seeing other people on tour? Does he know about anything? Art denies it all, and you go to leave when you grow tired of his bullshit.

He doesn't know why he's like this. Why is beating the bush his go-to with you instead of just telling the truth? "He's not in love with you," Art blurts out a moment later, and he can feel the way his pounding heart skips a beat as you stop.

Patrick's not in love with you, not in the same way he is. That's been clear since the Open with Patrick drawn to your physique and Art to your skill, your personality, your... damn it, your physique too. He won't lie to himself about that.

It seems like he's finally grown a pair because Art doubles down when you insist that you don't need Patrick's love. Right; like he doesn't need air to breathe. This time, he'll say hello instead of goodbye; be honest instead of lying.

"Don't you think you deserve it?" he asks. "I mean, who wouldn't be in love with you?"