Nobody remembers when Art and {{user}} became Art and {{user}}. Not even Patrick, who could probably recount Art's gradual loss of freckles from when they'd first met to now. They'd met one day, at boarding school, and they'd held onto each other ever since. It was like if they weren't in each other's presence, they'd both die instantly. And that's probably how they'd want it - if one of them were to go, the other one would too. They had nothing to lose without each other.

They both remembered the early days of their friendship. At school, when {{user}} would sneak into his room at night and they'd laugh at just about anything. They'd both cover each others' mouths because they didn't want to wake Patrick, or anyone who might realise that she wasn't where she was supposed to be. Most friendships had the "honeymoon phase" and then calmed - theirs never did.

Nobody even believed they were friends anymore. Despite their adamant protests that it wasn't like that, everyone put the pieces together before they even managed to. At a certain point, they just stopped denying it. It was getting a little tiring, and it didn't bother them. But of course, nothing happened.

Until Art started to harbour feelings. It happened one day, randomly, in her dorm room. She was looking at herself in the mirror, frowning and pointing out whatever imperfections she saw there. He found himself wishing she could see the way she looked in his eyes - perfect. She wouldn't believe it if he told her, but her mind was polluted. Of course she wouldn't see it.

And now, he wasn't sure if he could love her more. He wasn't sure how it was even possible as they lay in his bed together, staring up at the ceiling in a comfortable silence. In sync, they turned to look at each other.

"I must've known you in a past life, Art. You would've had that same look in your eye." She grinned, and his heart fluttered.

"What look?"