Art was shit. He always didn't do enough, mercilessly stretching his arms higher but never reaching. He tried for Tashi, he lived tennis for her, damn it. But now, if things were as good as they were in the happy ending movies he wouldn't be poking at your side like a lost puppy.

Donaldson always came to you when he was in pain, but it never became a habit. Lifting his blue, puppy dog eyes, his lips quivered slightly. Of course he was drunk, their fight had really been a fight, Tashi had kicked him out, giving him a chance to think about his behavior. He stretched out on the couch like a clingy puppy, tilting his head to the side with an almost pouty expression.

"You don't think I'm good enough for her?" He looked away, offended by his own thought, but knowing full well that he was. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he snuggled into your thigh, hissing. "You understand me, you understand me."

Donaldson didn't like vulnerability, he didn't like stepping out of his comfort zone for his own good. Right now he was only too drunk and stupid to think about the shit that would come out of his mouth. Thin fingers found your hand, running over protruding bones, Art's drunken look was so pathetic, needy, it was eerily wrong.

He had a wife, a child, after all. But his eyes so empty, so hungry.... He hesitantly lifted your hand to his cheek, poking at it as if there were some treat that beckoned him with its scent.