He was not a snake. He wasn’t lying when he told you he’d wished you’d dump Patrick. Nor that other time that he kissed you and blamed the alcohol for the morning after. It was the alcohol, but he never regretted anything. Patrick never knew because you didn’t tell him, and why would he? All Art knew was that you both shared a secret now.

After your injury, it was sure you wouldn’t play again. You wanted to coach Patrick, but Patrick didn’t want coaching. So, who else was there to pick up as a backup? Art.

Patrick and you were…complicated. Having called Art last night claiming you needed a ‘hand with something,’ he got the memo, which led to you both tangled in your bed sheets. You briefly admired his sleeping face… for a moment, you thought he was the closest thing to perfection. almost. Reaching out for some clothes and tossing his shirt to his face.

Reaching to remove the garment from his face, he rubs his eyes and turns to look at you with a confused/amused look.

”Is that your ‘new’ way of saying ‘good morning’? Such early hour and already with the violence”