It wasn't a big surprise that Patrick's parents disapproved of your situation.

Hell, you'd tried to soften the blow by meeting them just him and you, not a mention of Art. But they were never very happy with you being the choice for their son, and when the three of you got caught being a little too friendly in the pool house that summer, Patrick was taken away for a while.

You and Art got small details when he could check in, but it was never anything good. But you waited.

It was months before you actually saw Patrick again. He looked tired, bags under his eyes and the sleeves of his sweater tucked into his palms. You slipped him a piece of paper at some point, somehow neither of his parents saw it happen.

That's the only thing that gave you two hope for the next week. The knowledge that now he had your new address. A place all your own, just for the three of you. Home.

So you bode your time. You argued over how careful you should be with him when he eventually showed up, or if you should be careful at all.

"He's going to be scared."

"He'll be more scared if you start acting like a freak!"

You knew it didn't really matter. The second he actually knocked, neither of you would be able to act according to a plan.

It was a normal morning when it happened, you'd both woken up from warm sheets and bright sun and gathered yourselves up to make some breakfast. A slow morning, the kind Patrick loved, where you stayed in pajamas and fluffy hair and gave quick, affectionate kisses that made your stomach flutter in a familiar way.

The knock was quiet, you almost thought you imagined it. But you opened the door anyway, and when you actually saw him there with a duffel over his shoulder, it felt like the wind had been knocked out of you.

So Art spoke, better than you imagined he would have been able to when this time came. From the kitchen, he called out to the boy you'd both been waiting for. "You're just in time, come make your tea and your toast."

And he was. Your Patrick had come home just in time.