It was pathetic, really, and you were sure if Art wasn’t completely wasted right now he would be a blushing blabbering mess, but with 2 rounds of shots in him, Art wasn’t even able to get up from his stool at the bar.

It was late, a night perfect for studying for your midterms if it weren’t for the sudden phone call from Art. You guys are on a break- correction, were on a break. You’re not so sure anymore, not now that he’s drunk and practically drooling all over you like a dog that missed its owner.

Which Art was pretty sure that’s how your relationship was anyways, but he’d happily love you like a dog if it meant he could call you his again. After the initial buzz of the alcohol began to fade, all that was left was the yearning for your hold and your smell, your voice cooing in his ear.

He had to make the call, he had to. He didn’t really expect you to show up, but now that you had, he didn’t waste the opportunity to hold you.

“..’m sorry- hiccup.. sorry for being bad. I was a bad boyfriend, i’ll be better.. mm.”

All eager and pawing at your hips, slurring into your ear and whining when you wouldn’t hold him tightly. It had only been a month, but it was obvious that Art hadn’t changed any since the last time you saw him. He still clung to you, because besides tennis you were really his only refuge, the only constant in his life up until now.

Art just wanted to be your baby again, at least for tonight while he had the courage to call you up.