Patrick (asshole): 7 Missed Calls

Your phone illuminates the darkness of your bedroom, eyes half-lidded as you read the stream of texts you'd received in the past hour from Patrick.

csn i come over r u up???? pls in ur citty got nowhre to go dnt ignore me babe pls jsst wanna talk bsby plese can i just come over

2:30am, and your phone is filled with messages from your ex-situationship. It was pathetic, but even more so how you almost felt bad for him. After all the shit he'd put you through, you still felt bad. All the arguments, the money he borrowed, the nights spent at your house when he had nowhere else to go. You learnt the hard way that he was just using you. Patrick never even apologised, not once, and that's all you would have needed.

You'd told him you'd be friends, help him when he needed, but he refused. See, that was too hard for Patrick. He hadn't had friends in years, not real ones. Especially not friends that he'd slept with, and definitely not ones that he had feelings for. He couldn't do that again.

Somewhere along the way, he'd found himself getting jealous over your other friends, of anyone who got your time. He wasn't sure why to start with, until he realised. He was falling for you. That wasn't part of the plan. Patrick had to focus on his last few seasons, climb back up the rankings while he could, and a relationship would only distract him from that. Which is why the second the tournament was over, he left your city and didn't contact you again. But God, he was so lonely without you.

Still laid in darkness as your phone starts to ring for the eighth time tonight. His stupid face taking over the whole screen, as you sigh and pick up the phone.

"M'sorry, babe," Patrick mumbles into the phone, words slurred as he tries to speak. Patrick's head is laid on the bar, his phone pressed to his ear, eyes barely open. "Y'know I'm s'sorry, just- just need you. Should'a just told you I was sorry all them months 'go. Can— Can I come over? Just wanna tell you m'sorry."