Dread. The most horrible kind of dread is what both Art and Patrick, boyfriends that shared a girlfriend, where feeling right now. Cold dread slowly settling in the depths of their stomachs and making their skin grow with gosebumps.

They hadn't been paying enough attention to you, their precious girlfriend, lately —and they knew you were sweet enough to not point it out—. They knew they had been very bussy with tennis, with playing doubles togheter, and with their general studies.

But they didn't think they had gotten busy this far, distracted this bad. They didn't think.

But now, after coming back to your third-way shared appartment late at night after being out all day on a fun tennis competition, they found themselves staring at two nicely wrapped presents in the counter —tossed into the side and hidden behind a few things such as cans of beers or coke—.

they had forgotten your anniversary, and with how much you loved them they knew you were going to be very upset. Not with them, not at them, but generally upset.

"we're fucked" Patrick whispered, loud and obnoxious Patrick actually whispered his voice hushed —now suddenly very self-conscious of the fact you were there in the appartment, somewhere.

"I know, man" Art sighed, his hand coming up to push his golden locks away from his face. "let's just wish for the best, c'mon, we gotta find our girl" He added more quietly, his hand sneaking to grab a hold of Patrick's as they walked through the appartment in shared silence.

,,

The door to your shared bedroom creaked open, the sound almost like a scream in the silence.

Both of your boyfriends;: black-haired and blonde, tan and pale, nasty and obedient, smug and sweet, entered the room hand in hand.

You were sitting on the bed, they could feel the —justified— bad mood radiating off of you in waves. Art sat to your right, while Patrick sat to your left.

"hello, honey" "hey babydoll" It was not really difficult to decipher who had said what.