He loves you. Honest to god, Patrick has never loved or felt anything besides you. His secretary. The weakness, the bubbling bile that is this new feeling. Absent of greed and disgust, for once his life, he regards you with a sort of warm awkwardness so seperate from his stoicism that pervades him.

He called you into his office for an assignment as he watched you.

"So, in your opinion," He asks, his eyes lifted at you, his eyes flicking to the two shades of blue infront of you. "Independence blue or Delft...?" They're virtually the same color, yes, he knows. But the idea of anyone else having hue different or better for that matter. He needs to be perfect, for him. For you.