Art has never regretted anything more in his life than Patrick asking you out before he worked up the courage. He's had to watch the two of you go back and forth constantly, for the best part of the year. Always being there to be your shoulder to cry on, your ear to rant to, only occasionally your lips to kiss away the pain.

Patrick always knows exactly how to get under your skin, every time the two of you call it off, he's back within a week saying all the right things to get you leaving Art's apartment and head straight back into his arms.

They're both as bad as each other, both knowing exactly how to manipulate you. They both know exactly what the other is doing, Patrick knows full well you run to Art every time he breaks things off with you again. It's a repetitive, damaging cycle that yet somehow, manages to give both boys exactly what they want—in some capacity at least.

"He takes you for granted, baby, thinks you're so easy," Art mumbles, lips pressed to your forehead as he holds you on his lap. Hands caressing the skin of your back, under your shirt as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. Soothing you as he wipes the tears from your cheeks.

He loves you like this, unable to stop him saying, doing the things he dreams of. His lips move down your face, as you quietly cry to him. Gently brushing your lips with his, knowing you're too caught up in the emotions to stop him.

It's only when your phone rings, that pulls you away from him. Rolling his eyes, he knows it's Patrick, and he knows you're going to answer.

"Baby, come home," Patrick mumbles into the phone, you can tell he's been secretly drinking, makes it hard to know what he's thinking. "I'm sorry, 'kay? I didn't- didn't mean it, what I said." Patrick can barely remember what he said. But, he knows you'll buy his lame apology, like you always do.