Chapter Text
“This shit is crazy, they could, like, probably make it into a movie.” Patrick says, his usual smirk peeking at the corner of his lips, toothpaste already making a mess on his chin.
“Get over yourself”, Art laughs, throwing a pillow at his ex-roommate. Somehow, this little moment feels like a glimpse of what they used to be.
“No, but like, seriously. Isn’t this kinda crazy ?” Patrick whispers while getting into the bed, while Art can already feel himself falling asleep.
Art still remembers the day he met Patrick Zweig like it was yesterday. It was his first day of boarding school, and he kept laughing at everything everyone said in an attempt to forget the tears that were forming in his throat. When he was in elementary school, some boys used to make fun of him because of how much of a crier he was. Ever since then, he only allowed himself to cry deep into the night, alone in his room, when he was sure nobody could see or hear him.
Around him, every kid his age seemed so happy, and he felt ashamed to be sad to leave his grandmother when everyone seemed so grown already. It didn’t occur to him that some of these confident boys could use the same technique as him to not let themselves be vulnerable.
When Art savoured the hug his grandma gave him, probably the last one in a long time, he couldn’t help but notice how every other kid seemed kind of embarrassed when their parents clung to them. Art often wished he was oblivious to how different he was from everyone else. His whole life, he had felt more sensitive, more weird, more poor, sometimes. He promised to himself to never let that take over in his new school.
Between all of these emotional families, he noticed a group of people standing out. Two parents and a kid like they were many around, but no embrace or tears. Both the dad and the mom were standing straight, like their spine was metal. The child, who was probably their son, was standing next to them, looking bored, but obviously trying to escape his parents' harsh gaze. Art surprised himself wishing he would never see these cold people again.
He did see them again, not even an hour later. They were in his room, remembering their son to behave and to call once a month. Art thought he could never go more than a week without phoning his grandmother. He hugged her as tight as he could when the other boy bid farewell to his parents.
While Art was still trying to retain his tears, the darked haired boy visibly relaxed when the adults left the room.
“Patrick”, he introduced himself, shaking Art’s hand in a way that felt weirdly grown up for the twelve years old they were.
“Art”, he simply answered, while Patrick was already choosing his bed.
“I ‘m taking top bunk, right Arthur ?”
Art felt his cheeks go red, another habit he had to get rid of. After all of this time, he should have been used to people calling him Arthur.
“Just Art is fine.”
This seemed to spark the other boy's curiosity, as he immediately got down his bed to face Art who was already methodically unpacking his luggage.
“Your name is just Art ?”
“Hm, yeah. Just Art”
“Dude, you’re such a bad liar.”
They were the same age, Art knew it, yet the other boy seemed so intimidating, so grown already, with his confidence and his cheeky smile.
“I’m not going to judge you”, Patrick continued. “If you want, this could prove to you that I’m someone you can trust. It’s good to be able to trust your roommate, isn’t it ?”, he said with a wink that made Art feel like the most important person in the world.
“Yeah, okay.” Art didn’t even know why he agreed. There was something in the other boy’s eyes who made Art want to spill his secrets. “Art is short for Arthemus. Arthemus Accord was my grandma’s favourite actor, so yeah.”
“Well”, Patrick simply said, “I have absolutely no idea who this guy is, but Arthemus is like the most badass name I have ever heard.”
It was at this moment that Art knew that Patrick was special. Art always insisted on being called just Art , because it was always obvious to him that his full name sounded stupid. And he wasn’t wrong, most people laughed when they heard it for the first time. Nobody thought it was cool, and even less badass . But Patrick did.
“Was your grandma the woman who was here ?” Patrick continued “You two seem close. It’s cute.”
That was another thing Art felt so ashamed about; he loved his grandma with all his heart, but he always felt like a child when people noticed how close they were. Patrick saying “cute” didn’t seem condescending, however. It seemed genuine, and somehow almost a little bitter.
“I was never close with my grandparents”, he simply added.
He didn’t seem close to his parents either, Art thought, but he didn’t say anything. He just smiled and replied “I’ll settle for the bottom bunk.”
He immediately knew Patrick would be different from all of the friendships he had before. He was the first one to not make Art really embarrassed about anything, and that definitely meant he was special.
And he was right, Patrick turned out to be the best friend he ever had. Art had friends before, obviously, but never like Patrick. His old friends would never have hugged him after a match, or sometimes used his toothbrush when they didn't find theirs, he would have found that weird. But with Patrick, it was only natural. He wasn’t stupid, he saw how the other boys looked at them ; he saw how they could find it weird that the two boys would prefer each other’s company over everyone else’s at school. He saw how none of the other boys were as worried when their friend was in the infirmary as he was for Patrick, and he saw how none of them left their dorm wearing their roommate’s clothes like Patrick did with his. He thought they just didn’t understand because they didn’t get as lucky as him to have someone like Patrick as their friend. At the same time, he thought he was lucky that they didn’t know about every story, especially the most embarrassing ones, between him and Patrick.
They were fourteen the first time they went out of town for a match, and so the first time they shared a hotel room. Instead of the academy’s bed bunks were two single beds they had pushed together like it was natural. Art would have never admitted it to anyone, but feeling Patrick sleeping next to him made him have the best sleep of his life.
It was also the first time he saw, or maybe noticed, Patrick flirting with a girl. She was a short haired intern from an all girl school who came from the same tournament. He had noticed Patrick lingering next to the court when they went to the locker room to exchange a few words with her, and he had definitely noticed him leaving their lunch table to catch her next to the burger stand. It was only logical that Patrick, as cheeky as he was, would be good with girls. Art didn’t know why it didn’t occur to him before. Watching Patrick talk to her, closer than he should be, his hand close to her arm, was fascinating to Art. He almost understood how the girls could be charmed by Patrick’s shameless audacity. He desperately tried to ignore the feeling in his stomach. Some jealousy, probably. In his years at the academy, he didn’t get even close to talking to a girl, even less flirting with one. He caught himself wondering if Patrick would do the same thing on her as he did on him; hugging her tightly and unexpectedly, ruffling her hair, pinching her cheek. Soon enough the thought seemed ridiculous; Patrick probably had some flirting techniques that weren’t just things he would do with his best friend.
What also felt ridiculous to Art was the nightmare he had that night. He used to have them all of the time when he was little, bad dreams about people abandoning him; about his grandmother passing away or his friends ignoring him, leaving him all alone. Nevertheless, he never had this kind of dream about Patrick. To this day, Patrick had never done anything that could make Art believe he would choose someone else over him.
This night, however, Patrick was in his head. They were back at the dinner they ate prior, only it was also kind of the tennis academy and also his old middle school’s pool. Art was in the water, and from there, he could see Patrick talking with this girl. He didn’t really remember her, so it was more of a blurry fragment of his imagination than a face. Patrick, however, was very recognisable. He was also closer to the girl that he had been in real life, more than nearly touching her. While Art was watching them, he felt something dragging him into the water, like arms pulling at his legs. The more he was getting underwater, the more Patrick was close to the girl. He tried to scream his name but the curly haired boy would only give him quick looks, and then go back to the vague shape of a girl he was talking to. Eventually, when Art was fully being pulled underwater, Patrick looked at him a little longer, before turning around and leaving with the girl.
Suddenly, he felt shaken, someone grabbing at his arms, and he opened his eyes to find Patrick looking directly at him.
“Art ! Art, are you okay ?”
Coming back to his senses, Art shamefully noticed how sweaty he was, and how wet his cheeks were. God, he had been crying about Patrick in his sleep.
“Are you okay ? You were like, almost screaming.”
“What was I saying ?”
A silence interrupted their conversation.
“My name”, Patrick said softly. “Although I guess that wasn’t a wet dream, right ?”
It was stupid, but seeing Patrick crack one of his usual jokes immediately made Art feel better. Like Patrick had pulled him out of the pool.
“It’s fine”, Art said, noticing how Patricks hands were still on his shoulders. “It’s not a big deal, we can go back to sleep.”
“Okay”, Patrick said, figuring that Art wasn’t going to tell him anything more.
The blond boy expected his friend to just turn around and go back to sleep on his side of the beds, but instead, he cautiously dried Art’s cheeks with his thumbs, curled up and took Art into his arms before closing his eyes and whispering a good night .
With Patrick's chest pressed to his side and the curly hair brushing his face, Art thought that most boys would have made fun of him for all of this, but Patrick didn’t. Art quickly fell back into a deep sleep, without pools or hazy girls, weirdly thinking about how nice it would be if they just stayed curled up like this forever.
They never talked about it again. Not the next morning, not the next night. They kept their beds next to each other. The other boys kept giving them suspicious looks. Patrick kept flirting with girls. Art kept watching him from afar. They kept falling asleep in each other’s arms at night.