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"Art?"
Silence.
"Art, where are you?"
More silence.
"Art, seriously, where are you? I heard you."
Patrick stood with his hands on his hips, a quizzical look on his face as he examined he and Art's shared room. They'd been bunkmates at the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy since they were twelve, and Art had never not greeted Patrick with a big smile and wave.
Patrick literally heard Art shuffling around the room before he opened the door, so where the hell was he? There weren't many places to hide, so Patrick guessed he'd just have to start looking.
"Art?" He called, checking under his bed.
"Artt??" He drawled, checking under Art's bed.
"Where the hell are you?" He groaned, searching the connected bathroom.
"Arthur Michael Donaldson!" He yelled, standing in the middle of the room.
A short gasp sounded from inside their shared closet, then a small 'Shit!'.
Patrick frowned and walked over to the closet, placing each of his hands on the handles. He paused for a second to listen to the sounds of quiet shuffling of a body and rustling of clothes, then he smirked and yanked the doors open.
"Gotcha!- The fuck?"
Art was curled up in between all the clothes, cradling a tiny ball of fur in his arms. He smiled sheepishly up at Patrick, who looked absolutely bewildered.
"Hey, Pat..." He smiled, shielding the little creature under his arm.
"What is that?" Patrick asked, trying to get a better view from where he stood.
"Don't be mad."
"Art, what the hell is that?"
"Don't be mad!"
"Okay, just tell me what the fuck it is!"
Art shifted with a grunt, lifting himself out of the closet. He moved the furball into his hands and presented it to Patrick like it was Simba-- And it might as well have been Simba, considering the fact that Patrick was now staring right in the eyes of a little orange kitten.
"Are you serious?" Patrick laughed. Despite his shock and bewilderment, he reached a hand up to scratch the kitten on the head. "Where the fuck did you get this thing?"
The kittened meowed, as if to tell the story itself, before Art shushed it and placed his fingers over its little mouth.
"You know where the courtyard connects to the neighborhood out back? Well, I was out there with Jack and we heard a little meow, so we started running along the fence trying to find it. We found this little guy stuck under the fence, so we picked him up and bathed him and made sure he was okay...but I couldn't let him go," Art explained, mindlessly petting the cat's back.
Patrick shook his head, thoroughly amused by the story. "So...what, you're planning on keeping this kitten a secret from the teachers and coaches? What if you get caught?"
Art paused, as if he hadn't considered that.
"Well...I was hoping you'd help me take care of him? I was planning on keeping him until we go home for Thanksgiving, so I can give him to my mom and make sure she'll take care of him."
Patrick huffed. Thanksgiving was...three months away. They were going to have to take care of this kitten and keep him a secret during room checks for three months. It would be difficult...but Art was looking at him like his life would be over if he had to let this kitten go, and he'd never been good at saying no to Art's pretty blue eyes.
"Okay, so what are we gonna name our baby?" Patrick resigned.
"What?" Art said, confused.
"What are we naming it? If it's gonna be our..." He paused, leaning down to examine the cat's underside. "...son, for the next three months, he needs a name."
Art broke out into a big, goofy smile. His eyes lit up, and Patrick would've thought Art's greatest wish came true.
"We can keep him?"
"Only if we can co-parent. I'm gonna get way attached to that thing in the next three months, and I don't think I'll be able to handle it if I don't get to see him ever again."
Art laughed and shrugged. "You're already invited to all my family events. I'll make sure our son attends all of them."
Patrick loved that look in Art's eyes. He always looked like he was having the best day ever, especially when he smiled. Art was beautiful.
"Good. So...what's his name?"
"Bartholomew?"
"No."
"Garfield?"
"..Because he's orange? No."
"Uh...Alan."
"No!"
"Buttons."
"No- Actually, that's...that's actually kinda cute. I like that."
Art smiled even bigger, if that was even possible, and offered Buttons to Patrick. Patrick handled him very gingerly and cradled him to his chest. Buttons meowed in protest for a moment, but he quickly resigned to the warmth.
Patrick always ran hotter than Art, so it made sense that Buttons liked being held by him. Patrick was the fire to Art's ice.
"I love our son," Patrick said wistfully.
"I love him, too," Art shrugged. "Not as much as I love you, though," He said jokingly.
Patrick made a fake gagging noise and carefully shifted Buttons over to one hand so he could punch Art's shoulder.
"You're gross."
"You love it."