Espresso ⋆ Art Donaldson

01. Has it Truly Been that Long?

SEPTEMBER OF 2006
ART.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Damn it. Art thought to himself as he heard the match results get announced through the speakers. He heaved a sigh as he looked up to the bleachers, Tashi clapped as she looked at Patrick like a proud coach before peering towards Art with a nod of sympathy. 

He lowered his head as he went up to the net to shake Patrick's hand. If Patrick was able to break the promise of letting Art win without feeling any empathy for the fact his grandmother and her nursing home friends were probably watching the match and were now pitifully clapping towards their TV screen then Art needs to take a good look at their friendship.

To be fair, Art would've done the same if Tashi Duncan's number was on the line.

He never envied Patrick over anything. He didn't envy Patrick when he was noticeably a better player. He didn't envy Patrick when he was obviously better than him at talking to women. He didn't envy the fact Patrick could lift heavier weights or that his house had a pool with mood lighting. 

Tashi Duncan however was somehow different. Maybe it was seeing her play or seeing her dance that made Art so captivated but it was something about her that made him want to call dibs. He wouldn't however, he respects women. Well, he'd definitely call dibs subconsiously. 

But he certainly doesn't respect the fact Patrick is probably walking up to the stands right now to grab Tashi's number. 

He made his way to his chair on the side of the court, slumping, melting into it as his puddle of self pity formed. He shouldn't act bothered though, he should be happy for them. Right? 

It's been four hours since the tournament and Art since then has spent one of those hours under the showerhead, unethusiastically washing himself up. He promised Patrick two days before that he'd help him move some stuff. His family got his stuff sent to the reception and he needed Art's help to bring the boxes to his dorm. 

Now he walked across the campus with his phone in his hand. 

ART. 
Where R U?

The text was sent ten minutes ago and still no response from Patrick. Oh God, he's probably with Tashi. From his sour mood, he couldn't help but stay solemn and tight-lipped as he continued walking, stuffing his phone into his jumper before slidng both his hands in as well. 

Once he past probably the third lamp post, a buzz vibrates from his phone.

PATRICK.
Sorry! w/ Tashi ;) 

Cringe.

PATRICK.
Can u pls just bring the stuff
to the front of my dorm?
Someone's there to help,
don't worry

Art raised an eyebrow before begrudgingly stuffing the phone back into his hoodie pouch. Now Patrick was blowing him off? For Tashi?

Understandable but also what the hell!?

Looking straight ahead, he can see the commercial lighting behind the windows of the reception and a two boxes next to the desk. Great, no delivery man or moving man to help him with the stuff. Patrick, for fuck's sake. 

The doors slid open once they sensed Art in front of them. He stepped into the apparently empty office and looked over to the boxes. 

There it was, the self pity. Forming again. He took a deep breath as if he'd exhale all his negative energy. Slowly, he dragged his feet towards the desk and grabbed the first box.