. standing in the way of control

[pat bohannon]

PAT

"It's a phoenix, it's so ugly." Pat remembers seeing the photos, sharing them around his college group chats who shared the same general hatred for the actor. Heart warming at the memories, another question quick to his tongue. "Did you go to college?" So many small parts you picked up from people on first dates, on first meeting...but they'd never been that way. Stassi had appeared in their doorway and within minutes it was like talking to a long last family member, exchanging stories with such efficiency it felt like they'd known her for years. Maybe it was just New York, or maybe it was just her, but it had made the acclimation so much easier. Something that still drew him to her now, the true eye of the storm, currently calm in her own chaos and feeding him compliments he maybe, currently, didn't deserve. "They are. It's nice having parents who understand living in a bar isn't a bad thing all the time." Sharing the same spirit, their kitchen family an extension of their own, something both brothers had aimed to bring to Bodega the moment it opened. Now excited to expand even further, mind caught up on the memory of Edie slyly sipping a whiskey ginger downstairs that had conveniently lacked the alcohol until he feels the cold rush around him, puddled footprints leaving a trail across her floors as his eyes traced her body one more time. Not thinking twice when he followed suite, grabbing one of the towels out of her hand to ruffle at his hair before slinging it around his waist, looking around for his boxers as he waved off any of her hesitancy. "Get in bed, little spoon."

[stassi siminski]

STASSI

She shakes her head. "I was lucky to graduate high school." On account of having a breakdown senior year and constantly saying I was going to kill myself, which made my parents keep me on a short leash. "Where did you go?" She's as hungry for details about his life as he is for hers, somehow knowing him so well making the gaps all the more tantalising to fill. It was so tedious to ask first dates about their siblings, their jobs and their hometowns, but with Pat, she wanted to know what he'd had for breakfast that day, the last time he sneezed, where he preferred to do his grocery shopping. Everything about him fascinated her. "Must be nice," she says, though she shoots him a smile to show that she didn't begrudge him his upbringing, far from. That baby was a lucky one. She wraps herself in a towel, one of the things she invested in and was glad to have done so now as he takes another off her hands. She had a deep affinity for natural fibres, preferring wood and cotton and linen, liking how much they wore with time rather than immediately disintegrating like polyester, or stubbornly sticking around in landfill like other plastics. She follows his eyes, leading him back into the bedroom and stooping to collect his boxers, holding them out for him. "If you're sure." There it was again, that unwavering stability. After brushing her teeth and scrubbing her makeup off, she pulls a large t-shirt over her head and gets back into the bed. With her damp hair seeping into her shirt, she smiles at him in the semi darkness, most of the candles having extinguished themselves. "I'm not a cute sleeper, don't judge me."

[pat bohannon]

PAT

"Uhh, UPenn." He's a little sheepish when he has to continue, scratching the back of his neck. "And then got my MBA at NYU." It was a shameless gateway for quick connections and a job out of college, good at the financial game but hating the corrupt undertones. Being in restaurants had been strangely similar but different - thankful he at least had numbers sense when they were getting off the ground. Now looking at a place that'd turn a profit way quicker than anticipated, half of the luck for that currently weaving her way out of his arms. Pat steps into the boxers she offers him, hands clapping over her cheeks at the second sign of her wavering. "I'm sure, Stass." A quick mimicry of Vegas follows though this time he picks through her things, vanity impossible to search in full before she waves a spare bamboo toothbrush in his face. Wondering if he'd have time, if this was again, temporary, swallowing the doubt as he drags her into his arms under the covers. "And I snore, so. We're even." He laughs quietly, a soft "kidding," under his breath as his eyes flutter shut, almost impossible to open back up as he ghosts another kiss over her shoulder. "Night, Stas." Letting whatever may be the next day, be, for a few hours longer.

[stassi siminski]

STASSI

She grins at his admission. It was no easy feat to square the circle that Pat and Preston had occupied the same space, been to such similar schools and ended up in different teams at the same organisation. Preston was the type to shoehorn his college into any and every conversation, whilst here Pat was, sheepish about what was an objectively impressive resume. "Not just a pretty face," she says, patting the pretty face in question. He's soon to return the gesture, holding her face in his palms, his eyes set on hers. She had searched those eyes many times, looking for a flicker of recognition, of any tiny hint that he felt the same way she did. Before something would always interrupt, he'd look away or she would, but now she can look properly. And there it was, clear as day. She nods. Turning to the bathroom cabinet, she filters through a huge amount of stuff, handing him a toothbrush. The reflection of the two of them, side by side, mouths foaming with toothpaste is so domestic she almost laughs. These were the moments she usually tried to avoid when she had guys back here. Ditto cuddling under the duvet, something she soon found herself doing. She nestles into his body, loving the feel of his arms around her, the scent of her own bath oil on his skin. "Night night, Patrick," she murmurs, already half asleep.