Joey and her new low-slung pants knock on Harley's bedroom door. Patrick leans against the hallway wall and stares at her. Joey yells that Harley is blowing things way out of proportion. Patrick awkwardly and halfheartedly agrees, yelling that this probably isn't the first time he'll incur her wrath. "And I mean that in the best way possible," he adds. He turns to Joey and says that Harley likes it when they fight. "Probably because that's the only form of communication you're capable of," Joey snaps. "I'm capable of other forms. I think," Patrick says. Joey glares at him. Patrick finally admits that Harley is "way smarter" than he is. "I tried the [totally intelligible] thing with her once, and it wasn't pretty," he continues. "I was complimenting her and I felt all sweaty. I was a freaking mess." Joey informs him that, contrary to what he may have heard, "the sweaty palms thing is actually pretty endearing." [Note: It's only endearing if you already have the hots for the sweaty-palmed person. If you don't, then the sweaty palms are just gross.] Patrick shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Then she'll look at Peter Guerin and be smitten with his unavailability and his freakish height and I'll be history. If I keep up with the witty abuse, at least I'll be the funny one," he says. Joey shakes her head. "It is true," she groans, "you guys are all the same." Patrick gives her a long look, and then informs her that she has "some anger." Oh, Patrick. You haven't seen anger yet. Not until you've spent some time in TWoP Towers, especially when we're out of Diet Coke. "You've been hurt. You've lost someone," he says. Joey ignores him and knocks on Harley's door some more. "In case you haven't noticed, so have you," she points out. Patrick shrugs that he never could have held onto a firecracker like Harley, anyway. He thinks he needs "an older woman." He waggles his eyebrows at her suggestively. Joey informs him shortly that it's never going to happen. "Look," she says, "Harley is this great sassy girl who, if she's smart, will never want to speak to you again," she says. Ah, the sassy girl routine. That act has never really worked for me. Not that any act has ever really worked for me. Wow, that was really, really bitter. Wonder where it came from? Anyway.
"You slay me, Joey," Patrick breathes. Joey just stares at him. "The only thing I want to do to you is give you some advice. Walk away, right now," she says, backing him into the wall. "Don't ever mention me again. Go home and strum your guitar, or whatever it is you do, and then dream up some fantastic gesture to get this girl back. And never think that there is one day when you have to stop doing that sort of thing, because that's the worst thing that a guy can do, give up the chase. And Patrick, Patrick, Patrick. Be realistic. If I wasn't such a nice girl, I would have laughed in your face and called you 'junior' the second I met you." Patrick looks vaguely alarmed and asks her why she didn't. "Because you remind me of someone I know," Joey tells him. "Now, get out of here before I remember everything that pissed me off about him when I was your age." She gives him a little shove. "We might never speak again," Patrick squeals, as he stumbles down the hall. "I'm crying on the inside," Joey snarks. "Good-bye, junior."