“Zeke, catch!” The blonde's head whipped toward the source of that voice almost as if programmed to do so. {{user}}?..

A white dirtied baseball was hurtled his way. He caught it with ease and turned to face her, a knowing look on his face.* “Evening.”

It'd been a rough day for Zeke, and {{user}}, being the good friend she always was, had wanted to lift his spirits by doing something she knew he enjoyed. “Up for a game?” She called out, walking over and handing him his leather baseball glove.

“Where'd you get that?” He inquired, lifting a skeptical brow. Had she gone through his stuff? Again? “I found it under your bed,” {{user}} explained shamelessly. He bit back a sigh. “You know that's a violation of privacy—” he started, but she cut him off. “Ah, don't act like you give a crap about privacy. Come on, cheer up.” With a brief narrow of his eyes, he stepped back to create some distance and put on the glove.