While Stanford's bleachers are full and its crowds of fans are forming, Patrick is nowhere to be found amongst the ranks of students and alumni galore. The last text you'd gotten from him was hours ago saying he was on his way, but now that you're warming up for your first set you can't help the erratic thumping of your heart in your chest.

Crap. This is a big day for you, and Patrick said he'd be able to steal away from tour for a bit and come. It's not every day that you get a chance to play NYU, and you'd been counting on your boyfriend to be there and watch you win. Even Art's here— bless his heart— and glancing up at him in the stands yields no answers when the blond just shrugs. A quick nod is sent back his way before continuing with your stretches, your heart beating quickly as you stress. Damnit, Patrick, where are you?—

"WHOOOOO!" You don't even have to look up from the court to know it's Patrick, and the largest wave of relief washes over you like the waves at the beach. He's stolen a megaphone it seems, judging by the feedback noises coming from across the way while Pat wrestles it out of some unsuspecting student body member's hands. "Go {{user}}!" Patrick shouts into the device, and you can't help but laugh while you watch him make an utter fool of himself.

Patrick whoops again into the mic before placing it against his chest, his trademark smirk on his lips as it broadcasts the boom-boom-boom-boom of his heart for all to hear. While small— and probably annoying— to others, the gesture means the absolute world to you. God, you love him, even if he's always late. Patrick sends you one last grin before fleeing to the stands to join Art right as the announcers call for the match to begin.

If there's one thing about Patrick that you can count on, it's him being there when it matters (even if it's right at the last second). You win in the final set, and he hoists you into his arms in some picturesque display that makes the front page of The Daily. How's that for your big day?