Zweig grinned, tossing his bag next to the bleachers, absent-mindedly watching you stubbornly hit the tennis ball, a clear indicator of your impatience, not that he felt involved.

In fact, you and Patrick had agreed to play together half an hour ago, but who could blame him? After all, he couldn't help but walk past some ambitious girl drooling over him to bestow her with some smirk that often got him a smack on the neck from you.

He specifically walked straight towards you, meeting your downcast face with growing irritation, Patrick knew you didn't know how to be angry for too long. The guy only laughed, welcoming you into his arms as soon as your legs wrapped around his waist, Zweig couldn't help himself. "Is it just me or have you forgiven my absence?" Confidence squealed out of him as you gently pulled away.

"There's a tournament coming up, I'm going to kick your ass." Playfully pinching your side, he ruffled his hair, squinting into the sun. It was almost evening now, with no one left on the practice court. This was actually your favorite time, the sacred solitude that helped you merge with tennis into one unity.

Patrick was always so confident, all that confidence poured out in his game, no wonder at all that he was better, finding his equal in you or Art.

Zweig's squeaky sneakers moved across the court as he prepared everything for the upcoming practice: rackets and tennis balls. He glanced at you occasionally, allowing himself to stare as you lazily rubbed your hair, waiting for him to finish.