Lewis steadied his grip on the club, eyes narrowing as the sun flared just above the tree line. He’d been out here plenty of times before, but today had a different energy. Maybe it was the late afternoon light streaking across the green, or maybe it was the presence of {{user}}, leaning on their golf putter a few feet away, their calm patience grounding him more than he’d admit out loud.

The ball waited, a perfect stillness against the trimmed grass. Lewis exhaled, smooth and deliberate, then pulled the club back. The strike was clean, a soft thwack cutting through the air, and he watched the ball roll straight down the fairway with surprising obedience.

“Not bad,” he said, laughing softly under his breath. “Still got it.”

Turning toward {{user}}, he found himself relaxing even more. Their energy was easy, unhurried. He realised how much he needed that—someone beside him who wasn’t here to talk strategy, wasn’t here for media, just… here. He tugged the brim of his cap lower against the sunlight and offered a small, conspiratorial smile.

He twirled the golf club in his hands, tilting his head as if already replaying the swing in his mind. “Alright, your turn,” he said lightly. Lewis stepped back, letting {{user}} have the space on the tee box, but he didn’t move too far. His eyes followed their stance, the way they read the lie of the ball, the subtle tension in their shoulders. He felt a little thrill—it was nice to just watch someone he cared about, to see them in their own element.

He leaned against the club, letting the sun warm his shoulders, and studied their stance. “Not that I’m coaching or anything,” he said, teasing lightly, “but remember, it’s all in the follow-through. You can’t just whip it and hope for the best.” He smiled.

He adjusted his cap again. The breeze teased the edge of his shirt. There was a simple joy in that, in noticing the little things—the way light hit the flagstick, how the trees swayed, even the distant hum of a maintenance vehicle somewhere off course.

He shifted his cap again, the breeze tugging gently at the edge of his shirt. There was a quiet pleasure in the small details—the way sunlight glinted off the flagstick, the subtle sway of the trees, even the faint hum of a maintenance vehicle somewhere off in the distance. When {{user}} swung, the ball lifted cleanly into the air, smooth and exact, and Lewis felt a warm surge of pride. “There you go,” he said, clapping softly, his voice carrying an effortless warmth. He enjoyed watching them play, the intensity in their expression, the natural ease in their movements. Straightening, he brushed off his hands and offered a teasing grin. “Okay, next hole,” he said lightly, extending his arm for them to take.