— Patrick was the farthest thing from perfect. His tennis game needed work, his grades definitely had room for improvement, and even his habits were skewed.

In your eyes, and in your relationship, he was the best thing you could ask for. Sure, he wasn’t a sweet talker, but you didn’t need words to know he loved you with his entire heart.

He wasn’t your average Romeo, he didn’t dress nice and he wasn’t rich (well— he was, loaded, actually. he just refused to rely on his parents wealth). On karaoke nights he always sang off key, but you never had a bad time when you were around him.

You were probably (definitely) his biggest fan. Front row at tennis matches, a big poster board sign with glittery pink words spelling out an encouraging “LET’S HEAR IT FOR PATRICK ZWEIG!”

Patrick won the set by a landslide, bowing to the audience— more specifically the wave where you sit, poster in hand. He tosses his racket to his seat and jogs to you, that cocky smirk on his face.

He pulls you near and presses a kiss to your cheek, like you’re the one who’s just won the game. In his eyes, the only reason he won, is because of his lucky charm in the stands.

“Did you see me out there, baby?”