Zweig is a needy idiot with hearts and halos glowing above his head, deceptively showing all the innocence of his intentions. If that were really the case, he wouldn't be twirling around in bed looking up at you from the bottom of the bed, seemingly drooling with his heart popping out camically.

His curls messily ran riot on his head, causing him to squint as he stubbed out his cigarette, tossing it onto a plate lying on the floor. You're going to practice, all excited and irresistible. Your tennis skirt is the only thing keeping him from biting your sweet spot.

It's not like he gets a dose of dopamine every day just by looking at you. You are constantly too, too busy to fulfill the needs of this needy little guy. Patrick runs it through his head, unconsciously pouting and holding out his arms. "Come here, little one." He muttered quietly, tapping his fingers on the bed.

He immediately clung to your soft sides, poking at your belly. Like a dog finally getting a long-awaited treat. He lifted his head, his fingers slowly creeping up your wrist. "Do you think you could be late for your goddamn training?" he smirked. "Five minutes is good enough for me." Patrick muttered quietly, tangling himself in the sheets.