You hadn't heard from Patrick since the day he left, three years ago. He disappeared without a trace, no texts, no calls since. Patrick didn't even have the decency to break up with you. Swept up into life post boarding school, and he never looked back.

You watched his match online, the Junior US Open, with no idea the boy on the screen wouldn't be coming back to you. Cheered him on with your friends, with no knowledge of what waited for you. He almost told you through the screen, the second he bowed to the girl in the front row. You should have known from that moment, that Patrick was never coming home to you.

Yet, you waited. For anything, any form of communication from him. But it never came, of course it didn't. You got more out of Art than you did Patrick. That's how you found out, that Patrick had moved on. With the girl from the front row. You wondered if she knew, if Art tried to stop him, if you ever got mentioned, thought of even. Nobody warns you of the fall, of how hard it is to move on with no closure.

The day Tashi got injured, when she and Art cut Patrick off without a word, he knew how badly he'd messed up with you. Barely a year after he'd done the same to you, he was getting his karma. You were the first thought he had in that moment.

Patrick knew he couldn't run back to you, it wouldn't be fair. He knew you'd never let him, too. He'd made his bed, and he had to lay in it. But, God, it damn near killed him— thinking of what he gave up. The life he gave up, only to lose everything he risked it for.

You were the greatest loss of them all.

He spent the next three years learning that, realising how badly he fucked up. Scolding himself for picking anything over you, the person who'd been by his side through all of it. You were only kids when you met, high school sweethearts if you will, but it was deeper than that. He knew that now.

Patrick was back in Florida for a Challenger, and his brain was filled with memories of you. Of MRTA, his time at boarding school. The whole state reminded him of you, of Art, of back when he loved tennis.

His whole world stopped when he read your name, as he walked around the tennis clubs ground. Seeing the name of his lost love, written onto the list of coaches at the club. You'd never left Florida, you'd stayed where he left you. You were coaching, locals and kids at the club. His heart was swelling at the idea, he always thought you'd leave tennis behind after the academy, but you didn't.

And there you were, Patrick's not sure which direction to run in. Toward you, or as far away as he can. But his feet stay planted, watching you help set up the tournament. He can't stop himself from speaking your name, loud enough to get your attention. Your eyes meet his, and he's sure the entire world stopped spinning.

"What're you doing here?" He murmurs, voice almost croaking. He knows, you work here, that's why you're here. He just read it. But he needed to say something, and an apology three years later didn't feel the right note to start on. But you were here, in front of his eyes again. The loss of his life, looking at him again.