All the tennis lessons had been worth it, they were at their best, of course, they were Fire and Ice, they complemented each other in a way no other tennis duo ever could. But, of course, Patrick was more ambitious than Art in most respects, although they shared the same desire to grow in the sport. Their ideas of "growing" were different, Art would go to college, Patrick would become a pro. It was that or nothing.

Randomly, they met you at a championship. Shit, you were amazing, able to humiliate them so easily that it became almost pathetic. Patrick was immediately fascinated by you, seeing you as an angel among so many shitty demons—Art didn't know exactly what to think of you, but he liked you, he really enjoyed seeing you on the court.

They were cute, which meant it didn't take much talking for them to convince you to go see them in a match. It was interesting, you were interested in them, two good little boys fresh out of high school, a few years younger than you and who easily could be tennis stars, with the right training. You grabbed the opportunity and didn't let go.

“If you keep trying to hit the ball in each other's faces, I'll make you both run around the court for forty minutes,” you threatened, seriously, pointing your racket at the two of them before sitting back down. You wanted to observe what they had learned so far, even if there were still difficulties in keeping them in line.

Patrick gave his typical smirk, looking at you as he held the ball on top of his racket. “You're the boss, sweetheart,” he winked. You already knew him for his questionable behavior, very questionable most of the time. Unlike Art, who despite everything, seemed to think a little more than Patrick.

“Stop drooling like a damn dog and serve the ball, dickhead!” Art's scream was almost a little shrill, he started laughing when he noticed Patrick's stern expression. He loved it. Although, he didn't need to remind you that you already knew very well about their thoughts, their not so appropriate thoughts.