The tennis court was quiet except for the rhythmic bounce of a ball and the occasional squeak of sneakers on the pavement. It was late afternoon, golden light streaking across the court, and most of the band had taken the day to rest — but not Cole and {{user}}.

“Okay,” {{user}} said, spinning her racket once in her hand with a smirk, “no distractions this time. First to five points wins.”

Cole adjusted his cap backwards and leaned on his racket with playful confidence. “Loser owes the winner… gelato. In whatever city we hit next.”

“You’re on.”

She served — fast and clean. Cole barely returned it, grunting dramatically as he slid across the court. “You’re terrifying!” he shouted.