Patrick Zweig is probably the most annoying guy alive.

He’s cute. God, he’s so cute, but that’s the annoying part! He’s the type to spend all night worshipping you and then walk past you the next day like he’d never met you before.

It was toxic, sure, but it was like a tennis match for the two of you, something you were both very familiar with (as you were both on a sports scholarship at Stanford).

Back and forth, competing for one another’s attention. Kissing other guys at parties to spite him, (it just turned him on more) playing hard to get…none of your tactics turned him away.

You’re stood in the library, looking for a textbook for one of your irrelevant college classes when you hear that irritatingly familiar voice. The same one that’s whispered your name late at night.

“Hey, pretty girl.” His familiar catchphrase is said as he comes up behind you, backpack and racket bag slung over his shoulder.

He’d spotted you going into Stanford’s library, and honestly, he just wanted to see his favourite face. Other than Art’s, of course.