Chapter Text
Patrick Zweig certainly didn't expect to be back so soon. But what else could he have done? He missed the Duncanator, his beautiful girlfriend, who he hadn't seen for almost two weeks now.
That didn't stop them from texting when they had the chance to though, usually updating the other on tennis. Whenever Patrick had the chance to, he'd lie down on his motel bed and picture Tashi in her tennis whites, racing across the court, braid whipping and skirt flowing and-
Okay, maybe he got a little bit distracted, but how could he not? It's not like he could watch her matches or see her play or practice. Art only ever got that luxury nowadays.
Everyone on tour knew that Patrick and Tashi were together. Patrick had made that a point of conversation in changing rooms, in training, and at the breakfast table in their hotel. Every guy on the circuit with Patrick was jealous, envious or stunned, whether they admitted it or not. He could see it plainly on their faces, when he grinned with a new message from Her, his gorgeous, fit, sharp girlfriend, but also her phenomenal tennis ability. No one had burned this hot since the William’s sisters. Sometimes they questioned if she was perhaps related to them, if that's what the connection, the answer to the equation, was.
Everyone knew who Tashi Duncan was. Her, along with Anna Mueller, were two of the highest rising junior stars in the American tour circuit, and Patrick Zweig was the one dating her, much to the bafflement and envy of everyone on tour with him. And there was no one prouder of her than Patrick. Well, except her father.
Of course Patrick was proud of her. Of course he was. She was crushing the competition, she was honing in her talent every single day, but she was still playing at Stanford.
“You're wasting your potential Tashi. You'd wipe the floor with all of them, especially that Anna Mueller," He'd said to her one night on the phone in the bathroom of his shared motel room, his coach on the other bed, twirling the hem of his shirt between his fingers. “Come play pro with me. Actually have a chance at going pro now, while you're top of the junior charts.”
On the other end of the line, Tashi sighed deeply.
“Patrick, if tennis doesn't work out, I need a backup option. Unlike you, I don't mindlessly rush into shit. I can’t only be good at hitting a ball with a racket, you know.”
“Oh c'mon, don't sell yourself short. You're good at a lot of things baby. A lotta things” Patrick grinned.
“God, you're disgusting, you know that?”
“Hey, I'm just telling you the truth. You could fucking crush anyone, babe. Anyone. That's why you should go pro. You’ll be the women’s world number one in no fucking time.”
“Im being an adult. You know what that is, smartass?”
Patrick chuckled. Thank god she didn't get any less sarcastic.
“How’s Art?”
“Why don't you ask him yourself?”
“I was just asking. Don't get your panties in a twist.”
Tashi half scoffed, half snorted over the phone. “He's fine. Good. playing good.”
Patrick grinned widely. “Yeah, he told me. Good. Can't have him slacking while I'm away, can i?”
Another snort, this time louder. “Pat, he's not a child. I think he'll survive without you. He’ll just mope around me like a little puppy all term.”
Patrick muffled his laugh under his rough hand. “Yeah, you take good care of him for me, got it? And think about what I said.”
“Patrick, I already said-”
“Just think about it. Imagine us playing mixed doubles together. Fucking magic baby.”
Tashi sighed deeply again.
“Good luck for tomorrow. Don't fuck it up.”
“Yes ma'am."
Later that night, as Patrick stared up at the white popcorn ceiling, the fan whirring in the corner, he replayed the conversation over and over again as he tried to sleep.
He’d meant it.
Tashi was way too good for even Stanford, she deserved to play pro, to make it to the women's number one before she even turned twenty. Patrick fully believed that she could do it. Everyone did, whether they said it or not.
Art and Patrick knew, from the moment they watched her play together, that she could, and that she should.
But she was being smart, as much as Patrick didn't want to admit it.
She was doing the “responsible” thing, and setting up a future outside of tennis, and he couldn't change her mind, just as much as he wouldn't change his own mind about going pro. That's what he loved so much about her, about them. The constant push and pull, biting, sarcastic quips and remarks that edged on brutal.
But all of that was water under the bridge for Patrick, as he stepped foot on Stanford soil.
He hadn't texted Tashi or Art about visiting them. He thought it'd be a nice surprise, him rocking up when he finally had a few days gap in between training and tournaments, and as much as he wanted to go see his girlfriend first, he just had to see Art first.
Strolling up to the indoor tennis courts, Patrick peeked his head in and opened the doors wide, with all of his luggage still slung onto his shoulders with the most lopsided grin he could possibly manage.
Art was talking with his fellow players, his back to Patrick. Almost immediately they turned and looked at him. So did Art, his jaw turning slack, and his mismatched eyes widened, a smile of disbelief and joy then gracing his lips as soon as his best friend took off his obnoxious sunglasses and opened his arms.
Oh, he was the biggest dickhead ever, but Art couldn't help but grin and run up to Patrick.
“When were you gonna fucking tell me you were back dickhead?” The blonde said, holding onto Patrick tightly and grinning into his shoulder once the shock had coursed through him.
“I thought you'd be happy to see me. Guess not huh?” God, he was so insufferable. But Art’s grin only widened.
“Shut the fuck up,” he sighed.
Great.
Patrick hugged him back tightly.
“Good to see you too.” Patrick grinned into the blonde's neck before releasing him reluctantly, pulling back to really look at his face.
Art hadn't changed that much. His hair was still longish, curly and just an inch away from flopping into his blue and brown eyes. His smile was still wonky, his sharp molars still peeking out like they have done for years. He was in his Stanford tennis team uniform, white shirt and backwards backwards. Patrick just had to wrench it off his head and hold it high above his own, just to see Art's eyebrows furrow in friendly competition.
“Stop playing around! Give it back Pat!”
“Uh uh uh. You gotta take it from me. C'mon, you can do it, or can't you?” Patrick goaded until he saw the flash of challenge in Art’s eyes.
“You're such a fucking asshole!” Art’s laugh echoed as he futilely tried to grab his hat off of Patrick.
“You fucking love it, Donaldson,” Patrick grinned while art took the hat and secured it back on his head, a blonde tuft sticking out of the snapback.
“What? You haven't seen Tashi yet? Dude, why?”
“I'm seeing her after lunch don't worry. I know that's the first thing you'd do, go running to her.”
“Pat, quit it with that shit. I don't have a crush on Tashi. I'm just wondering why you didn't go to your girlfriend immediately, that's all,” Art said through a mouthful of burger.
Patrick stole a fry from the blonde's plate.
“You don't have to act all noble. I know you do. I don't care. Who wouldn't wanna date Tash?” He scoffed and snorted, not bothering to close his mouth as he wiped the ketchup covered corner of his mouth.
His grin didn't leave his face even as Art punched him in the shoulder. Oh this was fun. This is what he'd been missing. The easy banter between the two men, that had been natural and effortless for them since they'd first become friends six years ago.
Six years already?
It felt like only a few years ago since the two boys had fought over Kat Zimmerman, and only yesterday since they had kissed Tashi Duncan and had won the men's juniors doubles.
But, alas, the tennis world simply doesn't sleep. Their joint win was old news, and as the new season began, Patrick was even more determined to win, or at least make decent progress. He had even more to prove, going straight to pro instead of college like Tashi and Art. To him, it was an“absolutely fucking stupid choice”, in his own words, but it was thier choice. They knew what was best for them, and Patrick would support them, no matter what. No matter if they were wrong, which they definitely were.
The world didn't sleep either.
Art had made friends with his new tennis team, and was almost as if Patrick didn't exist until he showed back up. And then it was like he'd never left. Melded back together.
Waving Art goodbye, Patrick strode up to the girls dorm rooms, sliding in before the door shut.
His heart thumped against his chest as he made each step closer to her dorm room, hands eager to touch her soft, dark skin, smell her Rock and Roll Valentino perfume, and to feel her sharp eyes on him. He reveled in it, like a fish to water.
And just like a fish, Patrick simply drank her in.
She was wearing his “I told ya” shirt, and black shorts, her yoga mat laid down behind her, and blankly stared at the 6”1 Patrick shaped blob at her door.
“You could look a little happier to see me, you know.” he grinned, leaning in the open doorway.
Tashi’s eyes scanned up and down his body, blinked again, and met her boyfriend's eyes.
“Hows the tour?” she asked, and let him in.
“What, that's the first question you asked me?” He grinned as he slouched over her bed. “Not even a kiss Tash?” He teased.
She rolled her eyes, and kissed him briefly. “There. Happy now?”
He grinned and pulled her in between his legs, snaking his arms around her waist. “You don't even know, baby,” he said as he looked up at her with his big, brown eyes. “You miss me?”
Tashi pushed a few sweaty curls from his eyes. “What do you think, dickhead?” She replied sardonically, her hand tangled into the side of her boyfriend's head.
It was truly a sight to behold. Tashi Duncan in his arms again. The slow rise and fall of her chest, her hand firmly in his hair, wearing his shirt.
God, she was beautiful.
Both he and Art had known this fact since the second that they both saw her, stomach coiling tight and breath caught in their throats as two sets of eyes darted to her every movement on the court, each slide, each rally, each point gained.
Oh, they were both absolutely hooked on her, and she knew it.
That was part of the fun in the beginning; the chase, the thrill, the competition, and the rivalry of it all, and ultimately, Patrick had won, big time, something that he never failed in reminding Art, seeing the blondes eyes narrow and ears redden.
He understood how lucky he truly was every time he got to call her late at night, smell her perfume on her bedsheets, or receive a beautifully targeted insult from her, a prideful thrum going through his chest whenever he thought about it.
“How long are you here for?” Tashi’s voice snapped Patrick out of his reminiscing as he lifted his eyes to greet hers. He rubbed his stubbled cheek against his girlfriend's soft hand. All the buzz and euphoria from weeks on tour was on par with these small moments with Tashi, when she was material and tangible, not just letters or a voice on the other end of his phone.
“Depends. How long do you want me here?” He grinned widely.