Chapter Text
Patrick’s parents had always been tough on him. Their expectations were soul-crushingly high and always unattainable. No matter what he did, no matter how close he got, it was always out of reach, leaving him feeling maybe if he tried harder and pushed himself more, they would be proud. But it was never good enough.
So he should’ve known better than to assume they’d let him pursue his dreams of going on tour and playing tennis professionally. Not until he became a responsible and knowledgeable adult with other skills than swinging a racket. But tennis was all he had ever known; it was his whole life. He fought tooth and nail, begged and pleaded, but the answer remained the same: no professional tennis until he graduated. If he tried anything, his parents would cut him off completely. Freeze his accounts, no money, no contact, nothing.
Patrick was never the best student, and his grades weren’t good enough for him to get into any of those really nice fancy private schools. He was accepted into Berkeley University of California, only because of his parent’s money, and ironically, his tennis stats.
And for the past two years, that’s where he stayed, playing mediocre tennis against boys who either peaked in college or were currently reaching that point. His wins kept him somewhat satiated, but there was always that hunger and ambition for more.
Unfortunately, he got ahead of himself and wound up pushing it too far. He pulled his quad and had to go to the trainer’s at least three times a week for rehabilitation and strengthening. It was just another setback. A tug on his leash. A reminder for him to stay in his place.
“Hey Patrick, the soccer team just finished their game, so it might get a little crowded here. Feel free to finish up in the weight room.” Heather, one of the athletic trainers, snapped him out of his thoughts. She was his favorite: funny, pretty, and unfortunately engaged.
“Okay, thanks.” He nodded.
He completed his last set of exercises and then grabbed his workout packet to finish in the weight room. He headed towards the hall and prepared to leave, before a girl blocked his path. She was one of the soccer players, with her cleats in hand, and her bag hung on her shoulder. Her features were tired and worn and her face was flushed and slick with sweat, but she was beautiful.
Her eyes were bright and she flashed him a warm smile as she brushed past him, muttering a small apology. He watched her go, frozen in place and completely entranced.
“Hey, do you have any antiseptic cream or anything?” She approached Heather bashfully.
Heather frowned. “What happened?”
“Okay listen, it wasn’t my fault this time. They were fouling and the refs weren’t calling shit. I got shoved at least ten times and I swear one girl elbowed me in the back.” She remarked. She spoke fast, and moved her hands about, aggressive and intense, like she was still in the game, like she was still playing.
Heather sighed. “Let me see.”
She pulled up the back of her shorts slightly, revealing a dark red scrape on the back of her thigh. Other girls started filing in, pulling him from trance. He turned to leave, and glanced at her one last time, taking note of the number on the back of her jersey, 11. He should look her up sometime.
But he didn’t, and as the days went by, she slipped from his mind completely…Until he saw her again, two weeks later.
—
You fucked up. You fucked up bad. It had just been typical practice that ended with sprints. You wanted to finish strong, pushing yourself to go faster and faster, beating everyone else until you heard the pop in your knee and felt the sharp pain after. You forced yourself to keep going, but now it hurt so bad you could hardly walk.
“I’ll see you guys at dinner!” You called out to your teammates who had dropped you off outside the athletic facility, flashing them a smile. They couldn’t know how bad you were hurting. They couldn’t know how bad you messed up.
It was your bad knee too. Your left knee, the one that needed surgery after you tore your ACL Junior year of high school and had to sit out and miss almost a year of soccer. You could still hear that sickening crack, which was not too different from that pop you heard earlier today…You couldn’t go through that again. You couldn’t afford to miss that much time, especially not in college.
Tears welled up in your eyes and your breaths became short, shallow, and panicked. Breathe. Just Breathe.
But how could you when every step you took sent a stabbing sensation through your knee? You swore under your breath as you struggled to make your way down the stairs and to the doors. You were so lost in your panic that you didn’t notice the stranger standing in front of you, not until he spoke.
“Are you okay?” A tennis player, from the looks of it. He had just gotten back from practice too, a racket bag slung over his shoulder, his clothes damp with sweat, and dark locks of his hair clinging to his forehead slightly.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” You tried to reassure him, despite the obvious quake in your voice and the limp in your walk. He didn’t seem convinced. “Are you sure? You seem kinda..shaky,”
You weren’t in the mood to deal with this right now. Who was this asshole and why was he being so nosy? Normally most people would hear your first response, figure that you didn’t want to be bothered, and leave you alone. But it seemed like this guy did not understand social cues or subtext. Not with you, at least. Or maybe he did understand and just didn’t care.
“Yeah, I’m okay, thanks.” You obviously didn’t seem okay, but he hardly knew you. Why would he care? You didn’t want to talk about it with anyone, especially not some man you just met.
He refused to leave you alone, opening the door to the athletic facility for you and offering you his hand. “Here, you can lean on me or something.”
You were starting to get angry. You were already panicked from what happened before and this wasn’t helping at all. You wanted to scream and cry. Instead, you took a deep breath, wiping the tears from your eyes and composing yourself.
“I appreciate it, but I already told you that I’m fine. I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself. So, thanks for holding the door and the offer, but you can go.”
“Alright, suit yourself.” He shrugged, stuffed his hand in his pocket, and…continued to follow you. You realized that no matter what you said, he wouldn’t leave you alone. He even waited with you in the trainers’ and tried to make some small talk that you hardly engaged in.
You sat on the edge of the exam table, your legs dangling off of it. You stared at your knee and the scar that lined it. It was mostly faded now, but it was still there, still visible, a part of you that would never leave and neither would those horrible memories. You glanced over at the boy who was sitting across from you. He caught your gaze and flashed you a small, comforting smile. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to have a distraction.
—
“It seems like your MCL has a mild sprain. Nothing too serious. It was good that you were able to finish practice and walk over here.” Heather told you after she finished her examination.
“So, I can keep playing?” You couldn’t help but ask.
“Yeah, you’ll be fine. It might be a little tender for the next couple of days, but that’s normal. Just take it easy, come in here to ice and get treatment, and you’ll be good to go.”
Relief washed over you. You were going to be okay. You could keep going.
You left and thanked Heather with that same boy from before trailing behind, following like a lost puppy. You weren’t as annoyed, and you kind of appreciated him being there, despite the fact that you hardly knew him. It was nice to have someone there, comforting, in a way.
You paused when you stood outside the athletic facility, where you both met before. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I didn’t mean-”
“Oh, don’t worry about it.” He brushed it off.
“What did you say your name was again?”
“Patrick. Patrick Zweig.” He reached over and shook your hand while you told him your name. He repeated it to himself, letting the syllables roll off his tongue, testing it out and seeing if he liked it. It seemed like he did.
“I could drive you back to your dorm, if you want?” He offered.
“Thanks, but I think I’m going to head to dinner. The dining hall isn’t too far from here, and I don’t mind the walk.” You needed to clear your head anyway. “Thanks for…this. I’ll see you around?”
He smiled. “Yeah. See you.”