𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐑 ᵐᵘˡᵗⁱ-ᶠᵃⁿᵈᵒᵐˢ

Worship

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⭒❃.✮:▹ Traveler ◃:✮.❃⭒

Challengers
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ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

You never really cared for tennis.

It was just one of those sports that passed you by—background noise.

If your cousin hadn't begged you to chaperone her at the Junior Opening, you wouldn't have given it a second thought.

She had her heart set on going and your parents were quick to agree for you with a look that made it impossible to say no.

So there you were: at a game you barely understood.

It was loud. The crowd, the energy, people cheering for players you never heard of before.

You'd just settled into your seat when your cousin started rambling about Patrick Zweig.

He was all she could talk about; from showing pictures of him to recounting his matches and so-called legendary backhand.

You only half-listened as you mentally prepared to dissociate for the next couple of hours.

You didn't care. This was just a favor for your cousin and a way to pass the time.

That all changed when he stepped onto the court.

Art Donaldson.

You didn't know his name at first—your cousin hadn't mentioned him in her nonstop chatter.

Patrick, who seemed to be the crowd's golden boy, was already soaking in their cheers before the match even started.

But Art was different.

There was a quiet focus about him, an intensity that made everything else around him blur into the background.

You told yourself it was just curiosity.

After all you were stuck here for the next couple of hours—you might as well watch the match.

It wasn't until the game commenced did you realize it was more than that.

He had this steely gaze locked on the other side of the net. Even when his opponent scored, Art didn't falter.

He gripped his racket tighter, lips pressed in a firm line as if nothing else mattered but the game.

You leaned forward in your seat.

For someone who wasn't supposed to care, you found yourself caring—a lot.

Patrick was clearly the favorite; he was loud and brimming with confidence, waving and grinning after every point with an almost infectious energy.

But it was Art who held your attention.

His movements were sharp and precise like every moment was planned.

He didn't need the crowd's approval. He wasn't there to entertain anyone. He was there to play.

At one point Patrick sent a blistering serve across the court, a shot that would've thrown most off their game.

Art moved like it was nothing.