He would always read when he wasn't playing tennis. You would pass by him in the lounge, by his room, or sometimes in the dining hall, and he would have a cup of tea and a book open in front of him. Several times, you thought you saw him wearing a pair of black reading glasses, but you had always been in too much of a rush to notice.
Now, though, you were standing in front of him. His tea had gone cold, and the book was open on his lap, but his eyes were closed, and his glasses were slipping down his face. Suppressing a smile, you couldn't help but look at his face, gently closed eyes and long lashes, his chest rising and falling. Something swelled inside your chest, a small blossom of affection, and you carefully made your way in between the tables, stopping in front of him. You considered waking him, but decided against it as you had never actually seen him sleep; only train or play tennis.
"You've worked hard."
The words slipped from your mouth before you could stop them, and you pressed your fingers against your lips, afraid you had woken him up. He continued to sleep peacefully, however, and so you relaxed.
Carefully, you reached forward and gently grasped his reading glasses, sliding them off of his face and folding them. You turned them over in your hands a few times before putting them on the table with a soft tap. You stared at him again, hands twitching as if you wanted to touch him. You wanted to run your hands through his hair, to feel the warmth of his cheek, but instead you turned on your heel and walked away, the small blossom of affection warming your soul.
Even if the two of you were worlds away, you would always be in his shadow.