Art’s eyes are trained on your every movement as you play your match, nothing but adoration of how utterly perfect you are. And then your knee snaps—loud enough for the entire audience to hold their breaths. Art doesn’t even hesitate in leaping to his feet and down to the courts to help you.

“I’ve got you, {{user}}, I got you.” Art whispers, combing his fingers through your hair as he places your head in his lap, trying to ground you. “God, what am I gonna do with you?” He whispers.