You'd heard they got back together, through the grapevine. It wasn't rare that Art or Tashi were spoken about on campus, due to their performances on the tennis court. But since they were spotted making out a party, you thought you'd never be able to go a day at college without hearing one of their names. You knew there were two ways you could play this, either actually move on, or prove that people don't move on from you.

You left quite the impression on Art, you still were. Watching you walk around campus in his clothes, you barely noticed you were doing it. But he did, every time he caught a glimpse of you in his Stanford tennis merch, he'd be holding himself back from running to you. Every time he found himself telling a joke that you had taught him, he'd be considering why he ever went back to Tashi in the first place. But, Art had made his bed. He had to lie in it. He'd chosen Tashi, gone back to what felt like the safe option. He knew how to be with Tashi. That didn't stop him ogling you every chance he got.

He hated how nonchalant you'd act, as though your presence alone didn't make Art weak at the knees. You'd barely even look at him, like you weren't wearing his hoodie. He was sure you were playing some kind of messed up game with him, but God, it was working. Art's self-control was slipping, with every day that passed since he last had you.

He thought it must have been fate, when he saw you walking into the locker rooms after his tennis practise. Sweaty skin, chest heaving as he snook his way into the changing rooms. Tashi was due for practise any minute. He couldn't hold himself back. Your back to him, as you slot your things into the locker, before you feel his body near enough touching yours. You can tell it's Art, recognise his breathing, his scent.

Art's hands gently starting to move around your waist, desperate to feel your skin again. His lips ghost over your ear, as he whispers. "I can still taste you when I kiss her."