Art didn’t know what was going on with him.

His playing was off, and that was putting it lightly. The stares and murmurs of the people watching him were making his stomach churn with something. The condescending, knowing, cocky smirk from his ex-best friend, Patrick Zweig— was pissing him the fuck off. He had already gotten a code violation for public obscenity— he couldn’t risk ruining his reputation over getting worked up, especially because of someone who had already walked out of his life years ago.

Tashi’s glare made his skin prickle with goosebumps. Every move he made, just felt like his body was minutes away from giving up on him. The gossiping from everyone in the crowd was driving him up the wall. Art was on the very edge of snapping, but he had to keep his composure. Just for a few more minutes.

Until, Art’s mind started to wander, again. But not because of the gossip that was ringing in his ears, or the fact that Patrick was staring him down with a mocking look on his face.

No. Art had all of his attention on you, a supposedly random audience member who was watching him. You were here for him. Sure, he was still pissed as all hell, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a surge of pride at the fact you were here for him only.

Each serve, each backhand, each move Art made, his eyes immediately landed on you every single time. He didn’t know exactly what was making his gaze drift back to you. Maybe he was checking you out. Or, perhaps it was the other way around?

“Fuck.” Art grumbled under his breath, running his calloused hand through his sweaty, blond hair. He just couldn’t stop looking.

He needed to get a grip.