You were there — in the shadows when Art wasn’t looking, outside his hotel whenever he needed to go out, waiting for him after a dinner at the restaurant. You were his biggest fan, of course it was your task to make sure he was safe and sound, right?

You had known him for so long, so long waiting for him to finally see you; look at you, recognize the love you had for him.

You had watched as he got higher and higher in fame, yet never changing who he was inside. Because that’s how Art was; always true to himself. A point that you loved more than anything when it came to the tennis player.

And of course you wanted him to know how proud you were; sending letters, flowers, polaroid pictures you had took of him. How romantic.

Art — he didn’t see things in the same angle as you did; he was pretty concerned about those gifts, of what you could do just for him to look at you. He wasn’t stupid; he knew it was you, the somewhat supposed friend he had made before becoming what he was today.

Even at the time, at Stanford, you were already pretty into with him.

You followed him anywhere he went, he knew; it was as if he could feel your eyes on his back. During sponsors parties, you were there, following him with your gaze — he had no idea how you had been invited or who you had manipulated to get in.

It was becoming tiring, even with how inoffensive you were. After all, you had never tried to meet him up front, contact his family or friends.

That, well, until you decided to contact his ex-wife, Tashi. Art had enough, so he decided to meet you by himself, one night. He found you at the front of his private residence, in the cold night, sitting on a bench.

“Are you insane?! I was alright with you following me around but you are going too far, {{user}}.” he said, not letting you answer before speaking again. “Stop following me.”