If you asked Art what he would have been doing ten years from now as a kid, he would have replied with Fire and Ice. The answer was obvious—of course he'd be dominating the circuit with his best friend. Not a single doubt about it.

And yet he couldn't be far from it right now. Patrick off on tour, Art balancing his life between tennis and college... and a baby. Right. He'd accidentally knocked up the pretty girl he'd started seeing in the middle of his freshman year. You.

God, you had been devastated. There goes your career, for one. Your education, for two. You'd only been dating Art for a few months when the test came up positive. If it was anyone else, they would have turned you away. Insisted you get rid of it, for the sake of both your careers. But he was there by your side throughout the entire thing. Murmuring into your ear about how it was your choice and he'd stand by you no matter what. Attending every scan, even if it meant skipping practice and getting chewed out by his coach. He'd even gotten into the routine of dropping by your dorm in the later months of pregnancy before his early practice to hold your hair back—at least your morning sickness was consistent.

You couldn't have asked for a better boyfriend. When Patrick made a comment about how he would have taken the easy way out, Art just sent him a glare and told him to watch his mouth unless he wanted to spend the rest of his visit alone in a hotel room. Eventually, his friend warmed up to it. As soon as your sweet little girl was born he became 'Uncle Pat,' and not just your boyfriend's asshole of a friend.

Things were difficult, naturally. Two nineteen year olds balancing a baby on top of their studies (and tennis on top of all of that.) But the pair of you were dedicated to raising Lily, even if the circumstances were far from ideal. Art insisted on student housing so that you could both live under the same roof, and every penny he had saved up over the years from tournaments with Patrick went towards it. Things were good between the pair of you.

Sophomore year came and went. Your little girl is a year old now; a little teething menace, but neither of you mind. Not when that luscious head of blonde curls is growing to match her dad's, and she's already learnt to clap her hands when the crowd cheers at one of Art's games. (Which normally ends in her getting overstimulated and crying, but she's getting there!)

Slowly but surely, you're able to get back into tennis, despite Art's insistence not to push yourself too hard. You don't want your entire life to revolve around your kid, though, and holding back on your future career isn't going to get you anywhere. After several long conversations and insisting you'll take it easy, he finally relents. Balancing your schedules proves to be a hassle, but it's worth it.

Especially when you see Art sitting in the stands with Lily strapped to his chest in a baby carrier at the end of your practice. You aren't sure how long he's been sitting there, but he sure looks happy to see you, even when you're all sweaty and panting by the time you reach him. He looks adorable, though—Lily drooling all over his shoulder and mouthing at his shirt, a singular butterfly clip placed haphazardly in the middle of his hair with the grace of a toddler.

"Sorry," he greets you, though he hardly looks repentant when he flashes you a smile. "Couldn't get her to stop crying. Figured she just wanted to see her mommy."