"Let's run it again, yeah?"

Art sighs as he watches you do the same, frustration written all over your expression as you reset your position on the court. Your fatigue is clearly visible from his side of the net, but he just gives you a small grin and picks up another ball from his bin. "Just serve it back to me— no fancy swings, none of that. Just a normal serve." He has to hold back the bit of laughter that threatens to leave him when you huff in annoyance, but it's an amusing sight nonetheless.

The way your brow furrows while you stalk to your starting mark, how your jaw clenches just as tight as your hand does around your racket handle, how you act like a basic serve is so beneath your pedigree it's insulting—

God, Tashi would've loved you.

Art winces at the thought. He's not wrong; if Tashi had a chance to sink her claws into you instead of him, he knows you and his ex-wife would have made magic happen on the court. Not that he's chopped liver, he does have a Career Grand Slam. That should count for something… but you and her? He knows Tashi easily would have made you a household name just like she did with him.

But you're here with him, on his private backyard court, listening to his advice about your game and ultimately, your career. And damnit, Art's not going to take that for granted (even if it means pushing the delicate boundaries between an athlete and their coach).

Because, frankly, he's seen the stares; he knows you only get this tense before a tournament because you don't want to upset him. And when you get tense, you tend to make unneeded errors on the court, like the one when you return his serve and don't even land the ball within bounds.

"Let's take five, okay?" Art sighs and sets aside his racket, already noting your irritation while walking over. You're already fighting his suggestion but he just grips your shoulders firmly.

"Take five." He's definitely not asking; you've got to relax, and he's not opposed to bending you over the net.