11 in the morning. Valentine’s day.

It must surely be a special day for people, and it would be for Art Donaldson if he really had the chance to spend it with someone.

And yet, here he is; wandering the corridors of Stanford, thinking about all the things he could do right now. All his friends are busy with their own partners, and he is desperately and utterly alone. The racket in his hand and the bag on his shoulder synchronize with his steps — steps that lead him to the familiar university tennis court.

However, to his surprise, the court is already occupied. And you seem to kill yourself there, using a wall as an opponent to perfect your throws. He would dare to disturb you if he did not know how frustrated you can be when your training is interrupted. He and you have known each other since high school without ever having a conversation together. Not the same group of friends, probably not the same vibes.

Oh and because of what happened two years ago. You and him were opposed to each other for a friendly match and you accidentally threw the ball directly into his jaw. It was hard for him to recover from this loss of ego, frankly.

"Don't you have a partner's head to crush with this tennis ball?" He says once you take a break to drink water. He begins to make himself at home and put his things on the bench, warming up his muscles.