"He wasn't worth it, anyway. He's a piece of shit."

Carding fingers through your hair gently, Tashi sighs while you shift just a bit closer to her side of the mattress. You'd fled to her dorm first thing after the date that you mentioned planning a while back, eyes puffy and red and your bottom lip quivering. She didn't have the heart to send you off (not that she would, of course).

It's always a bit satisfying to see you like this— curled up in her lap like some sad little puppy— whenever a date goes poorly, you bomb a test, or even when the dining hall runs out of your favorite meal during the dinner rush. You're so insistent to seek comfort from her, and Tashi finds that she relishes that more than she should.

Brushing stray hair from your face, she gives you another knowing smile before sighing softly. "You know he is, admit it," she says lightly. "You just can't seem to find a good one, babe."

She shouldn't be so quick to feed into this kind behavior from you; to pick up your pieces and make you whole again. She has Patrick— she'd missed a call from him when you showed up teary-eyed at her door— but it's just... different with you. Maybe it's the part of you that isn't so interwoven with her tennis career that she can indulge in your company and affection without guilt.

Patrick isn't like that, and neither is Art when he paws around for any extra affection from her. They're all connected through that night in the hotel room after the Open, and that's never going to change.

Whether it was a twist of fate that's given her someone like you— or just sheer dumb luck— Tashi's grateful nonetheless. Tugging you just a bit closer, she leans in right by your ear while she feels your heart rate pick up in your chest. God, she loves that about you too; she knows just how nervous you get around her. It's everything.

"We should work on that," she whispers lowly while you move closer, and she can feel your breath hitch in your chest. "Find you someone who isn't an asshole, babe." Someone like her.