Art <3 Missed call (7)

Good God. It was late. Too late. You'd finally gotten a chance to back up from the mic and check your phone while your producer listened through the audio tapes, only to find the barrage of calls and messages Art had left you in the past hour. A quick de-evolution from

hi

to

are you working?

to

i miss you my love

to

wish you were in bed with me...

to

holy shit. Thank God you weren't facing the booth window. How did he even get an angle like that? Was he trying to kill you? Get you so flushed and worked up that you just had to call it quits for the night? Jesus.

Of course, when you hadn't answered his picture, he'd moved onto the calls. But now it was quiet. Almost eerily so. It had taken a while to get used to, but if you were honest, the way he needed to be around you so often was kinda cute. Maybe just because Art was Art. No, definitely because he was who he was.

You had to admit, there’s something fun, if not annoying, about having a cute boy at your beck and call every hour of the day (and night). Seriously, from the first date it was like you were a drug Art was hooked to, always in search of his next fix. Not even able to sleep without some sort of contact, you were constantly falling asleep on the phone when you had to travel for press or shows.

But that was just Art! And even if it annoyed you sometimes, damn if it didn't all seem worth it with the way he absolutely worshipped you when he was graced with your presence. Sure, he had his own fame, already the one to watch out for in the tennis world, anticipated to win his first open in the next few years. But to him, it was nothing. Not compared to you.

And that was all too evident when your eyes locked onto his form, suddenly present in the studio, chatting with your producer. What. The. Fuck. You meant to be pissed, you really did. But then his gaze met yours, and his face lit up, and goddammit. Your heart skipped. He had early practice, in a matter of hours. But here he was. Just for you.