𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄, 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄, 𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘. - 𝐀.𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐒𝐎𝐍

STANCE, SERVE, RALLY - Four.

"Your turn." Tashi demanded, her hands once cradling the two boys' faces now planted assertively on her hips.

"Wh-,"

Art had only began to mutter nervously, Alaska had noticed one of many of his nervous tics - this one being how he'd interlace his fingers in his lap, contorting them subconsciously as he restlessly fidgeted, trying to stay still.

"Come on, Art." Patrick whispered to his best friend, his roommate, a velvety sensuousness to his husk voice, a tone in which made Alaska shift in her seat - she was witnessing a master of sexual craft.

Like Tashi, but in male form.
But evidently less pampered.

Patrick, whose voice was suggestive and shamelessly seductive - even to Alaska, who failed to find him attractive herself - spoke gently to art, she observed.

His voice when talking to a visibly distressed Art, had the same unmissable tinge of asshole smugness - yet, it was less condescending. Less intimidating.

Less of an unsettling edge to his boasts - making Alaska wonder if this extroverted, pushy front was really authentic, or some kind of defensive persona to shield the type of man he really was.

Tender reassurance enveloped his tone, it almost appeared practiced - like this wasn't the first time he'd had to calm Art down.

Or spoken to him regarding an approach to sexual intimacy.

But that could mean nothing, right?

Yet, the caring nature of Patrick's approach to nurturing a timid Art was equally balanced with his distinctive, immaculate wit.

A boisterous grin had moulded upon his face, an indication that he was going to debut a highly indecorous string of words that could leave even someone with less decorum than himself utterly speechless.

Although Alaska highly questioned on whether there really were any other people with less decorum than Patrick Zweig - and he didn't seem to care, either.

All part of his brand. His game.

Court Tactics.

"-It's nothing we haven't done before, hey?" The innuendo befell as he referenced a kiss or possibly, more.

The words were calculated off of his tongue, afterwards wetting his lips.

"That-," Art genuinely struggled to form a cohesive sentence, "That was one time-,"

"-We were drunk." Patrick mocked, finishing what was most likely going to be the last stammered half of Art's sentence.

An excuse Art used to justify their make out session every single time Patrick brought it up.

Alaska prodded Tashi's ankle with the tip of her foot - both girls acknowledging how personal the circumstances had become between the boys.

"Should we leave?" Alaska mouthed silently, the boys not being able to see, as she'd done it using her hand as a shield over the side of her face.

"No. It's getting good." Tashi mouthed back, shaking her head indefinitely.

Alaska sighed quietly, only assuming that Tashi had preplanned for a turn of events similar to these too. She remained unfazed.

Alaska was always mildly disturbed by Tashi's evident lack of sympathy. It was sociopathic, almost.

But to an extent, it could be considered an advantage in the tennis field.

Not having any sympathetic thoughts towards all of the other teenage girls she beats.

Whom, most likely, have the same sets of wealthy, neglectful parents who pressure them into turning themselves into tennis-churning machines.