𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄, 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄, 𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘. - 𝐀.𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐒𝐎𝐍

STANCE, SERVE, RALLY - Five.

"Not so nimble, Flores?" Art halted once they'd reached the lip of the divide where the cobblestone pathway merged into a vast flocking of sand, "A little slow for someone who's like a bullet on the court."

Alaska trudged defeatedly behind, her hands protesting on her hips, mildly out of air.

"Fuck you, Donaldson - that was unfair."

"Losing doesn't feel too good, does it?" He jested, before turning his head to face the horizon where the sand lapped in melodic waves, "Must be an unfamiliar feeling for you."

Alaska laughed bitterly, before strolling past him, playfully barging into his shoulder before stepping onto the sand.

"More familiar to you than it is to me, to say the least." Alaska joked back, "Im starting to think that Patrick has a better chance of going pro."

Art furrowed his eyebrows.

He was still stood partly on the pavement, watching Alaska as she ventured closer to the sea.

"Take that back." Art acted offended, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What?" Alaska looked over her shoulder, still walking closer to the sea, and away from Art.

"You said you think Patrick has a better chance of going pro than me," Art explained, "I'm asking you to take it back."

Alaska hummed, slowing her pace down significantly so Art could hear her before she got too far away.

"I'll take it back," Alaska sighed, running a hand through her hair, strands whisking in the cool breeze, "If you prove to me that you're better than him."

"What?" Art tilted his head, now it was his turn to act confused.

"You want me to take it back? I will." Alaska deadpanned, now stood still - back facing Art, carving shapes into the sand with the tip of her shoe.

"-But you have to prove to me that you're better than Patrick. Go professional."

An interval of silence befell between the two teenagers, yet it was a thoughtful one. Art combing through Alaskas offer, calculating his odds - whether he could really end up better than Patrick.

Would that be betrayal? The more he thought about him and Patrick's futures within tennis, the more uneasy he felt.

A part of him wished he was merely twelve, fucking about in tennis camp - where the suggestion of progressing professionally wasn't going to be brought up until he turned sixteen.

So all he'd do at that time was play lighthearted games of tennis, joking boisterously with Patrick on the court - until it was time to go home.

But now, tennis was becoming a serious segment of his life. A potential dependant pathway that could be his best chance at getting a reliable income - to make a name for himself.

Art cleared his throat, swallowing down the aching dryness that came whenever he paused to think about the future. Him and Patrick.

"Okay." He muttered lowly, timidly accepting Alaska's deal.

"Great!" She beamed, "Let's shake on it."

Art grinned at this, slowly stepping onto the sand and walking over to her.

Once he'd reached her, she stood before him - her cheeks still ever so slightly pink from sprinting, hair wildly cascading in the breeze.

She extended her hand confidently, offering it for him to shake.

Art watched her do this, and eventually ended up accidentally examining her hand.

Her nails were painted purple, however they were cracked and untidy. She obviously hadn't had even enough time to repaint them.