𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄, 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄, 𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘. - 𝐀.𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐒𝐎𝐍

STANCE, SERVE, RALLY - Sixteen

Alaska had successfully gone on her first date.

-With Stanford's football sweetheart, Rufus Goldsmith.

And god, was he an asshole. Barely tolerable at that.

But, he was a decent kisser - upon many other things, that Alaska had taken to Art to giddily confess like it was some laughable sin.

She'd scurried almost immediately to Art's accommodation as soon as Rufus had walked her back to hers - it was around midnight.

She ferociously knocked upon his door, and which to the exact second he'd unlocked it, shoved her way in already gesturing exactly what had occurred - after all, Art did say he wanted to know everything.

But that was also a huge lie, and he'd rather be hearing her speak aimlessly about any other topic right now.

She'd hushed him whenever he'd open his mouth to protest upon hearing the intimate details - wincing as if the visuals were being carved into his brain, him feeling every agonising frame being depicted in the tissue as she elaborated.

Art briefly wondered during this if Alaska described what they did in a similar way to Tashi after the motel incident.

He'd been guided to sit on his bed by Alaska, who wanted to make sure her audience was at least comfortable before she went further.

"And then, he-," She hesitated, before deciding to make multiple sequences with her hands to try and demonstrate their positions, "He like, put his hand like this,"

Art, who tried his ultimate hardest to make sense of these mashups of hand movements, was left utterly bewildered at what she was showing him.

"So..," He muttered, tilted head, brows furrowed, "-He had you in a headlock?"

Alaska groaned in frustration at Art not understanding her hand motions, rolling her eyes defeatedly.

"No, Art!" She sighed, "He was basically doing this."

Art had now leant backwards, propped up against the headboard, arms crossed sullenly over his chest - his disinterest obvious.

"Were you wrestling him?," Art snorted, crinkling his nose, "-Didn't realise you were into that sort of stuff."

Alaska huffed, scooping up a displaced pillow that laid by the foot of his bed and tossing it at him.

"I'm not! Just listen!" Alaska shook her head, "-You're hopeless."

Art shrugged, unbothered.

"Maybe you're just bad at demonstrating."

"Fine." Alaska settled, an unsettling sense of newfound calmness to her tone - as if she were gentle parenting him.

"- I'll show you."

Maybe it was the bottle of liquor she'd ingested while with Rufus, maybe it was another surge of inhuman confidence that came with euphoric adrenaline.

She ever could've known that the same feeling could overcome her body and brain off of the court. She thought that only tennis could enable her to feel this way.

"What?" Art exasperated, attempting to sit up properly, "Show me h-,"

"Shut up, Donaldson." Alaska pardoned him, pushing him back against the headboard and into his previous position, "-Let me! But don't make it weird."

Art scoffed.

"I don't understand what you mean."

By this point, Art was now eyeing Alaska from her head to her thighs - she'd climbed onto his bed and was straddling his shins in order to propose some distance while she explained.