@phantasism , cont.
       anders lives for the thrill before anything else. that's been excessively shown in past matches and present ones; explicitly with luc. would never put his finger on the pulse though, because why would it matter? he doesn't think it does, in the long run. the game was the game, that was the focus — everything to him — and most other things were put on a metaphorical back burner. he's noted the rush that comes from a volley, an out ball and a serve that erupts his eardrums for days afterwards — hours spent practicing for a few of play in return. whether that was alone or with the other male. he didn't know the difference anymore. but things change, as do people, and years pass quicker than court life, where he blinks and it's different. prime example: this interaction. beuchot and van doren. van doren and beuchot. no matter the way it was announced — although anders always silently preferred the latter — they once were a co-unit, a pair that were intertwined within every sense of the word. the resurfacing of past memories are always in his mind, but it seems more real the second luc's across from him, spinning some empty rhetoric where anders doesn't know if he'd somehow made it all up. but he knows this game too well, and unfortunately, he's stronger than to break at some kind of coercion. " against you, luc. there's a difference. " in reality though, he's not sure if there is one anymore. nonetheless, he retaliates. the same tone sharp on his tongue while he cocks a smile, expression never falters, because in anders's mind, he's already two steps ahead. however, doubtful, he doesn't realise he's holding a breath until it's been released quietly once spoken.
       however, in some ways he does understand the underlying need. now he's in the big leagues, up there with players passed down before him, or so anders thinks. but what good is his opinion? they're kept quietly to himself, only nodding a slow beat the second his ego gets hit. it's never good, but coming from him - it's somehow worse. you make me better. or was it made ? anders doesn't think he'd take credit — perhaps all the positive feedback from their coaches did get to his head — because the past was in the past. it's not stood on the court now, but anders is, enough so where he can feel his self image dwindle. every bit of praise and good fortune seems useless now. what good was it if it didn't come from him ? " then they're either really good liars or don't like hurting your feelings, " hitting that low was his only reaction, what once could be said in jest now comes with an undertone of spite, perhaps jealously on his own side. in fact, he doesn't even know why the words roll of his tongue with such ease. like a waterfall, anders doesn't even attempt to stop them before his shoulders raise, another shrug coming from the male. he's gotten him, that's for sure. " — i play as myself every game, you just haven't been around to see it. can you really say you're doing the same, luc ? 'cause the attitude is saying otherwise. "
