Chapter Text
There were many things meant to be constant in Ben’s life.
There’s Tennis because ofcourse it is.
Then there are his team- the strings of his first tennis racket he still carries in his bag even though its been a good sixteen years since they broke, the headphones he can’t bear to part with even though sponsorships call for different ones to be worn on the court- but its a good mix of everything.
He’s in Germany.
Fresh off the high of winning the Stuttgart finals against Taylor, and even as they did eventually crack smiles on the court he knows that the streak he’s on against the fellow American is making itself a burrow very prominently under the older’s skin.
“No answer to that service man,” Fritz had said, pulling his hairband off in the locker room- all white, in a way that Ben remembered the joke he’d heard yesterday on how the man was already locked in for Wimbledon- while Ben had only grinned with confetti still stuck in his hair.
“Nah man, you played well” it’s no consolation, he knows- because if the situation had been reversed he knows he would have stormed right off if Taylor had said a word in condolences.
But its when ben does turn to the room mirror, a groan on his lips when he sees the shine of paper in his curls and knows the wash is going to take some time- that Taylor picks up his bag before pausing at the door.
“You’re playing Halle?”
Some other day he’ll say he doesn’t freeze at the statement.
But right now, the shine on the mirror doesn’t do much to prevent the way a hand stays halfway stuck to his face before he can smooth over the expression threatening to break through even as the plane tickets don’t look as exhausting as the idea of what waited for him there.
“Yeah” He clears his throat. “Doubles too”
If he had turned around, maybe he would have seen the smile that cracked onto Fritz’s face. “I’ll come for the finals if I can, Flavio must be excited after RG”
“Yeah Flav thinks we’ve got a good chance,” the shirt is sticky as he pulls it over his head, theres a green stain near the left end- his shoes are less white than before, theres no red though, thank everything above.
He doesn’t like clay.
Not after Roland Garros at least. Straight sets on the one chance he had of reaching the finals easily cut straight before the last 16- hell no.
It’s not like it was a bad tournament though, he knows because watching it with bleary eyes from his laptop back home all while his own kit walked triumphant across the clay felt good enough in the sense of his own misery dialling down when the handshake was always in his favour.
But no- right now there was a far more important something to focus on.
The green looks better for his kit too.
Plus, it gets him another meeting with-
“Wait,” the realisation sinks in before he can whirl around, catch his friend two steps away from disappearing from his eyesight. “The draw isn’t out yet. How do you-“
He’s cut off with doleful eyes which look far more exhausted with the denial than with actual consideration of seemingly having broken some rules somewhere. “Ben. Come on.”
And so, maybe he was a bit confused on the tone. But there hadn’t been much time to overthink it, not when he could hear his team already discussing logistics on the next week and training schedules once he got out.
His phone is on DND and yet he already knows the first ten messages which will pop up when he opens it.
He’ll have to post too. The mental checklist after every tournament comes without any hesitation from years of learning how logistics of it worked- but there would be time for that on the plane. When he can relax the tension on his shoulder before putting his headphones on and disappearing till they land.
The shower takes exactly twenty minutes, the car ride to the airport another fifteen and its three am Halle time that Ben boards the flight still in Germany and towards the one person who was for an odd reason, pinned to the top his contacts as Face ID clicked the phone open.
Flav
CONGRATULATIONS AMICI
I was watching 💪🏻
You will be serving first on Wednesday now ofcourse
The smile rises unconsciously over his face, music blasting hiphop a far contrast to whatever had his heart speed up ever so softly.
It’s not like its a thing.
Ofcourse its not.
They’re good friends, him and Flavio.
They meet on tournament weekends, play hard enough to have had enough arguments before the message comes later, when the adrenaline’s cooled off and that dull echo of doing something to make sure it doesn’t fall apart makes them both reach for their phones.
It’s on the principle of shared interests- Ben’s thumb hovers over the messages- pushing it down to react with a heart- that they do end up off the courts as well.
Good restaurants, Flavio would smile when he saw Ben waiting in the lobby. You will like the American taste of them.
“American taste? You mean actual good food?” He would smirk slightly, hands in his pocket while the streets of Rome greeted them that afternoon.
“No,” The Italian frowns, the hood of his blue hoodie pulled over his hair and makes him look far too small next to Ben. Not that he notices.
“It is crime to call American food good here Ben. They will not let you play next round”
Ben’s feet scuffed a loose rock from the paved road below, but he’d pretend he couldn’t see the people do a double take around them before the Italian turned down a side street- steps slowing softly when he saw that the American was lagging a bit slightly.
“Mhmm, I’ll take my chances”
The scoff that follows has Ben break out a laugh.
So when he removes his finger, watches the heart disappear right before the keyboard pops up- its because of maintaining a good relation, one where he receives memes and commentaries of the most random things before he finds it on his own feed to appease the other, before returning the favour by somehow finding something or the other that reminded him of the Italian.
Flav
Thanks man
Got to win this one too yeah
Blue ticks appear in five seconds, right when he’s exiting the chat.
It’s on pure reflex that Ben’s finger avoids the arrow right when the next buzz sends a jolt down his hand.
Flav
yes we will
I am here 😎
He doesn’t mean to scoff at that, the grin breaking through before he can stop it- cool air hitting his gums right before he can type back.
Next to him, two seats away with a movie playing on his screen- his trainer reaches over to pass a protein bar without glancing away from the scene playing.
I am here
And its that sentence, three words- that make Ben want to consider one of many things that had led him to this.
Because out of all things constant, he had never expected Flavio Cobolli to become a part of them.
Halle greets him with cold air and a hotel room that has its air conditioning far too hot for his taste.
Theres not much to unpack. His tennis kits are already waiting in the closet, rackets gone for stringing with his dad and he’s got two hours of time to adjust before the first sessions booked on the courts.
It makes him sigh, head hitting the bed harder than he intends and yet the pillows let him sink far more than the rough head pillow had helped the flight.
He’s not ungrateful for it, not with the season he’s been having. Three titles, another one he has a good chance at and then ofcourse, theres the doubles thing.
Logically, the draw provided one thing of the fact that they were probably not going to make it past the first round.
Seasoned doubles players against two idiots who had some free time in their schedule and had been optimised for marketing.
But throw logic out the window, because even as his eyes catch the skyline of grey buildings before the pastures lie on the horizon- theres that part of his heart still itching at the very thought of the match.
Of Flavio playing with him, not against him- not after the mess of last time. The thought makes his bones want to curl in on themselves, the mortification hitting post clarity right after the indoor air had stung his chest and Flavio had walked off towards the cooldown room and left before Ben could get a word in.
They’re both stubborn like that. It’s the nature of sportsmanship, he knows. Irritation at a loss and anger at the upstart who caused it.
Every rivalry had begun like that, Carlos and Jannik the biggest example- though now the doubt creeps in of whether the rivalry had stayed that way after Wimbledon last year.
But he’s not one to comment, not when the Spaniard’s on a break and Jannik decided after the Master’s sweep he wanted some time to disappear somewhere. Before Flavio sent him five exclamation marks and a blurry picture of the Italian next to a very familiar mop of black hair.
The first hit on new courts take time to adjust, footing slipping ever so slightly before he can bite back the curse that props up in his mouth right before he notices the gentlemen who watch his game over the picket fence.
The news comes when its a water break, when he sees the green painted benches and almost sits down before his dad leans on the net and says it.
“Flavio’s coming tomorrow, you’ll get an hour together, should be enough.”
“Yeah, works”
Brown eyes lock on his own right before he can reach for his racket. “You can still pull out”
“No” it bursts out without question in a tone firm, not like the hesitation when he had been considering it two weeks before when he had seen Flavio send him the link for their sign up.
Then he sees the way eyebrows are cocked to his face that he blames the sun on when the first rush of red creeps up his neck. “Nah- I mean, it’d be rude to pull out now. Two days before, he’d- We probably won’t make it past R1 anyways”
The thing about his words are that he had had no qualms pulling out days before- heck, even hours before- if it didn’t fit with his ideal schedule- so when inevitably he does get the unimpressed look, hands crossed combination- he moves to the court before any words can exit his mouth.
⇥
Flavio waits on the courts twenty minutes before Ben reaches and then pretends he had just reached by the way he places his kit down on the grass and turns with a grin far too wide for the red on his cheeks.
“Ben!”
“Hey Flav,” the nickname falls far too easily, hands reaching over to grab the others before the smile crosses his own face.
“I congratulated you once, but I will again” Flavio is bouncing on his feet, the ON kit matching with his own- white and purple.
It’s sleeveless too, and if Ben’s eyes stray towards toned arms for a second longer he makes up for it by clearing his throat and cutting his words as fast as he could.
“Appreciate it,” its in the words, in the implications which make him want to say something more that he misses the way the Italian stretches his hand out, instead tilting his whole body to clasp the smaller right across his back before promptly rushing off when he hears a surprised ‘oomph’
If its weird for him however, Flavio pretends not to notice. Already tilting his head to the courts, wide brown eyes squinting in the sun.
Maybe they should have played a little later, when it wouldn’t bother him that much.
Ben removes the thought just as promptly as it arrives.
Practice goes the way he expected it too. Flavio plays the exact way ben remembers from their last meeting, heavy groundstrokes and a forehand near the T.
It’s very … flowy, his style- not like it was exactly impossible to predict, just enough to run his opponent ragged before finishing it with down the line forehand which even the rim of his racket can’t reach.
Ben finds his own game going longer than expected for practice, back to the same old baseline brawling that had gotten him into the Munich Finals however hard he tried to come closer to the net.
Even when they’re a set in even though he’s a game up, but for the first time he finds it more amusing to watch just how far back Flavio stands for his service than necessary.
“So, tactics” There’s a wind blowing when they settle on the benches.
Ben sits on the right end before Flavio can even make his way over the net, body shifted to face him doubles partner while the other nods. The sun continues shining from the right, he’s a bit taller than the latter- and if they want to win this it’s a small sacrifice.
“We hit hard and we win quickly”
A laugh knocks out of his lungs far too fast, “that’s a given”
“Oh,” Flavio considers it, head tilted before he blows a breath out to remove the stray strand that falls over his eyes. “Then you say. I can work with it”
It takes a minute for Ben to realise Flavio is dead serious. Brown eyes looking upwards at him while theres a straw from his bottle nibbling between his teeth in a way which has Ben swallow far too hard.
They’re alone right now- their coaches a court across to get some drinks and letting them have their break. And its not like he’s wrong for noticing all this stuff is it? The way the Italian throws his head back, that orange racket propped between his legs all while he has that same infuriatingly soft look in his eyes.
He has to argue its basic observation skills.
Get a grip
⇥
They do come up with a good strategy thirty minutes later. Even though they do spend twenty of it trying to stalk their opponents socials more than the clips of their play, but its Flavio with him and so it’s not like he doesn’t expect it.
Not to say he’s not a professional, heck Ben didn’t know many players who studied clips of their opponents in more detail than the Italian did- not after he had stumbled into his room and seen the diagrams in the notebook strewn on his bed before they had played FIFA.
It’s Ben who suggests they go for a drink. Well, not a drink because its currently three in the afternoon- but coffee. Maybe something to eat, if his diet plan agreed.
He knows it’s the right thing to suggest, when he points at a good cafe he had seen online and sees Flavio’s flushed face widen at the mention of a good cappucino.
Before meeting him, Ben had really believed the whole ‘Italians are serious bout their caffeine’ thing was just one of those superstitions popular to make tourists want to try out every small nook they saw in that country.
But it had been one chance when he had asked the Italian out on a walk in Rome and promptly seen him blanch at the idea of going to Starbucks, and promptly buried his head in his phone to find the good places he had changed his mind very quickly.
Flavio stepped out in front of the American, heading towards the metro station across the street, only to feel a hand grab his wrist and point towards the parking lot.
“You came in a car?”
“Course I did,” ben scoffs at the incredulousness in his tone. It’s a Porsche, rented for the time being of his stay before it went right back to its owner after he signed a few tennis balls and payed, ofcourse. “You want to take yours or what?”
“I don’t come in cars around here,” Flavio scoffs slightly, but Ben doesn’t miss the way his eyes widen when he sees the grey matte of the Porsche. “Too time consuming when they have good transportation”
The drivers seat is too close to the wheel, so as Flavio steps in Ben watches his legs un cramp as he moves it backwards before reversing out the parking spot.
Theres not much scenery to watch when he exits the concrete building, to him at least. Green fields and small churches near the Tennis courts even though he can see the tall towers of the central area rise exactly ten minutes of a car ride away- But Flavio looks out the window with his hand rested on the glass like it’s a marvellous thing to see the cows raise their heads.
They’ve had this conversation before. In Australia. Horrible tournament, not like it had been great for the Italian either. But he remembers the other bits more than he wants to remember his time on the court.
Like what was like to see Flavio come to his hotel room a day before he left the fuck out of the country and promptly argued when Flavio told him he still wanted to go do the ocean road now that they were both out.
It’s at a stop sign that he reaches over to connect his phone to bluetooth, then pauses when he sees the furtive glance Flavio shoots at his phone when Drake starts playing from the last place it had been unfinished on his way there.
“Go for it,” Ben shrugs his shoulders, not bothered when Flavio just reaches for his phone- tilting his face for Face ID and then shooting a laugh when Tyler, the Creator blasts through the speaker. “You changed your playlists?”
“Not really,” Flavio frowns, thumbing across the cracked screen. “It’s your playlist, I’m just playing a singer I know.”
Ben tuts, turning down the narrow road. “I really got to teach you good music man”
“You mean rap?” Flavio’s voice was flat. “I think I will stick to my own good music, thank you”
“Aw that’s just cause you havent heard the good stuff,”
“You sound like a drug dealer,” Flavio snorts, not even hiding the small smirk on his face when Ben turns to him with an incredulous look before promptly letting out a small curse when a dog ran straight across in front of them. “Haven’t heard the good stuff”
“I literally sat through two hours of your Shawn Mendes playlist, least you could do is give CC a try”
“But you like Shawn,” theres a knot near Flavio’s eyebrows, already reaching to unbuckle his seatbelt on seeing the beige sign five metres ahead of them. “And I know Central Cee. I am not so uncultured too”
Ben hums at that, hands already in his hoodie pockets before the two meet slightly ahead once they’re both out. It’s colder here than it is by the courts, something which should have been quite the opposite but well.
The cafe is good, the coffee comes steaming hot for the Italian while theres a look of mild disgust on both the waiter and Flavio’s face when Ben’s own iced latte with vanilla syrup slides across the table.
He doesn’t say anything though, thankfully. Not like Ben would have cared honestly, not when the croissant arrives five minutes later and Flavio’s face is dusted pink before he reaches over to cut it into two parts and then takes the crusts without complaint.
It’s very easy, for the two of them. Two tennis players prone to bashing each other on the court however less their meetings were before promptly making their way to dinner together a day later.
Mutual respect, his dad had called it, and the ability to keep things well off the court.
“I thought you’d pull out after Tiafoe”
“Why?” Flavio stirs his coffee, even though the sugar packets aren’t opened.
Theres no right answer for that. But the most logical explanation was that Flavio had lost the singles, technically this was a good break for Wimbledon especially considering they weren’t exactly well versed in the duo part.
His silence is an answer enough.
Flavio pauses. Eyes trained at the ice-cream shop across from them.
“Plus, I wanted to play with you”
He blinks.
That’s the other thing of Flavio. He says thing far too matter of factly for the reaction they would produce. Not like there is anything for him to react to, ofcourse. Its a normal statement, doubles is fun if you’re playing it for fun.
Thats sweet
“Well I want to play with you too” Ben announces it, voice coming out strong, hands enclosing the cold glass as he dredges a sip right from the bottom to taste the syrup.
He supposes he’s done something right. Because finally, that small tension he had identified on Flavio’s face finally melts away- replacing itself with a smile extremely wide before he reached over to scoop out the heart drawn on his coffee and place it right between the ice cubes in Ben’s own cup.
He doesn’t like the foam, supposedly.
Ben had figured that a month ago when they’d gone out before and not ordered takeaway and he had done the same thing. It hadn’t stopped his heart from doing that weird jump however.
“Drink that fast.” He doesn’t really know why he has the urge to change the topic so quickly. But theres a sting creeping up his cheeks, chapped lips from the cold. “I can literally see it getting cold”
Flavio laughs, “You are very concerned for my coffee nowadays”
“Well you’re the one who made us leave a good place just cause the-“ he waves his hands, trying to remember that conversation. “-milk was not steamed well enough if it got cold so quickly”
“I was right though”
“We were in Switzerland!” the stubborn cross of Flavio’s hands has Ben want to knock his shoulders together as he barks a laugh. “I’d be shocked if it stayed cold for longer than five minutes”
“You liked the tiramisu at the other place though”
“Yeah- thanks for that by the way. Even though its not the point. You know you change your opinions very fast?”
“Yes.” Theres a doleful look in Flavio’s eyes, one that make ben want to say something to prevent the kicked puppy reaction. “Shows in my playing too. Nice and indecisive”
Liar
“Those two words don’t go well together”
“You have played against me many times, shouldn’t you have seen the-“ he clucks his tongue, not seeing the way the American’s eyes widen. “What is it-poor planning? Yes?”
And Ben’s about to contradict it. Say something to get his confidence back with one of those motivational speeches he remembers from Instagram, hands already raised as if to pat the latter’s back before he sees the grin that had earlier been hidden beneath a bent head.
Flavio shows off his dimple even as Ben scoffs.
“I literally don’t know if you’re joking or not” He levels a stare with squinted eyes, even as his own lips threaten to tilt up.
The brunnete only shrugs, leaning back against his chair and stretching his legs where they promptly knock against Ben’s own.
“We’ll see when we play no?”
“You’re such a pain man,” he groans at that, closing his eyes while his chair raises itself onto his back legs before he gets back- knocking Flavio’s hand out of the way when he reaches for the last croissant piece.
“I genuinely thought you were believing all that shit”
“Why? You don’t think so?”
“No!” Theres no question to it too, but when he sees the way Flavio’s eyes widen at the emotion in that word he promptly backpedals. “I mean, I can’t have you saying all that right before I play with you. Team moral and all. Oh my god did you see that cat there-“
“Ben,”
The red on his face is something Ben wants to hide very, very well. Preferably by leaving the conversation. Maybe go back to wallowing on his bed. Maybe he’ll go to the gym, make it an exertion red.
Flavio doesn’t seem to care of the mess of a ramble. Instead he seems to pride himself on making an even bigger one.
“You are very sweet”
His mouth snaps shut. Flavio doesn't notice.
And well, theres nothing Ben can say to that, is there?