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The locker room was quiet post-match.
Too quiet for Flavio’s liking, it instilled an innate sense of suspicion in him, scanning the cold tiled floors for bags or listening for the slightest of sounds. People had come and gone and come, but now, it was only Flavio and a few other players who he assumed had also just played or were playing soon.
He tossed his bag down on the bench, let his body fall in tandem with it. When his back hit the lockers with a thud, he closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself think for only a few seconds about the match. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he was on the plane hearing it from his dad, all of the shit he did wrong and all of the areas he’ll need to focus on before the next tournament.
Flavio wasn’t thinking about his game now though. He was thinking about Ben, which was a dark and dangerous path to go down, but he couldn’t help it.
The court was practically vibrating with the way the audience was cheering for him. His victory was well earned and beautiful, even Flavio couldn’t help the cautious grin that slowly grew on his face. And still. And still, and still, and still.
Ben met him at the net dead-faced and cold. Flashes of Toronto came back to him, a raging Ben, a bargaining Flavio, both of whom were heatedly arguing over absolutely nothing. He prepared himself for the dramatics.
As he got closer though, Flavio could see, Ben wasn’t angry or keyed up— he’d been around him when he was in those moods enough times to know— he seemed more deflated than anything. Just over it.
It was strange because Ben hadn’t been particularly cool during the match. He’d played loud and big tennis, like he always did. It wasn’t as if today was an off day or something. Of course, for some reason, he’d always be a little more on edge when he was playing Flavio, but even taking that into consideration, he was acting more standoffish than usual.
At the net, they said their parts. Ben shrugged when Flavio called it a good match and told him he played well. Started explaining himself before stopping and then nodding towards Flavio, saying something complimentary about his forehand.
There was nothing else after that. He looked at Ben, waiting for even a glance that meant that he hadn’t meant anything by it—the distance—, but it never happened. He doesn’t know why he expected anything more.
Out of his haze of reflection, Flavio decides to get up, go back to his hotel and cool down there. Nothing was particularly pleasant or calming about this locker room as of now. Just buzzing ceiling lights and the occasional creaking of the door.
While he was leaving, a familiar face appeared in his peripheral vision. Ben looked up and met his gaze. Flavio stood there a moment and stared back at him, like something would happen. Like he’d say he was sorry for acting like a stranger and leap up from where he was crouched on the ground with his hands on the back of his neck and pull Flavio against him—
Ben looked back down, putting his headphones over his ears. And Flavio dropped his bags to the floor there, because fuck this.
Ben’s head shot up and he lifted one side of his headphones off his ear, brows raised at Flavio.
“Dude, what?”
“What do you mean ‘what’?” Flavio sighs heavily, looking down at Ben and feeling the same rush of frustration and confusion that he felt in Toronto. “You win today, you act like… I don’t know, why do you act sad?”
“Flav, you really gotta do this right now?”
“Is not like you will talk to me later,” Flavio shakes his head, running a hand over his sweat-dried face. “So yeah. We do this now.”
“C’mon, man. There are other people in here,” Ben pulls his headphones all the way down now, hooking them around his neck. He seems embarrassed, almost. Ashamed. It’s practically dead silent in there besides them. “No one wants to hear all our bullshit.”
“I think you don’t want to hear it.” Flavio retorts, arms crossed over his chest.
“Nah, I said I’m not doing this right now. Fuck this.” Ben stands, grabbing his stuff and walking to push past Flavio.
“Fuck you.” He grabs Ben’s wrist, dropping it immediately as Ben looks at him almost horrified.
“Real mature.” Ben nods with a curled lip, ignoring his own reaction to Flavio’s touch, like it was completely subconscious.
“Is this really how you want it to be? Just fight, fight, fight, all of the time?” Flavio questions after a brief pause, looking up at Ben with those big stupid wet eyes. Ben has to tear his own gaze away, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I just don’t understand why you have to make a big deal about everything.” He breaks, his hands coming out at his sides dramatically as his voice raises. He quickly schools his reaction though, pulling his hands towards his face again, rubbing at his cheeks in frustration.
“Me? That’s funny. You make me laugh.” Flavio scoffs, pointing inward at his chest while shaking his head like he’s never heard something more ridiculous.
“Whatever. I said I’m not doing this, I’m not doing this,” Ben knows he’s being unreasonable. He gathers the rest of his stuff and puts his headphones back over his ears as he walks away. Flavio lets him this time. “You wanna talk later, we can talk later. Maybe figure some shit out before then.” He turns and says before disappearing out the door, slamming it behind him.
The locker room stays eerily quiet after Ben stomps out. Flavio wonders if there was ever anyone but them in there at all.
Back at the hotel, he still feels the adrenaline from his argument with Ben coursing through him. Happens every time they meet, in all honesty— this feeling like his blood is turning to fire and running at a speed unknown to man creating a dizzy pressure in his head. It’s maddening.
He’s been showered and stretched even and still has a little headache from the sour locker room rendezvous.
Lying on the too-soft bed he reaches for his phone, feeling stupid for having the urge to check his texts with Ben. Like something new might be there. Like it won’t be the same pitiful one-sided conversation Flavio can’t seem to leave behind for some reason.
Hope we get to play each other Tuesday.
Read Saturday
He turns off the phone, groaning at his own desperation. It’s pathetic, he thinks. Embarrassing. Ben doesn’t even have the decency to turn off his read receipts, maybe he’s trying to send Flavio a hint, maybe he forgot he ever had them on.
Because there was a time.
In New York, in Berlin, in Acapulco. Hell, even in DC. There was a time when they stole the time from the night before the day could shine its harsh light onto anything. Before they were forced to see themselves in morning sun reality, not just midnight fantasies. Just something that existed in hotel rooms after losses that hurt so bad that it didn’t matter who tended to the wounds. At least, that’s how Ben saw it all.
Flavio made the mistake of expecting too much, exposing himself too much. A vulnerable athlete is no athlete at all, so he had learned as Ben continued moving forward with his career and Flavio stayed where he could watch from a safe distance. No longer concerned with him, Ben soared to new heights, yet still every time their matchup would come around, Ben expected a certain care and respect from Flavio. A gentleness that was lost in Mexico and forgotten completely by the time he was back home in Italy.
Now in Paris, the same thing. Ben looked at him after the coin toss with something like longing or even regret, but he doesn’t get to do that anymore. Though, he’d be damned if he held Ben to it.
Flavio grabs his phone again, turning onto his side and then going back to the conversation with Ben, despite himself. His thumb scrolls through the messages, trying to find the last time he wasn’t straight up ignored. He holds his phone up with his index finger propped against the screen, the other side of the phone pressed against his pillow. In a moment of negligence, his finger slips, pressing the call button beside Ben’s contact name.
“Cazzo—” Flavio shoots up, clutching his phone in his hand, fumbling for the end call button, which is suddenly the most difficult task ever.
Disturbingly, as soon as Flavio goes to press hang up (which is almost immediately,) Ben is picking up the call.
“Flavio?”
“Ben,” Flavio sighs, cursing under his breath yet again. “I call you by mistake.”
“Oh.” Flavio hates that he sounds almost disappointed.
“Sorry.”
“Nah, don’t be. It’s cool.”
It’s weird, the not talking. If now was then, they would talk about anything and everything. Just whatever they could think of when they weren’t kissing. But now it was just like catching up with someone you haven’t seen in years. Slightly awkward, but you can’t deny that rush of familiarity.
“I go now. Sorry.”
Flavio doesn’t hang up the phone. Heartbreakingly, neither does Ben.
If you were to ask Ben which of them initiated the relationship, he would most certainly say Flavio. Though Flavio has the messages from New York after the On event saying that they should hang out soon and it wouldn’t be weird if Flavio came to his hotel followed alarmingly by the number of his room.
A short while later, they were on the floor and drunk off the minibar when Ben said that he’d never kissed a guy before. And fuck curiosity and fuck Ben’s stupid brown eyes and dumb broad shoulders. Fuck everything apparently because then Flavio asked if Ben would like to kiss him.
They were both flushed and smiling just in the presence of one another, not yet angry at the other for simply existing. The room seemed to close in on them, Flavio remembered. It was tighter when he climbed onto Ben’s lap, tighter when he stuck sloppy kisses all across his mouth and jaw, tighter when he got Ben off with his hand, tightest when Ben did it back to him.
“Shit, you’re so good, baby. Where have you been my whole life?” Ben whispered in his ear, his voice low and throaty.
And he would say that Flavio was the one who started their trysts. He should know better. Between the two of them, Ben was the only one brave enough to start something, let alone end it.
The knock at his door wasn’t necessarily a surprise. Ben had asked for his room number before he hung up, but Flavio didn’t know if he would actually show. Flavio rolled off his bed and opened the door, Ben outside as expected, the hood of his On sweatshirt pulled up as if to hide his identity. He quickly pushed past Flavio, whose eyebrows shot up at the other man’s urgency.
When the door closed and locked with a soft click, Ben pulled his hood down and sat on the bed, looking already agitated.
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong is you get up in my face after our match, then call me like it’s an accident?” Ben stands up, clearly a bit restless. Flavio just stands a few feet away, his arms folded over his chest. “I know what you’re doing.”
“I don’t understand.” Eyebrows furrowed, this was already not going the way he thought it would.
“Fuck off, man.” Ben makes a dismissive gesture with his hand, like a wave, at Flavio’s earnest confusion.
“You are in my room, you know?” Flavio spits back. As if to say that he didn’t ask Ben to come. He is here by his own volition, he can fuck off whenever he likes.
“Just… Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” Ben went on, pacing now, like this is the hardest conversation he’s ever had.
“What?”
“I don’t wanna do anything we’re gonna regret.” And, Are you fucking kidding me?
“Is not what I’m trying to do, Ben.” Flavio shakes his head, speaking slowly like that will make the words sound more genuine, though it just ends up coming off as hesitation.
“Really? Yeah right.” Ben scoffs, stopping his pacing to look at Flavio, who hasn’t moved since Ben came into the room.
“No, really. I only wanted to talk.” Flavio presses his lips together, stepping a little closer to Ben, eyes wide with candor.
“Okay. Let’s fucking talk then.” The anger seems forced now, like he wants to seem upset at Flavio more than he actually is.
“Okay.” Flavio sighs, blinking a few times and staring blankly at Ben now, like he hadn’t expected him to give in so quickly. “Why you were mad today? When you win to me usually, you’re much… louder.”
“I wasn’t mad. Just… I don’t know.” Ben shrugs, his mouth tight in a way that shapes him into a brick wall barrier. An attempt to stop himself from saying more, like he always does. “It’s just weird to play you now.”
It’s quiet for a breath, the words hanging between them like a confession to be processed slowly. In a way it was. A roundabout route to get to the same place as always. I care too much about you.
“You mean because of Toronto?” They both knew he didn’t mean because of Toronto. That fight had ran its course. Pointless as it was, it still took almost two months before they would talk again in Shanghai. But the water was under the bridge, Flavio knew that, and he was playing dumb.
“No— Flavio.” Ben sighs, running his bottom lip between his teeth as a sign of his nerves heightening. Flavio wanted nothing more than to just get this over with, take his bitten lip and kiss it better. “Because of…us… c’mon, don’t be a dick.” He said it to the ceiling, as if far more incriminating things haven’t been said inches away from each other’s faces.
And it stings a bit. When you’ve practically been ignored for the past year and a half, the gates only letting up when you are forced to talk face to face, the implication that the one doing the ignoring has had the short end of the stick really fucking stings.
Flavio can only scrunch his face up in detest, holding back whatever counter he has to offer, whatever accusation he has to push Ben’s buttons.
It would be so refreshing to hear Ben say straight up that he is more tense playing against Flavio than anyone else because they’ve fucked. Stop jumping through hoops to try and make this something it’s not. Stop trying to be tender with it and just rip open the sutures, who cares how much it’s healed. Just let the hurt breathe, stop bottling the real shit up and say what’s been weighing on him since the first time he saw Flavio.
I care too much about you.
He’s not trying to be a jerk. He’s just being open. As vulnerable as he can be. Something Ben forfeited months ago.
“Why do you only do this now? Were you not happy in… Mexico?”
“It’s just… different, man. I’m not fucking around anymore, I guess.” Flavio’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline, so much for wearing his heart on his sleeve.
“Fucking around?” Eyes narrowed, Flavio took Ben’s statement in slowly.
“No— I didn’t mean it like that—“
“How do you mean, then?” Flavio shrugged, his voice getting taut with irritation. He could only curb his anger for so long.
“Just, you know…” He knows he’s in a hole he can’t get out. He sits back down on the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes glued to the floor. “I got Trin now, and my rank to worry about. Shit like that.”
“I don’t have rank to worry about?” He purposely ignores the mention of his girlfriend, since it’s something he’s stayed blissfully ignorant of. Plus, the second part hurt more anyway.
“Woah. You’re twisting my words now.” Ben flits his gaze up at Flavio now, dark eyes drawn beneath his knitted brows.
Flavio can feel his eyes boring into him.
“So what, you come just to tell me you are done with fucking around? That’s it?” Shaking his head, Flavio is the one to pace now, walking back in forth in front of Ben with a certain frenzy about him.
“Flav, no.” Ben reaches out and grabs his arm. Like Flavio did earlier in the locker room, but he doesn’t pull away like Ben did.
“No?” Still hesitant, though the touch is beginning to melt his inhibitions.
“It’s getting hard because,” Blinking at Ben, Flavio realizes he’s gone. He’s been gone since he stepped on the court across from Ben. Since he saw him in the locker room. Since the dumb fucking phone call. Since Ben dared to cross the threshold of his room. It doesn’t matter what he says next, there’s only one way this will end. “Cause I still miss you when I know I shouldn’t.”
And oh. Oh.
“You don’t get to tell me that.” Flavio swallows, a rough and calloused hand still clutching at his wrist. “Not when you call us fucking around.”
“Flavio. Come on.” A tug. Standing between Ben’s knees, looking up at Flavio is a sadness that he has never seen.
It doesn’t matter, right? Let the hurt breathe. Let it breathe.
When Ben kisses Flavio, it’s slow. He eases into it like it’s painful to escalate. Somehow, the feeling is always intense and lovely despite the dull bite. Flavio wonders if he kisses anyone else like this, if maybe this is a special kind reserved for him alone. Months ago, he would entertain the thought. Now it’s more of a delusion.
In the soft yellow glow of the hotel lamps, the space between the two men shrinks into nothing, a tingling numbness starting at their lips connection and spreading like a flame. It’s more hollow than usual, Ben’s long, thick fingers headed straight to Flavio’s waist, needling at his sides.
Pressing, Flavio aches. If it’s not this then it’s nothing at all, so he takes and takes and takes. Takes everything Ben will give him because it’s there. Begging to be taken.
“You want?”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Ben pants, desperately pulling his lips back to Flavio’s. A warmth comes with being wanted, something that is very easily forgotten. “Just— just for tonight.”
Flavio doesn’t have the energy to argue anymore.
“Okay. Just tonight.”
Some may say they were born to play tennis, the truth being that before athletes— they were liars.