Work Text:
"Is it okay that I called?"
His voice comes out quiet and timid, very unlike him. Novak thinks he must sound like he’s pretending to care rather than actually caring, and fuck . One moment he was reading the announcement on Instagram, the next he was hastily searching for the name in his contacts and pressing the button to call. Somehow, it all happened faster than he could be rational about it. Now he doesn’t know what to say. Now he realizes that this probably was a bad idea. But he just...
"Hi to you too, Novak," Roger’s voice comes through the line, and Novak can almost see him smiling a little.
"Oh. Hi, Roger. Sorry, my call was so sudden. I mean, I've surprised myself, to be honest," the words are rushing out of his mouth and he lets out a nervous laugh at the end. Get a grip. "We can talk later. Whenever you want."
"I did pick up your call now, didn’t I?"
That's a good point. There's also no tension or palpable sadness in Federer's tone. Not any that Novak can identify, at least. On the contrary, Roger's voice sounds relaxed and encouraging, which eases Novak into feeling a little less nervous.
"Roger," he pauses, "I am sincerely sorry. I really hoped... that you would be back one more time. No, wait. This sounded wrong. Jesus. It's not like you haven't already done everything . Literally everything. You never needed to return to do anything more. I guess I just can’t imagine what it feels like.”
Novak says this and feels anxiety flaring up, coating his thoughts in guilt for choosing seemingly the worst words.
"How do you feel?" he finishes lamely.
"I feel okay. Look, I’ve had time to process everything, reflect on things, you know? I am 41. Retiring doesn’t exactly come as a shocker at this point, does it? If anything, I am incredibly lucky. Yes, a comeback would be great, but I knew this was a possibility. I knew it for a while. Mirka and my parents knew. Seve and Ivan knew, of course."
Roger takes a moment before continuing, and the tension in Novak's stomach coils tighter. He sits down on the bed and just stares at the floor. When Roger starts talking again, he closes his eyes
"I think it had been gradually becoming more clear in the past few months, my body just not…," Roger’s voice cuts off. Novak holds his breath before the other man finishes, "not being up to the task anymore. So I was prepared, you know? It wasn't like a sudden hit."
Maybe it wasn't, but Novak doesn’t hear a smile in Roger’s voice anymore. He understands. No matter what, you can't be completely prepared for something like that. What is it he can say to comfort the other man now? And what if he can't? Not over a goddamn phone.
"You know, I keep forgetting how old you are because not that long ago, you were kicking my ass on the court too freaking often," Novak feigns a little annoyance to sell the joke.
Right away, he is rewarded with Roger’s surprised huffed laugh, and his own lips stretch into a smile. The first one since he learned about Roger’s decision. Novak slowly breathes out the air he didn't realize he was holding.
"Yeah. Now with me out of the way, Novak Djokovic will finally be able to win something."
"Is this the part where I'm thanking you for letting me have my moment?"
"You might as well, since you called. Maybe you didn't know, Novak, but most people just post their tributes online nowadays."
"Most people don't have your phone number," he says playfully.
He doesn't say I just wanted to know if you're okay. Roger seems to be okay. There's no need to be dramatic.
"No, they don't."
The line goes quiet then. He doesn't hear the other man's steady breathing, doesn't hear any movement on the other end. He imagines that Roger's mind might have drifted off somewhere. Like it happens sometimes when Roger is anxious.
Twenty-four years. That’s how long Roger Federer has been on the tour. But in reality, it’s much longer. You dedicate almost your entire life to playing tennis. It's your hobby, your passion. It's where you meet friends and find role models. You learn pain by losing; you learn joy through victory and progress. Novak imagines how it'll be when he’ll be saying goodbye to something that has been a part of him since he was a child.
His eyes start prickling, and he fights the feeling threatening to overwhelm him.
"You'll leave the biggest hole in tennis," he says solemnly, breaking the silence and trying to keep the slight tremble out of his voice. "Believe it or not, even as your rival, I don’t want you to go, Roger. I honestly don’t."
He swallows the lump in his throat to continue.
"But what I also know is that this is a new chapter in your life and that it will be incredible. I know that because it’s you, Roger, and you just make things incredible. You made tennis incredible," he swallows again, praying that his voice doesn’t crack. "Yet there is so much more to look forward to. Everything is going to be fine. Better than fine, even. You know that, right?"
The last few sentences come out rushed. Novak rubs away the wetness from his face and grips the phone as he waits for Roger to reply. There’s a shaky inhale on the other end.
"I do. I really do," Roger says quietly. And maybe it’s a little choked up, but he is smiling. Novak can hear it. "Thank you, Novak. I’m glad you called. Truly."
Novak feels the warmth of relief and something else sweep through him at once. It is okay. This is a big change, but Roger is going to be fine. Novak thinks that when the time for him to retire comes, he’ll be fine too.
"What can I say? I like using the privilege of having Roger Federer’s phone number," he's only half-joking. "Don’t worry though, I promise I’ll post a tribute on social media too."
"Really?" Roger pretends to be taken aback.
"Of course! If you ask nicely, I might even let you choose the pictures for the Instagram post."
"I’m trusting you to post the best ones."
"What if you don’t like them?"
"I might just never speak to you again. But no pressure," Roger deadpans.
Novak is smiling like an idiot.
"How’s the wedding, by the way?" Roger suddenly asks.
He sounds curious, but Novak is wondering how much of it is genuine interest, and how much of it is him switching the subject. Well, it probably is a good time to move on to something lighter.
"That’s a good question. All our friends are here, and that can be a story of its own. I feel like I’m drinking more hours a day than I’m sleeping. Did I mention the signing?" he hears Federer's questioning 'huh' and chuckles, "Yeah, that’s what’s up. A lot of dancing too. I think you’d like it here," he says cheerfully and then adds, instantly becoming serious, "Don’t worry, I’ll be as ready as one can be for the Laver Cup.”
He means it.
"I’m not worried. You have contractual obligations."
"Oh, please. Who put Federer ‘The Billionaire’ on the phone?"
Roger laughs at that, loud and goofy, and Novak's own laugh mirrors it. He is so fucking happy he made this call.
"So when will you be in London?" Roger finally asks, tone spilling over with mirth.
"Well, I need to double-check the upcoming schedule with Djordje and my team. But I think the 22nd? Probably on the 22nd."
"Good. I’ll meet you there."
Roger’s simple response absolutely does not make Novak feel some type of way.
"I’ll be waiting," he says, hanging up before he can hear how Roger reacts to that.
There is a lingering regret about it all still, a nagging realization of their rivalry has come to an end. But he knows Roger is ready to welcome what the future holds, and he is ready too.