Work Text:
Hello?”
“What's wrong?”
Although he was glad to hear Rafa's voice, Roger immediately recognized the warning signs. This was not going to start off as a fun conversation.
“Nothing's wrong, other than I miss you.” He put the huge amount of affection and longing that he felt for his absent lover into the words. Couldn't hurt to try.
It didn't work. “I saw your match with Julien. You play awful!” Rafa scolded him.
“Thanks very much.”
“Rogi, you capable of better, no?”
Roger sighed. “Yeah. I guess.”
“What wrong?”
“Not sure. Not enough practice, maybe? I do miss you, by the way. That's a fact.”
“You not blame me for playing so bad!”
“I wasn't. I was blaming myself for letting it get to me that you're not here, or me not being there.”
“I call Paul and tell him to tell you to practice, but I know you very stubborn and only do what you want to do! Rogi, you not want to play me in the final at Roland Garros?”
Roger chuckled. “Pretty sure of yourself that you'll be in the final, too!” They both knew that, of the two of them, Rafa was the closest to a sure thing to reach the final at the FO – even with Rafa's sore knee. Although, Roger felt he had it in him to be there across the net from his fiery boyfriend.
He felt a familiar swell of confidence and a fire of his own build within himself. He was the best. He'd been the best for a very long time, ranking notwithstanding. He just had a more difficult time the last half year or so. Too many commitments, his daughters, and Mirka, even if they were no longer a couple they were all still family, his sponsor obligations, appearances, publicity for tournaments like Rotterdam and, of course, his foundation. That left little time for playing tennis and, somewhere in there he had to find time for his relationship with Rafa – not that they had been on the same side of the world very much for months now.
But he could do it. He wanted another slam, he wanted it badly, and he realized emotionally rather than just intellectually, that he needed to apply himself to that goal.
He took a breath, surprised at the sharp longing in his gut for another win at Wimbledon or maybe Roland Garros or New York. There was also the desire to win more titles, more Masters. He'd been coasting for too long. Using his natural talent to get him deep into tournaments, but not digging into his soul for the hunger to win.
Suddenly semi-finals and quarters were not good enough. He wanted another final. He wanted another win. The hunger was still there, dampened by too many outside things piled on top of time. He liked to think he was still a young man, but the truth was time was catching up with him. His body was in great shape, but it was still the body of a 31 year old with a lot of wear and tear on it. He thought he had a few more years in his career. Time to start acting like the champion he was touted to be.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Roger said quietly. “I need you to scold me now and then. Promise me you'll call me up at least once a day and tell me off?”
“More! I call three times a day.”
Roger heard the grin in Rafa's voice, now that they were on the same page.
“Promise?”
“Si. Yes, I promise.”
“I miss you, Rafa.”
“I miss you, too.”
“Good luck in your semi later. Today. Tomorrow. Oh, what day is it there again?”
“I not know.” Rafa giggled. “What day there?”
“Not a clue. I'm too tired to figure it out. Need some sleep. We leave for Dubai in the morning – whenever that is.” He knew exactly when and where he was and in what timezone Rafa was, but it was fun to pretend otherwise. But his schedule had gotten turned around in Rotterdam – staying up too late and getting up in the middle of the day.
“You sleep. I see you at Indian Wells, no?”
“That's almost a month, Rafa. Too long.”
There was a brief silence during which Roger could picture Rafa chewing on his bottom lip as he thought. Then: “We find a way to meet before?”
“How? I'll be in South Africa and then back to Dubai. You'll be in Mexico. They're a long way apart.”
Roger tried to sound reasonable, but he was immensely frustrated being apart from his lover.
Rafa sighed. “We figure it out.”
Roger closed his eyes. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Both of them meant what they said and both put all of their feelings into the words. Underlying the sentiment was still so much annoyance that they could not be together. Still, three weeks or so until they'd see each other in person again.
“Indian Wells.”
“Si?”
“Don't pull out. If you have to for the sake of your knees go there anyway so we can be together.”
“That an order, Rogi?”
“Yes. Now that everyone in the world knows we're together we owe it to them to actually spend time with each other.”
Rafa laughed hard. When he caught his breath he asked, “We be together for the sake of the fans?”
“Sure. I mean, why not? We both love our fans,” Roger grinned.
“What about us? For us?”
“Mm, yeah. Okay, us too.” Then he ruined the mood by yawning.
“Get some sleep, Rogi.”
“See you at Indian Wells, Rafa.”
“I try to get there early, so we can practice.”
“That'd be nice – practicing on the courts with you.”
“Si, that too. I meant practice being us.”
Roger moaned. “Oh, sweetheart. I want that too.”
“Three weeks, Rogi.”
“Three weeks, Rafa.”
“See you then.”
“I love you.”
Rafa told him, “I love you, too.” And then he ended the call. Roger wasn't sure he could have done it
himself. He missed Rafa so much he would have stayed on the line until the battery ran down.
Just three more weeks.
# end