Chapter Text
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The crowd erupts into pure noise when Novak’s backhand hits the net.
Andy lets go of his racquet and lets out a roar; elation, frustration, and exhaustion rush out of him.
He pumps his fist at mum before seeing Novak walking up to the net out of the corner of his eye.
Andy turns, and runs to him, momentarily unsure whether Novak will welcome a hug.
But Novak smiles, blindingly with the corners of his eyes wrinkling in joy.
Congratulations, his lips read, sound drawn out by the din.
Andy slows his steps for a beat before stepping into Novak’s personal space to put his arms around the other man, and pulls him into an embrace.
“Thank you.” Andy whispers in Novak’s ear, making him laugh.
“It’s all you today; it’s not like I’d just let you win.” Novak whispers back, and wraps his arms tighter around Andy quickly, before stepping back and out of Andy’s arms.
He nudges Andy back into the court, the smile doesn’t leave his eyes, “Your court awaits.”
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Andy gets dressed for the Championship dinner in Novak’s hotel room, because Novak has the better bathroom, not really bigger or brighter than Andy’s own, but better nonetheless.
“Please,” Andy wheedles, struggling with the invisible buttons on his dress shirt, “I can’t face schmoozing these organizers by myself. And you are invited anyway.”
“The runner ups never go to the dinner, you know this.” Novak pops a grape in his mouth, and flicks the telly to the Food Network, “Last year you got drunk in your hotel room and cried to me on the phone.”
“I did not cry on the phone.” Andy glares at Novak’s reflection in the bathroom mirror when the other man comes to lean against the door frame.
“Are we going to pretend I didn’t call your mum to check up on you to make sure you didn’t fall asleep choking on your own vomit?”
Andy turns to hurl a tiny shampoo bottle at the offending presence; Novak catches it amidst peals of laughter.
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It’s okay now, enough time has passed that they can joke about this same night from last year.
After losing yet again to Roger, this time on his home turf, Andy had decided to drink.
He called Novak because he missed him, but ended up confessing, half coherently, how exhausted he was, tired of the expectations, the pressure, and the failures; tired of the training, and the excruciating matches that left him emotionally and physically drained.
“I can’t do this anymore.” Andy whispered.
Novak didn’t yell at him. He held the phone close and told Andy how good he is, that Novak knew from the first match they played as juniors; how impressed he is with everything Andy had done; how it is enough, that when they look back, this will be nothing but a bad memory, just another bump in the road.
Novak ploughed on, “I want to see you at the US Open finals later. I know you have what it takes to win it this time.”
“Do you?” Andy had laughed bitterly, “Fifth time is the charm?”
“I’ve been doing this for 15 years, too, you know. I think my opinion counts for something.”
“I don’t need your pity, Nole.”
“No, it’s not pity because it’ll be your fight, Andy. If you want to take a title, you have to beat all of us fair and square.” Novak whispered hotly through the tiny earpiece, “But I’m in your corner, always.”
Andy has always had a soft spot for Novak.
Sure, he was jealous of Novak’s talent and how quickly he climbed the rankings, he still is, if he is being honest, but he never resented Novak for his talents and all the hard work he put into his game.
So when Jamie joked about Novak’s ball bouncing, Andy had been irritated.
If he didn’t have such a good serve that you tossers can’t return, Andy told him, no one would complain about his ball bouncing.
And when others questioned Novak’s early retirements, Andy seethed, he’d like to see those arseholes suffer chest pain and go on to win five setters.
In hindsight, maybe he defended Novak too much that after his break with Kim, mum asked him, one day, almost tentatively, whether there was anything more than friendship between Novak and him.
She understands, she said, and she wants him to be happy.
Andy blinked and gaped at her, and thought that was odd.
Except it wasn’t.
It would be a bad idea, Jamie told Andy after his Aussie loss, the two of you are shaping up to become the next big rivalry in tennis; it’s bad enough that everyone knows you are friendly.
Although, Jamie admits, after Kim it’s hard to imagine anyone else putting up with your personality.
He received a well-deserved shove in the backwards direction for that.
“I mean, you are grating at the best of times.” Jamie said, “Except Novak seems to be one of the few who finds it charming”.
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“I can’t get this.” Andy turns back to the mirror, gestures with a sigh at the bowtie that refuses to straighten, “Maybe I should just wear a tie.”
“Just re-tie it.” Novak come up behind him and snakes his hands around to untie the offending article at Andy’s throat.
Andy shivers, hyper aware of their closeness.
Novak is dressed simply in a white t-shirt and shorts. He recently showered, Andy notices, and smells like soap and warm skin.
Andy wants to turn around and put his arms around Novak again, to feel his body heat through the soft cotton.
He wonders if Jamie is right, if Novak really does find him attractive.
“Come as my date, then.” Andy says, quieter than he hoped, to Novak’s reflection as he finishes re-tying his tie.
Novak doesn’t look up; he tugs on the bowtie one last time before taking his hands off and sliding them down Andy’s back.
Andy feels the skin on his back prickle as Novak’s hands skim over his shirt; he turns to face the other man, catching Novak’s hands before they leave his person.
“Nole -”
“And that makes me the luckiest girl in this whole country, doesn’t it?” Novak chuckles, eyes following their clasped hands.
Andy puts one of the Novak’s hands on his own chest, slides the free arm around the other man’s waist, and jokes in an American accent, “- and the most badass.”
Novak laughs and looks up into Andy’s eyes searchingly.
“You look very handsome.” His whisper resonates warmly between the two of them; Andy has never wanted to kiss him more.
“So do you.”
But instead of leaning in, Novak steps back and looks away again, “You should call Kim.”
“Why? She isn’t – she isn’t my girlfriend.”
“And neither am I.” Novak replies cryptically, looking anywhere but at Andy.
“Nole?” Andy asks, “Look I’m sorry, I’m – if I got it wrong, then I’m sorry. I really am.”
He rambles and reaches out for Novak’s hands, “Nole.”
Andy’s heart breaks when downcast eyes look back up at him again, shining with unshed tears.
He envelops the other man in a hug.
Momentarily Andy marvels at how much he misses this, the feeling of Novak pressed against him, even though they have embraced quite a few times during the day already.
Novak returns the hug instinctively, arms solid and familiar around Andy’s body.
He drops his head down to rest on Andy’s shoulder, when he speaks his voice is muffled, “Andy - we can’t -”
Oh.
No, Andy supposes, Jamie was right, they can’t, for the sake for both of their careers, and for Nole’s family’s expectations.
“No -” Andy echoes and turns his head to kiss Novak’s temple, as soothingly as he can master, “I know. It’s okay -”
Novak shakes and laughs mirthlessly in his arms.
“It’s going to be okay.” Andy holds on tighter as he feels the wetness of tears seeping through his shirt.