The Big 4 Texting On Their Group Chat, A Day Before Rafa's Retirement: Roger: Good Luck For Tomorrow,

Unforgivable crimes on the regular

carlos alcaraz is tennis

I'll die on this take

fighting for my life: Carlitos’ game is and always has been closer to Roger’s than Rafa’s

"I always hoped this day would never come" - Roger Federer

Thank you Rafa ✨️🫶

Song: Birds of a Feather by Billie Eilish

this is so gooodddd 🤧💖

BREAK

Tap tap tap tap

The water droplets falling onto the plate in the sink. Room dimly lit by the glow of the tv, Carlos's interview on it. Only if you could still call him yours. The texts started becoming shorter, the dry replies from his end. He didn't share goofy pictures on his last tour, the calls being cut short by him, saying to call you later, but the calls never came. You tried to console him after losses, just to be met with silence on the other side.

"I-I need a break, right now this feels like a burden" He sighs, head down, afraid to even look at you. "Burden? Carlos what are you ⎯" "My game's shit, my focus is off, my points are dropping. Just, not now. I need a break, from this, from us. Please." His tired eyes meet your tear stained ones. Every bone in your body wants to confront, wants to know if all that you have given him wasn't enough, all that he gave you, about all of those times. "We can talk it out baby" you move closer to cup his cheeks, but he takes a step back. It made you feel distant. Going back and forth for god knows how long, breath shaking, a barely audible agreement, him leaving. Then silence. The silence was deafening. Your eyes refocus on the screen, he smiles at something in the interview, which just didn't feel....right. His hair has grown, his beard looked a bit unkempt. Face, mostly stoic. You could see how he uses his hands a little too much, touching his face frequently, like he used to do when he was not quite present, zoning out. This was background noise for you. You are in his hoodie, breathing in the smell of his aftershave. It feels as if the ghost of his memory is wrapping its arm around you, just like how he did numerous times. The weight of his arms around your waist after an exhausting day. His head snuggled onto your chest. His laugh ringing in your ears. Your mind drifts to glimpses. His socks lying in the corner of your wardrobe, folded neatly. His shirt, the dark blue one of RG which you loved (and stole from him), still hanging in the closet. His brush, that silly "carlitos" you had engraved on it with a permanent marker, was facing yours, in the cup holder. Except that his owner wasn't. Your apartment had parts of him still left, even though it had been a month. You didn't want to put his things away, this was the only way that you could cling onto him a bit longer. Neither did he say anything about coming to pick up his stuff from you. The loud sound of applause brings you back, as you see him leaving the court, his kit resting on his shoulders. He still has the keychain you made for him, dangling from his kit. You bring your feet closer to your chest, resting your chin on your knee. A sigh escapes your lips. The couch feeling a little too comfortable. Just like one of those rainy days, with Carlos holding your legs over his , a blanket over your bodies, as he told you about his childhood. Just like one time, when you both planned on a movie night, but then he fell asleep, the pout on his lips making him look adorable. The light causing a soft glow on his face, his cheek slightly pink, his face peaceful as he breathes out soft snores . You could watch him like this for hours, as you move a strand of hair from his forehead, bringing him closer to your chest. He snuggles, melting into you, the movie forgotten in the background. This is just a break, but why does it hurt like a breakup? Your chest feels tight and it's difficult to breathe. You don't even realise that tears have fallen, rolling down your cheeks, where his thumb used to caress ever so often, his touch gentle. How he used to hold your face, the green in his eyes gazing into yours, like you meant the world to him. How he would bend down, his lips, so soft, pressed against yours. He would kiss you, making you forget everything around you, just the warmth of his love radiating. How his fingers would hold your neck so softly, fingers grazing over your jaw, supporting your head. How he would take your breath away. The tv fell silent, the screen black. Your body sinks into your bed, finger hovering over his picture. You had secretly taken this when he was sleeping, sheets over his bare chest, hands over his head. Perhaps he still thinks about you, he still hasn't blocked you anywhere. Perhaps he still misses you, just like you do. Perhaps a part of you never left him, the duck keychain in his kit. Perhaps, he will come back into your arms again. But all you can do now is wait for him to come running home, to you. __________

masterlist

my grandslam predictions for 2025 :—

australianopen : novak djokovic

frenchopen : carlos alcaraz

wimbledon : carlos alcaraz

us open : jannik sinner

I know his losses are hitting hard but don't stop with the fics people 😭😭

reminiscing how 90% of rafa nadal retirement tributes included roger in them.... his own legacy has roger eternally intertwined, impossible to be extricated. there isn't one without the other; when there is rafa there is roger, and roger, rafa.

he’s literally a disney prince

rafa to roger: oh my dearest you deserve the world if i can't win i want it to be you

rafa to novak: idk depends on the vibes i guess