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federinka

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十火k

无论是印第安维尔斯时瓦子的那句“他还在嘲笑我,他就是个混蛋。但是没事的。”


还是法网时牛说的“当年他穿着那条可怕的裤子击败了我,还好他最后夺冠了。”


还是巴塞尔的此时此刻。


好多好多又甜又好笑又有点心酸的故事呀。


只有你赢了,我才不算输。

无论是印第安维尔斯时瓦子的那句“他还在嘲笑我,他就是个混蛋。但是没事的。”


还是法网时牛说的“当年他穿着那条可怕的裤子击败了我,还好他最后夺冠了。”


还是巴塞尔的此时此刻。


好多好多又甜又好笑又有点心酸的故事呀。


只有你赢了,我才不算输。

给点糖蹦蹦跳
算不算产了个粮(。算(。

算不算产了个粮(。
算(。

算不算产了个粮(。
算(。

Federinka

The fire that doesn't burn (1/2)

AO3 原文链接 


          The fire that doesn't burn

By  olandesevolante

Summary:

Stan is cooking, his hands moving quickly, knowing perfectly what they have to do; and Roger is sure those pancakes will be perfect as usual, as they always are...

AO3 原文链接 


          The fire that doesn't burn

By  olandesevolante

Summary:

Stan is cooking, his hands moving quickly, knowing perfectly what they have to do; and Roger is sure those pancakes will be perfect as usual, as they always are when he’s invited at Stan’s home to spend some days together. On the radio there’s some U2 song that Stan loves and that Roger can’t name but knows it calms Stan before a match. Myla and Charlene are disputing on a toy they won’t care about anymore in five minutes, but that right now is the most important thing on Earth, while Alexia is quietly drinking her orange juice.
Put like this, everything is at its own place. Except anything is. 
(or, Roger wakes up in a family that isn’t his.)

Notes:

-I blame this on a series of things: the course of constitutional law, where we discussed language policy in Switzerland, something that got my mind starting to wander at how Stan and Roger communicate (I know, they speak in French. But French isn’t Roger’s first  language, so I always feeling that for him it’s actually always a little difficult to use it, even if he’s been speaking it for so long – you know, that’s probably just my inner linguist speaking); the last Easter evening, spent watching Christmas movies (yes, for real) like “The family man”, which gave me the starting point of this all; the last Roland Garros, because yes (still not over the fact I missed Wawrinka-Murray because of university, seriously);
-the story is set around April of this year (actually, this is a completely useless information);
-title and quotes all over the story are borrowed from the song “Odio le favole” by Ermal Meta, which is actually another thing that I blame for the genesis of this story;
-English is not my first language, so please forgive my mistakes. (Also, it's unbeta'd, so every mistake is mine.)
- check the amazing playlist that thesaddestboner, who also created the beautiful art, made for this work because it's just perfect!  You can find it @ https://thesaddestboner.dreamwidth.org/800393.html
-written for the round 5 of RPF Big Bang Challange.


  


“I don't know if you miss me,

I miss you and you don't know it.”

 

When Roger wakes up, he’s so buried in a pleasant, warm feeling, all wrapped up in his covers, that at first he doesn’t realize anything. He is in those first moments when you’ve just woken up and before conscience kicks in, everything is fine, you don’t remember anything, you don’t think of anything, you’re just feeling well. Then, unexpected, a feeling startles him. The feeling of the covers on his body is strange; he feels them on his entire body, as if he was naked, except for his briefs. And he totally doesn’t remember falling asleep nearly naked; actually, he remembers going to bed alone because of an headache while Mirka and his kids were watching a cartoon on the television.

He opens his eyes and see the wall in front of him, of a light shade of orange. Roger is sure that, at his home, the bedroom has light blue walls, and he is also sure he didn’t fall asleep in some hotel.  

He turns around to see a sleeping figure next to him, warm, almost all under the covers, and a sigh of relief escapes his lips, knowing that Mirka will have an explanation for everything. She always has. Roger moves his arm toward her to caress his hair, and there stops, in shock. He might not be a hundred percent sure about the colour of the walls of his bedroom (he is, actually, but there might be a chance the morning light is colouring the room in some strange way, or, at least, he thinks it might be possible), but he can’t be wrong about this, Mirka has long hair, long and brown and he loves to card his fingers through them and gently wake her up in the mornings. What he’s just touched, though, are short hair. And it doesn’t make sense at all.

Then the figure stirs and moves and Roger’s eyes go completely opened in shock as he recognize the yawning body next to his. It can’t be true, he thinks. I must be still asleep. Because next to him there’s Stan, his best friend, and there is no way he’s naked in a bed with Stanislas Wawrinka. And, especially, the other man doesn’t seem at all having a problem with being in bed with Roger, his friend Roger Federer, since he was deeply asleep and now that the touch of Roger’s hand awoke him, he’s just not bothered by his presence.

«Why are you waking me up today too, it’s Sunday and we went to bed late, let me sleep some more, I’m begging you...», grunts Stan, slowly and messy, approaching him and not opening his eyes. Roger freezes as Stan’s hair touch his bare chest.

«Stan...», he murmurs, careful not to touch him and moving back a little, so that his head isn’t anymore touching him. «Stan», he repeats, louder.

«Mmm», just answers him, a hint of annoyance in the background. Only now Stan opens his eyes and watch him directly in his eyes, with something so soft in them that makes Roger’s stomach clench. It’s not what he expects when it comes to Stan, that’s for sure. «You are the most annoying person of this entire world when it’s morning, Roger. Seven millions of people on this Earth, and I got to end up with one who can’t let other people sleep when he’s awake. I swear this is enough Purgatory for me to go straight to Paradise when I’m dead.»

Then, moving naturally, as if it’s something he always does, he stretches his neck and gives him a kiss, nothing more than a slight brush of lips, and Roger doesn’t have the strength to do absolutely anything; if possible, he’s in even more shock than before.

«Roger? Are you not feeling well?», asks Stan, worried at the complete lack of any type of reaction from Roger, who doesn’t answer, again, and looks frozen. «Roger?», asks again Stan, trying to get a grip on his hand. But, before he succeeds, Roger is jumping out of the bed and looking at him with what seems to be actual fear in his eyes, and Stan frowns at his behaviour.

«Where am I?», asks Roger, and he can feel his own voice trembling.

«Roger, did you go out of your head while sleeping? Where do you think you can be, if not in our home?»

Our. «O-our. Our home. We don’t have a home, Stan.»

The younger frowns. «What the hell are you babbling, Roger. Don’t say bullshit, it’s freaking early in the morning and you know I need time and a cup of coffee to start my brain when you wake me up this early.»

«No, I don’t know your brain in the morning, Stan, I don’t!», he replies, and his voice is pitched high now, so much that Stan stops rubbing idly at his eyes and gives him a stern look.

«Why the hell are you shouting now, you’ll wake up the kids too, and God knows if I can understand what they say when I’ve just woken up after just few hours of sleep...»

«Stan. We don’t have kids.»

That’s when Stan looks at him with something more than that mix of curiosity and annoyance. This time, Roger can feel it, it’s more like anger what radiates from him. «What the fuck are you saying, Roger. What the fuck. Why don’t you go in the other room and see Alexia, Myla or Charlene hopefully still sleeping and tell me if they don’t exist. You damn idiot.»

Roger’s heart jumps at least three or four beats. It can’t be true, Stan can’t have said those names, exactly those names. If this is a dream, it has to end right now because it’s starting to freak him out, and a lot. He draws a long breath, trying to relax. It doesn’t work.

Surely Stan isn’t helping at all his attempts, now, when he’s looking at him as if he’s  a mad man. «If this is all some fucking sort of prank, Roger, I tell you, I’ll smash your-»

«Stan,» he interrupts the other man before he can hear whatever menace his friend was going to say. «Stan, I don’t know what the fuck is going on! I went to bed with an headache last night and when I woke up I was in another place, in a house I don’t know--»

«In a house you don’t know?! What the fuck, Roger, it’s years that we’re living here now, are you crazy?!»

«Fuck, no, listen to me! I wake up and it seems I have all another family, and-»

«ANOTHER FAMILY?!», shouts Stan, not caring (or probably not remembering anymore) about the daughters still asleep; Roger thinks he’s never seen him so angry, never, probably because Stan isn’t a man a lot of times really angry, apart from himself when on the court he’s not playing as he would like to. His words must have touched him, a lot, but he really doesn’t understand what’s going on. Stan jumps out of the bed and goes straight to Roger, his face promising at least a punch. On his nose. Hard. All this only if he’s lucky.

«Dads?», comes a tiny voice from the door, that has the power to stop whatever Stan was planning to do to him and his face. Roger sees him closing his eyes for the briefest of moments, as if trying to recollect his usual self and don’t show all the anger he has right now, before watching Myla.

«Hey, princess, good morning. I’m sorry if we woke you up», he says. Myla runs to him to give him a hug, and Stan picks her up, gives her a quick peck on her cheek. Myla laughs. Roger is completely frozen, seeing his daughter – it’s his daughter, no matter what Stan can say or else, that Myla is his Myla, his and Mirka’s – running to hug Stan and calling him dad. He seriously feels himself fainting this time, he’s not sure he can take anything more of all of this story. He leans to the wardrobe, his hand clutching the desk next to it, and breathes, breathes as if he was back on the tennis court and this was a Wimbledon final, and he had to calm down and concentrate himself, after a stupid mistake, the best that he can to win the match. In this case, to grasp a clue about what is happening around him.

«Let me down, I want to give a hug to dad too», he hears Myla say, and when he opens his eyes he sees Stan talking to her.

«Honey, your dad isn’t feeling really well, don’t bother him, ok?»

«Just a little hug, dad...»

The little girl runs and embrace Roger before Stan can say another word, her tiny hands around his legs. Stan shoots him a death glare, nodding toward the girl. Roger feels stiff; he tries at least to caress her hair, but he spends too much time moving his arm, and in the while Myla is already going away from him. Roger thinks he’d never said it and it’s something he thought he’d never said, but it’s with relief that this time he watches his daughter going away from him; he doesn’t know how to behave, what to do, not when he still doesn’t have a clue about what seems it’s his life here, wherever “here” is.

«Go back to your bedroom, yes? You and Charlene get ready, and wake up Alexia too, I’ll make you all breakfast, I bought those cereals you love so much, sweetie, the ones with chocolate too», says quietly Stan, caressing gently her hair; it seems there’s nothing more of that anger he had before, as if talking with Myla made him come back to his usual self. The little girl flashes him an enormous smile before running away, presumably in her room.

«What am I doing here?», whispers Roger, his head spinning faster and faster. He must look completely devastated, because Stan, now, puts his hands on both sides of his face, a worried expression painted on his own, and for a moment Roger is grateful, grateful, because right now the world stopped spinning like crazy and his nausea feels a little better – but in a twist of seconds he realizes what’s happening and where he is, and jumps back. Stan’s face is so broken he almost feel bad. Almost. He just needs the time to realize what he’s actually thinking to understand that no, he can’t have just thought that. He’s already going crazy with enough questions without worrying that much about hurting Stan.

«Listen. I’ll go down and get the breakfast ready for the children, while you come back down to Earth, ok?»

Roger hears him and sees in his mind an image: his daughters, sitting at a table he has never seen, eating the breakfast Stan prepared for them, laughing at the funny faces he would surely pull for them, his usual cup of coffee in a hand, smiling. The world starts spinning faster again.

«No. I have to go. Away.»

«To go where, Roger, it’s Sunday morning and---»

But Roger runs, runs out of the room brushing past him, accidentally hitting him in the shoulder and feeling his own body burn at the touch. He shivers, lacking the courage to look at Stan; instead, he runs in the corridor, in the way he feels is the right one for the exit, picks up the first jacket he finds and throws himself out of the door, not before having the time to hear Charlene’s voice, calling for Stan.

 

-----

 

Roger realizes soon that there’s more or less nowhere he can go; he doesn’t even know where he is. He’s sure last night he went to bed and he was in Basel, but this house isn’t the one he went sleeping in, and surely the city he’s now wandering in is not Basel, not even another place in Basel that’s not his home. He’s sure, he knows it too well not to be aware of it.

He feels he’s already been here, though, the place is not completely unfamiliar. If only his head stopped hurting so much, as if someone put a nail in it, he would probably focus better on how to recognize this city.

“...I told you you had to try this place, Roger. Told you that, whatever Basel has, it can’t compare to this.”

Roger rolls mockingly his eyes at Stan, but laughs in the while. It’s true, Stan was right, he’d never tried a better hot chocolate than the one he made him taste at this small place in Lausanne, but for nothing in the world he’d give him the satisfaction of saying that something here is better than in his beloved Basel.

Lausanne, he remembers snapping back from the memory. He remembers spending some time here with Stan on holiday as his guest, having him as a guide to a city he liked but never fully appreciated, too absorbed in the dreams of his career at the time. That house in which he woke up, though, didn’t look like the one Stan used to own. Another thing to add to the pile of situations that, this morning, don’t make sense.

God, it’s all that Roger can think. He doesn’t know if he just woke up with this headache that is threatening to kill him or if he’s giving it himself, with all his thoughts. He just knows he feels like throwing up now, in this alley.

He lets himself fall on a bench, taking big breaths that are supposed to help him calm down, but that aren’t really working. Actually, they can’t work, because he just can’t calm down. He doesn’t know what to do, where to go: he should be able to come back home (his stomach clenches at the idea of calling a place that’s not his real home like that, but he can’t help it) but it would mean deal with a Stan that is sure they’re married, and with (Roger’s stomach does a flip here) their three kids too, and he just can’t, not now. Though, he can’t just sit down on a bench forever, hoping that at some point everything will be back to normal - even if he might, since Roger just doesn’t think he can actually do something to convince Stan they’re not a family at all.

The weather though is cold enough to make him shiver, so he collects himself and just walks into the first café he can find, and it’s with relief that he welcomes the fact that the young waitress doesn’t give away any sign that she has recognized him; probably it’s not the first time he sits here, since it’s near where he’s supposed to live. Roger even manages to give her a little smile when she comes back bringing his coffee, and then gulps it down in one go, enjoying the relief of having something warm running in his stomach, so tormented this morning.

There are some newspapers laying on the little table next to his, and Roger picks them up. He’s not sure about what he’s searching on them, but he flicks rapidly through the news until he reaches the sport section. Seems like Switzerland NT is having troubles to gain enough points to reach the qualification for the next World Cup, and Roger, despite the situation, cringes inside a bit. He searches some more, there aren’t big tournaments on at the moment in the tennis world, but there’s some news about it all the same. Roger gasps when he sees it: a photo of him and Stan laughing together, his own arm slung around the younger’s waist, in an article that talks about their tennis academy, that is already proving to be very promising.

A tennis academy in Lausanne. He and Stan opened it after having both retired. He’s retired. What.

Roger starts feeling again shivers on his arms, and this time it can’t be the cold weather, since the place is warm enough – well, at least it was until some seconds ago. Roger reaches the back of the chair for his jacket and wears it, knowing that it won’t stop the shivering, but he does it either way, in the attempt of doing something reasonable. He wears it and his nostrils are full now with a scent he hasn’t noticed before, too absorbed in his thoughts and his panic. He feels his cheeks reddening as he recognizes it for the scent that he breathed this morning in bed. He picked a random jacket, the first one he found under his hands before running away from the house, and probably (definitely) he picked Stan’s one.

There’s a lump in his throat as the memories of that morning come back, the hurt look on Stan’s face being the biggest problem. He’s seen his friend in a bad mood many times, he tried his best to cheer him up many times after a match in which Stan was frustrated because he just couldn’t play how he knew to, and how he wanted to. He’s seen the difficult moments after he and his wife, Ilham, got divorced, and the worry on Stan’s face at the idea of not knowing what to do in order to do the best for his daughter. And still, when he thinks of the face he gave him this morning, when Roger told him that this wasn’t his family, he’s sure that he has never seen his friend so upset, never.

And now he’s left him, alone, thinking his husband has gone crazy. A pang of guilt hits him, inevitable. He might have never married Stan in his life, but he’s among the most important people of his life, and he guess he can count them on the fingers of one hand. He hates hurting Stan, he hates even the thought of it.

 

 

-----

 

Roger comes back home a lot of hours after he ran out of it, his hands deep down the pockets of Stan’s jacket, his headache still throbbing like hell and without the faintest idea of what he’s going to do or even to say. Stan opens the door when he rings the bell, acknowledging that he has no keys for this place, and the love he sees in those eyes makes his heart clench, because he knows the Roger that lives here would have never done that to Stan, and he too would have never told his Stan that he’s basically a liar, but he doesn’t know how to act like this Roger. Hell, if this Roger even exists, he doesn’t know anymore what to think. He enters the place and leaves the jacket where he found it, in absolute silence. He fidgets with it, carefully tucks it away while deciding what to say. Then, he finally turns and faces Stan, when he feels the time that is passing is a lot, and he doesn’t still know anything.

«I only know that I am Roger Federer, but of all this, of this house, of us... I don’t have any memory», I’m sorry, he’s on the verge of saying, but something in the hurtful look on Stan’s face makes him reconsider saying it. He feels it inside his chest: it would more than probably just hurt Stan more.

«I understand», he only says, and he sounds gentle, more than one could have ever expected. It’s not true, Roger knows, he’s the first that doesn’t understand and it’s happening to him, but he appreciates his answer. He feels something warm, inside his chest, now. «What about we talk about it?»

Roger nods, not trusting his voice at all right now, and goes into the kitchen, following Stan, who gestures for him to sit down while he pours something in a cup, probably tea, and brings it to the table with a plate of biscuits that Roger knows he himself made; he remembers waking up as a host in Stan’s house and finding him baking them, not just once. He’d smile at the memory, had him been in another situation.

«You probably didn’t eat anything, all this time outside home...», says the younger, low-pitched voice and eyes fixed on the ground, almost shy. Roger can’t tell why he’s behaving this way, but he takes one biscuit even if his stomach is still too clenched to eat something. He just doesn’t want to disappoint this Stan who’s being so gentle, even if he ran away from him as if he was poisoned this morning. Roger watches him pouring something else in his coup, something darker, and the words just slip out of his mouth before he can think twice:

«You shouldn’t be drinking coffee this late, it’s bad for your health.» Stan doesn’t answer, but flinches and makes a strange face, as if he’s just hit him with a punch. Maybe this is something here Roger already told him? He can’t know.

«Where are the kids?», asks Roger, trying to distract him.

«Already went to bed. Myla... Myla made a drawing for you, says she’ll give it to you tomorrow. I didn’t know what to tell her when she asked why you weren’t there today.» Stan stops there, his Adam’s apple moving once up and down. Roger is silent for a while, something heavy settling in his stomach. He wouldn’t say it’s guilt, he doesn’t really know this family, but he wouldn’t have a different name to give it.

«I’m sorry for this morning, I didn’t want to run away like a thief, and leave you alone with the kids and having to make up things for them, but I was so scared. I still am. I don’t recognize anything in this life. Stan, for how crazy it can sound, this isn’t my reality. Last night I went to bed in my house, in Basel, I remember telling Mirka I wasn’t feeling well, and actually, my headache is still here, but that’s the only thing that’s the same as last night.»

Stan quirks an eyebrow. «Mirka?»

«Oh. In my world, I met this girl at the Olympic Games and, uhm, we fell in love, she was a tennis player too and-»

But the younger interrupts him. «Roger, I know who Mirka is. She used to be your manager when you were playing, and your girlfriend too before us, and she’s also the mother of our daughters. Well, of two of them.»

Roger feels something like an headache adding to the headache he already has, hearing these words from Stan. «Mirka is my wife. And we’re both still playing... Actually, you’re probably in the best moment of your career, you managed to win some titles in the last years. While here, we’re both retired, right? I saw an article about our tennis academy.»

Stan furrows his brow. «You saw an article?»

«Uhm. Yeah, this afternoon, I ended up in a café at some point, and I wanted to know more about where I’ve ended, so I tried to see on a newspaper there if the sport section had something about me. Guess I was lucky?»

«Roger Federer searching about his own life on a newspaper, in Lausanne. You could have stopped whoever in the streets, and they would have told you everything, probably even the colour of the blanket you were wrapped in when you were born.» And Stan is laughing at that, his eyes are crinkling at the mere thought of the situation, and Roger feels his body relaxing a bit at the sight.

«Yeah, and probably ended up in a police station», snorts then. «Anyway. I’m married and I have four kids, I have twin boys too. Where are they?»

When he talks about his kids, two of them happening to be two of the exact kids that are sleeping in the next room, that’s when he can see Stan frowning again, looking jealous of what he’s just said: a family, a different one, their daughters with someone else.

«They never existed, here», he just say, dryly.

Stan pours himself another cup of coffee. This time, Roger knows best than to say anything, and just lets him drink it.

«There’s something wrong», he says.

«I know», it’s all that Roger can answer. The tea and the biscuits calmed him down a bit, and though he still feels completely out of place and time, he’s feeling a bit better now. Well, if he just shuts down his brain screaming that no, nothing is fine.

«I think you need to rest some», tells him Stan, softly, and Roger can’t disagree. Despite the incredible situation and the fact that he wants to know everything he can and how to come back home, he finds it tiring and tiring to stay focused on what’s happening, on putting his words in the right order and understand everything Stan says. The day is wearing off on him, this rollercoaster of emotions surely doesn’t help.

«But you haven’t told me anything, and-» I want to know, Roger was going to ask, but he finds himself yawning in the middle of the sentence. Stan smiles at him basically threatening to fall asleep on the table, and gestures him to follow himself, and Roger just does as told without trying to question further, until they reach the bedroom he escaped from this morning. He looks at it for some moments, remembering what happened, and this time he’s sure he feels kind of guilty for that. He was freaking out, but for Stan it must have been just as difficult as it was for him.

«I can sleep in the other room», Stan says when he sees him standing there on the door and not moving, absorbed in his thoughts, but Roger stops him.

«No,», he pleads, his big, dark eyes fixed in Stan’s ones. «Don’t... don’t leave me alone, please. It makes no sense, but if there’s something that can keep me grounded, on whatever ground we are right now, it’s you. Talking with you now is the only thing that made me feel better during this day.». He always has, he thinks. When the world was spinning too fast, with his many trophies and the glory and the long tournaments away from home, the presence of Stan was always reassuring. His friend would never treat him like the God of tennis, all the contrary; he got over his youth crush very soon, as they started playing doubles together, and in private they’ve always been nothing else than best friends. It has always felt great to know there was someone to whom he could always talk about everything, it’s not so easy to find it when you’re living the uprooted life of the professional tennis player.

Why the hell is he even thinking about this now.

«Ok», he just says, giving him at first a suspicious look but then relaxing, and goes under the covers, careful to stay on his own half of the bed, and not near the centre of it, where he was this morning. Roger quickly changes into his pyjamas, and joins him in the other half of the bed. He’s too tired to do or say anything else, and his eyes can’t stay open a second more when he leans his head on the pillow; but, before actually falling asleep, he can sense Stan staring at him in the dark, vigilant and curious. Also, probably scared of him. Maybe worried too.

 

-----

 

When Roger wakes up, it takes him some moments to remember what happened the day before. For a brief moment, he thinks he’s just dreamt of that all, but then he opens his eyes and the wall in front of him is still orange, so no, he’s not imagined anything. He lets out a long breath in something similar to exasperation.

Next to him, Stan is still sleeping – Roger isn’t sure about how much later than him, but he knows Stan passed some time studying him before giving in to sleeping. During the night, he’s moved nearer, not enough to touch him with the whole of his body; probably even while he was sleeping he remembered that this Roger isn’t used at sharing a bed with him. His right hand, though, is clutching Roger’s shirt, low, near his belly. Habit, affection, possessiveness, fear: Roger wouldn’t be able to find the reason behind the gesture, but he doesn’t move anymore in order not to wake him up.

Not that this is a problem for much longer: the alarm clock starts ringing with an awful sound that makes Stan startle and roll over to shut it down as quick as he can. Then, he looks at Roger, unsure, probably trying to check without asking if he’s still out of his mind.

«Uhm... good morning?», murmurs Roger, unsure. He can feel Stan’s disappointment at the confirmation that his Roger isn’t back, even if the younger doesn’t say anything about it, or even just pull a face.

«Good morning», he answers back, stretching a bit. Then, he gives Roger a very serious look. «Listen... I understand you’re still not the same person I’m married to, but please, please. I don’t have the strength to understand what’s happening, figure out how much I have to explain it to three kids. Kids which, unfortunately, I have now to wake up because they have to go to school. And even if I tell them that their dad isn’t feeling well and is still resting, they’re still coming here to make sure everything is fine, because I’m sure it’s what they’ll do, and say they can’t leave if they don’t give their dad a kiss to make him better. So, please, help me and try to act as if you were living a normal Monday morning in your family, try to act as if you belong here, like their dad always do.»

Roger blinks at the stream of words Stan just said, and at the speed he spoke; he isn’t sure he can do this, but he’s also sure he can’t say no to Stan. He can never do it, surely he won’t when Stan is looking at him with those pleading eyes, with that expression painted on his face, the one of a man who just wants nothing to touch the serenity of his family.

«Good», he says then without waiting for Roger to say it out loud, and slips out of the bed and of the bedroom. Roger can hear his voice, muffled, in the other room, waking up the daughters.

He takes his time with a shower, feeling his stomach knitted because of the anxiety. He’s Roger Federer, and at the same time he isn’t, or, better, he isn’t the Roger Federer this family expects to see.

When he finally reaches the kitchen, he’s surprised by the normality that the scene in front of him displays, just as if everything is perfectly at its place. Stan is cooking, his hands moving quickly, knowing perfectly what they have to do; and Roger is sure those pancakes will be perfect as usual, as they always are when he’s invited at Stan’s home to spend some days together. On the radio there’s some U2 song that Stan loves and that Roger can’t name but knows it calms Stan before a match. Myla and Charlene are disputing on a toy they won’t care about anymore in five minutes, but that right now is the most important thing on Earth, while Alexia is quietly drinking her orange juice. When Roger approaches him, unsure about what to do, Stan touches briefly his curls, probably out of habit, and God knows how he hates when someone does that and how Stan couldn’t care less and do it all the same, and how he still lets him always do that.

Put like this, everything is at its own place. Except anything is.                

«Just sit down, and bring this with you», whispers Stan, giving him a big plate full of the pancakes he’s just prepared, and Roger does as he’s told. As soon as he sits down, Charlene comes nearer to him and looks at him with big eyes.

«Dad, I’ve thought about it,» she declares.

«About... what? I’m sorry, I can’t remember now...», he tries to make some excuses, searching for Stan with his eyes but the man is too busy with cooking right now, so he probably hasn’t even heard his daughter.

«The dog!»

«The dog? Oh. The dog, yes. Sure. It’s amazing, sweetheart.»

Charlene’s smile could lit up the entire house now, bless her. «Really dad I can? Heléne says his dog is having puppies next month, and she can give me one!»

«We already talked about it, Charlene», Stan’s voice arrives with Roger’s relief because he has no clue about what the Roger in this world wants about having a dog at home, and about who this Heléne is. «Are you sure you can take care of a dog?»

«Yes, dad. I promise I’m going to play with it every day. And Myla and Alexia too.» The other two girls exchange a look between them before nodding, and Roger can’t help thinking Charlene promised them something to get them answering in her favour now.

«Mmm. And what about feeding it? You know a dog doesn’t live thanks to air only, right?» Stan talks while putting some jam on his pancake, his fingers smeared with it, in a way that makes Roger’s hands itch with the desire of cleaning them. He brushes past these thoughts quickly.

«But dad», starts Charlene, frowning. «You always make us breakfast and lunch and dinner, so there’s no need to cook for him too, I can give it some from my plate.»

Roger can’t help smiling at the cuteness of that sentence, and Stan too can’t keep his expression straight at those words. «What about I cook some more, so it can have its own plate and you will eat enough and not disappear?», says and gives her a wink.

Charlene looks ecstatic.

«Come on, go and take your jackets and bags, I’ll be waiting for you in the car, I will drive you all today, your dad has an headache and can’t.» All the three girls give Roger an apprehensive look that he brushes off with a gesture of his hand.  «Stan is just exaggerating, I haven’t slept much, but I’m fine, don’t worry about me now.»

When they’re all out, Stan talks to him: «I bring them to school, when I come back, we can talk, ok?», and brushes his fingers lightly on his curls. Definitely an habit. Then, the girls are back, and each of them has to leave a kiss on Roger’s cheek before going out.

Being immersed in the silence, which is what Roger had wanted since he woke up here yesterday, now feels strange. He understands it now, that this breakfast hasn’t been at all unpleasant, all the contrary; it felt like being in a real family. He puts the plates in the sink, washes them quickly (his Stan hates doing that, his Stan loves to get them dirty and prepare a lot of different dishes, so when he’s invited at his home it’s always him who washes them), and then wanders in the house.

There are some photos on the shelves in the living room. Some of the daughters together, in different places, always smiling. One with only Stan and a goat, and Roger wonders why they should have that photo in a frame. One with him and Stan finely dressed, smiling, a glass of champagne in their hands, looking at something that’s not in the photo but that’s clearly amusing, judging from their expressions.

«It’s the day of our wedding», answers Stan to the question he never asked. He didn’t hear him coming back, too absorbed in the study of the photos, but he’s not startled. «And we were watching my drunk brother trying to invite Serena Williams to dance with him.»

«It makes sense», chuckles Roger.  «So, we’re married?»

«Yeah. Three years ago. After we won the Davis Cup», Stan smiles fondly at the memory. «You were fidgeting all the ceremony with the buttons of your jacket, you don’t know how much I wanted to take your hands in mines to make them stop.»

«How did it happen? I mean, how did we ended up... together?»

Stan sits down on the sofa. «After the Olympic games in Beijing. God, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you as drunk as that night, when we got back to the hotel you were having troubles even staying on your legs. And I wasn’t in a better situation, but at least my legs still worked. So, I brought you back in your room and made you sit on your bed, while you kept babbling something incomprehensible, still don’t know what since the day after you didn’t have a clue about it. I was telling you goodnight, even if it was almost morning, and you just didn’t let my wrist go. I tried to open your fingers, and you made such annoyed sounds, I couldn’t help laughing at those. But, as I said, I was pretty much drunk too, so the laughs made me fall on the bed with you, and I was finding it hard to get up after it. Because of the laughs, and because you started kissing my neck too, which at the moment felt like being in heaven.» Stan looks up at him and frowns. «Roger, are you feeling well? You’ve become so pale, have a sit», and makes some room on the sofa for him.

But Roger never sits, lost in his thoughts and memories that Stan’s words have woken up.

Severin told him back when they started playing doubles, that the younger Swiss looked at him completely starstruck, and he laughed, because yeah, at the time everyone was starting to look at him like that, so he didn’t even found a reason to talk about it. Plus, as soon as they found that they actually played well together, Stan lost that look very quickly. On the court, they clicked together just perfectly, and outside he never said anything about having feelings for Roger, never gave the idea of wanting something more from the older Swiss.

He’s lying to himself. No, it’s not true that nothing ever happened between him and Stan. The night in which they won the Olympic gold they got completely wasted, and they kissed. Not something incredible, not something that made their head spin, head over heels and unicorns and all, no, just pure happiness mixed to their drunkenness. The day after they laughed about it – it was actually pretty much a miracle they remembered it, considered how drunk they were that night, but that was it. They didn’t even had to discuss it.

Maybe it’s not that they didn’t have to discuss it. Maybe they just didn’t do it; Roger can’t say he avoided it on purpose, but surely wasn’t all that eager at the idea of talking about drunk kissing his best friend. And Stan never pushed, or, at least, Roger doesn’t think so.  

«Roger?», asks Stan, evident worry in his tone of voice.

«It’s just... What you told me about us, it happened to me too, kind of. In my world, we kissed after the Olympic Games, but then nothing more happened. I guess, it’s not what happened here?»

Stan gives him a little smile. «Definitely not. Well, the days after had been kind of awkward. We flew back together to Switzerland but soon you went to Basel and I got back home too, and we didn’t really have the chance to discuss about what happened – not that one of us had perfect memory of it, actually. So I just got on with my life, happy enough with the gold medal and sure that all that happened between us happened just because of the alcohol. Except, a month later, I found you ringing at the doorbell in the morning – you’ve always had this habit of waking me up so soon when there’s something you need to get off your chest, always. When I opened the door, you didn’t even leave me the time to understand what was going on, or just to wake up properly, and you were kissing me.»

So, it has been him to decide everything here. It’s strange, when he thinks of how reluctant he’s been about talking to Stan about Beijing.  

«And then... Well, it has been hard at first. It took time for you to find the courage to tell Mirka all that happened, and the same was for me with Ilham. That, and coming out to the world. I told you countless times that I didn’t think the world was ready for this, and at some point you just couldn’t care less, since when we won the Davis Cup, the first thing you did was kissing me in the middle of the court. Not that I complained,» he smirks, «I’m still sure I would have never had the guts to do that. Luckily, you did it.»

Roger feels his cheeks flushing at the memory he doesn’t have, but that he can picture so easily in his mind. When Stan wins, he’s shining, but when they win together, there’s nothing more beautiful in the world than the smile he always gives him, and the way his eyes crinkle, curving all his face in the movement of his mouth. So, he has no problem at all imagining how easy it would be to just go and kiss him in the middle of a crowd, when he looks at him like that.

«I guess you were right about the world not being ready for that.»

Stan lets out a brief laugh. «Of course I was right. Well, I must admit I expected it to be worse, I kind of expected not to be able to step a foot on a tennis court anymore, and even if sometimes I felt like that, in the end I could always make it. Maybe it was because one of the people involved was one of the greatest tennis players ever, not to mention one of the most loved? I don’t know. But well, the first times were truly awkward. Our friends supported us, and of that I’m still grateful, but surely not everyone was that happy in the locker room, and we both knew that. And also, when I stepped on the pitch I was sure everyone would see just our kiss and not how I play anymore, no matter all you told me, I couldn’t help myself. You, on the contrary, looked just perfect, as usual.»

Roger snorts.

«It’s true! You just kept on winning, as if nothing happened, and I couldn’t understand at all how you did it. You always had this infuriating ability of leaving everything that wasn’t strictly related to tennis outside the tennis court...  While I started being not concentrate anymore on the game, it was harder and harder for me to keep playing. I was desperate, and near the point of leaving you; after all that mess that we started I’d have enjoyed our life together just so little, if it meant I couldn’t have my tennis back. And then, of course, you pointed out that leaving you wouldn’t have erased the fact that everyone on Earth now knew about what happened between us. Talking about one of those infuriating ability of yours...»

Roger feels his lips stretching in a knowing smile, because he might have not lived this scene in particular, but many times happened that Stan was nervous about nothing really serious, and he’s always found a way to calm him down.

«It wasn’t that easy, again, not to me. I still don’t know how you accepted all that without even blinking, you would just ignore the slurs on social media, the nasty comments from famous people, the annoying questions from the press... While I thought I was going mad. I took some weeks away from you after we had that discussion, I needed to clear my mind off, and I went to Sweden to train with Magnus for some time. Turned out, that was the best decision I could take, since I found out I missed you too much to leave you, and that I couldn’t focus on tennis if I knew you were feeling bad too. I realized there that even if I stopped seeing you, that wouldn’t have meant I’d been able to play tennis like I did before, I would have missed you too much. You and my tennis, at that point, were too entwined to let go of one of you and choose the other.»

Roger is almost embarrassed at that sentence: it’s probably the best thing ever a man like Stan could have told him, it means he can’t choose what he’s done for all his life over him, what he’s dedicated his whole life to, not anymore. It’s probably the best way he could find to paraphrase an “I love you”.

«I must love you that much, if I agreed to live together in Lausanne.» Roger flashes him a smile, trying to get himself too out of the embarrass. Well, actually he’s the only one who’s feeling uncomfortable with Stan telling him that he matters to him more than everything in this world.

明念_谈爱恨不能潦草

【牛瓦】红豆

To: @grassone 

为什么叫红豆因为正好在听《红豆》

依然想不出summary,也没有啥可warning的

本来该是个pwp结果又走心惹,我可能再也开不了车了orz


走心的链


早上好,辛苦惹

To: @grassone 

为什么叫红豆因为正好在听《红豆》

依然想不出summary,也没有啥可warning的

本来该是个pwp结果又走心惹,我可能再也开不了车了orz



走心的链



早上好,辛苦惹

明念_谈爱恨不能潦草

【牛瓦】第一百零一次亲吻后会发生什么

To: @grassone 爱您,不多说了


神说,这个世界上有神。

神也是一种职业,闲散的神闲得长毛,忙的神忙到集体去中国神界学习分身术。

Stan也是神,原来在油灯里工作的那种。随着科技越来越发达,终于有某个上司天灵盖劈闪电——被老婆家暴的时候,想起Stan还在油灯里兢兢业业等着被人擦,一道指令发下来,Stan就成了可以满大街晃悠的灯神。

工作什么的不重要,在街上晃悠真的只是因为想晒晒太阳,以防长毛。


Roger本来并不想参与这种无聊的游戏,他专注于面前的小蛋糕无法自拔,朋友们也不去招惹他,准备在Roger结束进食之后同时...

To: @grassone 爱您,不多说了



神说,这个世界上有神。

神也是一种职业,闲散的神闲得长毛,忙的神忙到集体去中国神界学习分身术。

Stan也是神,原来在油灯里工作的那种。随着科技越来越发达,终于有某个上司天灵盖劈闪电——被老婆家暴的时候,想起Stan还在油灯里兢兢业业等着被人擦,一道指令发下来,Stan就成了可以满大街晃悠的灯神。

工作什么的不重要,在街上晃悠真的只是因为想晒晒太阳,以防长毛。

 

 

Roger本来并不想参与这种无聊的游戏,他专注于面前的小蛋糕无法自拔,朋友们也不去招惹他,准备在Roger结束进食之后同时结束游戏。

Roger抬头的时候看到了一个大狗狗一样的男孩,眼神很清澈,很无辜。Roger看到他的时候心里并没有太大波澜,取而代之的是一种无边的平静。Roger的身体完全放松下来,他看着准备结束游戏的朋友们,开口道:“再来一局吧,我也参加。”

Roger就这样输掉了,他需要去亲吻一位陌生人。

于是Roger走到男孩面前,笑着问:“我玩游戏输了,可以吻一下你的脸颊吗?”

 

 

Stan被亲吻后才想起来自己是个神,但他此刻觉得眼前的男人更像是一个神,也许是太阳神——不,阿波罗太有名了,Stan纵使官职再小也知道面前的人不可能是阿波罗。

哦,Stan需要有职业操守。

“你擦到我了。”Stan说。

于是Roger获得了一个小跟班。

 

 

Roger不明白为什么Stan执着地要他许愿,他在心里默默许愿之后Stan又要求他说出来,但说出来就不灵了,所以Roger每次都只是搪塞过去。

Stan跟着Roger回家,和他一同吃住,Roger也并没有觉得哪里不妥。Roger并不是一个轻率的人,但Stan似乎怎么看都不同,把Stan放在家里总能让他将疲惫一扫而空。

宁静,舒适,这座房子终于开始像个家了。

Roger偶尔也会要求Stan帮帮他的忙。

第一次请求帮忙只是请Stan帮他拿一下杯子,Stan端着杯子走过来,然后说:“你应该再擦我一下。”

Stan并不想离开,但如果Roger的愿望完成后,并且没有别的愿望的话,Stan会被天灵盖已经打通了的长司强制停止工作。

而Stan不想离开。

Roger以为这是什么像讨糖吃一样的把戏,他从善如流地吻过Stan的额头,接过了咖啡。

“谢谢你。”他说。

 

 

时间一长倒是不用再提醒Roger要记得“擦一下”,但Stan发现了更严重的问题。

电视上的人们会接吻,于是Stan发现这并不是他以为的“擦一下”。

在Roger发现这个问题之后,他反而开始热衷于逗弄Stan。

“这是早安吻和晚安吻。”Roger一本正经地解释。

Stan心中觉得Roger在胡说,可还是忍不住觉得应该听Roger的,早安吻和晚安吻既是问候,又属于“擦一下”。

 

 

今天的早安吻是第九十九次Roger亲吻了Stan,却并没有对他许愿了。

Stan在心里一直记着这些事,他犹豫着要不要告诉Roger些什么,但是又想着既然不管后果如何,自己都可以承担,又何必让Roger跟着一起伤神呢。Roger曾经说过喜欢他带来的宁静,还有软软的很好躺的身体。

啊,Stan有些不知所措,他到底想的都是些什么?

 

 

但是Roger出差了。

 

 

Stan心里觉得很着急,他怕被强制停工,但又忍不住猜测,善于把事情掌握在手中的Roger是否也知晓了Stan的一切,所以故意离开,让离别不要太难堪。

Roger一直是个周到体贴的人,但Roger却没有在说好的时候回家。

Stan已经做好了心理准备,如果Roger还会回来,那他就好好道别过后离开,然后再也不可见面。如果Roger不再回来,那他会默默离开这里。

 

 

Roger回来的时候手掌被纱布包扎起来了,Stan颇有些手足无措,他真的没有想到Roger只是因为意外所以才晚归了。Stan捧起Roger的手,轻轻亲吻了一下。

“你快许愿手会立刻痊愈吧。”Stan说。

“这个伤不是很重,”Roger头一次在Stan面前这么仔细斟酌着字句,“但是当时情况还挺危险的,那个时候我发现我有一件很遗憾的事。”

“我还没有真正吻过你。”Roger说。

第一百次和第一百零一次“擦一下”,终于不再是一时兴起,不再是赌气,不再是玩笑逗弄。

第一百次是Stan不加掩饰的关心,第一百零一次是Roger认真而温柔的亲吻,一次真正的亲吻。

情人之间的温存,而不是灯神和许愿人充满莫名其妙仪式感的动作。

“如果你再许一个愿,你要许什么愿?”Stan问。

此刻Stan已经不再是神了,一个灯神被擦了一百零一次却没有收获任何一个愿望的话,会被视为业绩不合格,系统自动开除,剥夺神力。

Stan是惶恐的,他害怕Roger会像那些许愿人一样最终把他扔掉,但他又如此地相信着Roger,从一百零一次的亲吻里汲取力量,让自己起码看起来好些。

“愿望吗?”Roger的目光强势却又温柔至极,“我希望你每天都要开开心心,别像现在一样,好像快哭了。”

Roger的男孩,一片使Roger感到宁静的海洋,因为Roger而掀起了海啸。

了不起的Roger第一次感到这样的心疼,这心疼并不剧烈,但似乎后劲十足,他的全身都变得很酸涩,不知道下一秒该做些什么。

“可是我已经没办法实现你的愿望了,”Stan说,“我们之间发生了一百零一次没有愿望的亲吻,我再也不是一个灯神了。”

从神被贬至凡人,这卑鄙且卑微的快乐,却将凡人的心脏填得满满当当。

“不,你可以。”Roger说,“那么我们把困住你的灯扔掉,然后你可以心无杂念地接受我的一个吻了吗?”

在第一百零一次亲吻以后会有第一百零二次亲吻。

第一百零二次亲吻以后,会有需要自行想象的嘿嘿嘿。

 

 

END but their story will never end


转的时候可以帮我搞个summary啥的顺便把这句话删掉【跪】

Dbq皮这一下我也没有很开心orz,还是把之前这篇写的车都删掉了,因为感觉真的不对。没有车就短了好多,但我觉得比之前那样精致。


🐮🐻

上海的情绪蔓延

Roger大概不会想到,自上两次交手,他开玩笑的讲“Stan不需要走的更远了”之后的这一年,Stan的境遇和断崖式的下跌。
在这么多年的努力坚持和终于打出来之后,膝伤严重的影响他的职业生涯。
在如同他退掉的16赛季一样,17赛季对Stan来说也是苦闷。18赛季的到来,复出不顺利更丝毫不容易。
他当然知道那些难以行走不能奔跑移动艰难的煎熬。

竞技体育是孤独又残忍,巡回赛里怎么会有真的感同身受和相互支持呢。
独孤求败的时候,泥潭挣扎的时候,永远只你一个。也没有你状态不好可以换人依靠队友。

可一个Stan到他身边,这个小天使能够成为他的依靠和支撑,也永远为他想和无条件支持他。打过那么多艰难的比赛还是对他满是崇拜...

Roger大概不会想到,自上两次交手,他开玩笑的讲“Stan不需要走的更远了”之后的这一年,Stan的境遇和断崖式的下跌。
在这么多年的努力坚持和终于打出来之后,膝伤严重的影响他的职业生涯。
在如同他退掉的16赛季一样,17赛季对Stan来说也是苦闷。18赛季的到来,复出不顺利更丝毫不容易。
他当然知道那些难以行走不能奔跑移动艰难的煎熬。

竞技体育是孤独又残忍,巡回赛里怎么会有真的感同身受和相互支持呢。
独孤求败的时候,泥潭挣扎的时候,永远只你一个。也没有你状态不好可以换人依靠队友。

可一个Stan到他身边,这个小天使能够成为他的依靠和支撑,也永远为他想和无条件支持他。打过那么多艰难的比赛还是对他满是崇拜和喜爱。

Stan会许愿一个健康的Roger归来,尽管这个Roger让他又尝败绩,让他疲惫难过。
Stan会关注他的所有比赛,尽管可能相互间关系处于冰冷期,却仍紧张兮兮在球员通道看他比赛。
Stan会在新闻报道找他的消息,尽管好多的事Roger并不会同他讲,他也并不比别人知道更多。
Stan永远不会吝惜对他的赞美。

这似乎总是不对等。

从东京到上海,当天航班前后脚。
也没有见过面或有交流,总想着还有时间。
抽签分到同一个半区,他的签表算好,Stan没那么轻松有难关要过,还要从第一轮打起。
也许满是自信觉得能够相遇。
事实却并非如此,他也打得艰难。Stan如同在东京一样一轮就离开。

他不介意和别人摆在一起,却也会介意他的球迷和粉丝还喜欢别人。
赛后签名岛,有小姑娘拿着明信片静静等他签名,一笔下去他停顿,怎么已经有签名在上面。
灯光昏昏暗暗他看不清楚。
认了一下是Stan,他当然内心柔软。
如果喜欢可以按他意愿去分享分配,他愿意分Stan一半。这个小天使值得所有人对他付出喜欢。
没有人能够拒绝Stan的笑容和真诚。
但他确实对这张照片没什么印象,按理说他们合照合练他都该有印象能认出来。他也到底签过不少。但或许这张是不一样,会更势均力敌和平等。是羞涩的男孩长大成为男人,他们一人一半。
然后他开始想念,以至于自顾自说起话来。“Stan”是脱口而出,他却有点没认出自己来。
他们本该合练,十年以前也是在东方国度的土地上拿下他唯一一枚奥运金牌。
那之后回到瑞士的庆功,飘飘扬扬的彩带落下,他揉Stan的头发摘掉那些发梢上的飘落。他把名字签到穿着白西装的自己身上。一度重叠到四年以前的戴杯和去年的印安,Stan羞涩的笑容没有变过一分半毫。

他不会想到最终他输给和Stan同一个对手。
他不知道Stan离开的时候有没有难过不甘,但他是赛后在球员通道掉眼泪了。
也许有些时候有些事情是能够感同身受,一帮支持你的人真情实感真实的难过。这种情绪会蔓延。

这站结束他也要回到瑞士去,巴塞尔会和Stan见面。他有许多话想说。
他知道Stan近况不佳,虽不用他的陪伴,也的确需要他的鼓励支持。

他坦诚喜欢和心动都是双向的。
Stan在他心里总有特殊的一块位置。
因为Stan不一样。
他也真的同Stan最默契。

他理应去说,无论Stan要求他什么,他都会去做。


-
巴塞尔合练吧。
签表分在两个半区决赛相遇吧。

🐮🐻
转眼十年啦都是真的 以及这个十...

转眼十年啦

都是真的 以及这个十月真的有很好

转眼十年啦

都是真的 以及这个十月真的有很好

给点糖蹦蹦跳
一起泡澡系列。。谁能想到这么可...

一起泡澡系列。。
谁能想到这么可爱的瓦喜欢喝咖啡。
这么霸气的牛喜欢吃甜食。。
画的茶包卡。可算是涨了一大截小手工技能了(。
凌晨五点的相拥而泣(。

一起泡澡系列。。
谁能想到这么可爱的瓦喜欢喝咖啡。
这么霸气的牛喜欢吃甜食。。
画的茶包卡。可算是涨了一大截小手工技能了(。
凌晨五点的相拥而泣(。

🐮🐻

有些相似

同款发型了解一下,@给点糖蹦蹦跳 
=

他其实回到酒店对着镜子才发现不妥,哪里还有什么发型呢。
-

他的头毛总是乱糟糟,忽然间他注意起这个来。

大概是前些天他听Norman说Julien Farel有个发型师晃晃扫一眼还以为是Roger呢。
他那时就笑Norman没准是Roger去做头,他总是比较注意自己的形象。
Norman就讲他也该理理发了,顺便再亲眼确认一下到底像不像。
Stan不置可否。

但他还是去了。
然后背影和脸的下半部分还真的是蛮唬人的。还有鼻子、眼窝………好吧,是真的有点像。
Stan想自己还好没和Norman打什么赌,不然可能真的会输。

手法真的温柔,会让他有恍惚。
例如像是在问他想要剪什么...

同款发型了解一下,@给点糖蹦蹦跳 
=



他其实回到酒店对着镜子才发现不妥,哪里还有什么发型呢。
-

他的头毛总是乱糟糟,忽然间他注意起这个来。

大概是前些天他听Norman说Julien Farel有个发型师晃晃扫一眼还以为是Roger呢。
他那时就笑Norman没准是Roger去做头,他总是比较注意自己的形象。
Norman就讲他也该理理发了,顺便再亲眼确认一下到底像不像。
Stan不置可否。

但他还是去了。
然后背影和脸的下半部分还真的是蛮唬人的。还有鼻子、眼窝………好吧,是真的有点像。
Stan想自己还好没和Norman打什么赌,不然可能真的会输。

手法真的温柔,会让他有恍惚。
例如像是在问他想要剪什么样的,他脱口而出是说Roger那样的。这让他回过神来发现自己没多久之后就要和Roger一起训练有些尴尬和不知所措。
干嘛要选今天来呀,怕为了更好确认前后不超一天说,真的不像吗。Stan有点气自己。
当然他没有否定自己打算剪个Roger那样的发型的脱了口的想法,他其实也想看一看自己剪成那样会怎样,毕竟他和Roger的长相是完完全全的不同,没有任何参照。
他们身上有相似点,但是不同却更加多。
也似乎默认自己说Roger全世界都知道是Roger Federer,而不是别的什么谁。
“会很适合你的。”
身后忽然传来的声音倒像真的有让人安下心来的魔力,大概每个发型师在和你说话的时候总能说服你。他不会承认让他安心是有什么别的加成在。

他是一直没发型吗,其实也不是。总不能每次都瞎剪顶在头上。那样的话,头毛凌乱得也是太有套路了一点。
所以虽然他没有很关注自己外在的形象,但也不至于真的毫不在意。毕竟也是三个大满贯在手的人,是不是。
虽然年轻时候他真的不在意,也敢把头发交给Roger或者队里的谁谁谁去修剪。
因此手势轻巧又专业,温柔耐心、声音好听更是加分项。
温温柔柔笑着拿着镜子让他看,显然没有什么可以挑剔的地方在。
而且像这样的年纪,也真的能够给他错觉回到以前,往事总是可爱。又或错觉,大约是恍惚里的多年以后,上了年纪但也有所期待。
以后,会再来吧。

然后他和Roger训练,上一场训练结束以后,Roger说下一场和他练习。
他当然开心。
和Nole训练、和Rafa训练都好,但和Roger训练永远不一样。
也不是说和Roger训练能摸清对方套路找到应对之法,这对他俩来说都是同样的没必要。相互间太过于熟悉,那些比赛的进程也总是类似。
如果要说找同是单反的对手来练也显得靠不住脚,毕竟当今网坛打单反的手指都数得过来,而且他们风格太不同。
但是合练又真的需要什么理由吗,不需要的。

训练间隙他们总会聊的有的没的和生活近况,因为即使都在巡回赛的旅程相互间也不常见。比赛总有那么多,参加哪站不参加哪站都是的。
总不像以前,不常见也有很多时间沟通。除了比赛还有很多自己的时间。而现在不是的,他们是有五个孩子的人了。哦分开的,他一个,Roger四个。
Roger总是像大哥哥,有问题或者需要解决他以前总是习惯问他,依赖。如今好了很多,会有更多自己的主张和规划。
但同样的Roger总是能让他更安心,Roger也似乎是无所不能的。也似乎无所不知。

会发现吗。
Roger可能也不会注意到这些小心思。
他半是期望半是沮丧的想。

今天Roger盯着他看了很多次,他有点不安,但Roger也没说什么。他也不好去问。
但他总是会为Roger聚集的目光无措,从好久以前就这样。现在也没轻多少。
Roger没有全程把发带绑在头上,发型就更明显,发际线也是。似乎人也更瘦了一点。
虽然明明刚几天前Cincinnati才见过面。
他和Roger练着球,想刚出来的签表。能称得上是好签吗,显然不能。能称得上是坏签吗,他俩打球何时靠过签表。
他费力想点什么让自己分开心来不要太集中在发型上面,可是刚理完发的人又如何真的丝毫不关心。

来来往往几个回合,Roger忽然停下挥拍的动作走到网前。任由球从自己身边跳过,“Stan,你怎么老是走神?”
“……抱歉。”等他回答也是迟了好几秒,大约是球没被打回来才让他回神。
然后他发现Roger站在网前,他苦恼得捋了几把头发。
然后往网前走,想着这样不应该。

“我发现了你今天有不一样,”Roger声音里也藏了点笑意,“和我像吗?”
“有点。”他只能如实回答。
“我猜你还是比较喜欢我,”Roger望向他的眼睛。
那些小情绪尽收眼底,还是什么都藏不过。
“合适你的,很好看。”Roger趁机揉了揉他的头发。
“我会想起来以前帮你剪头发的时候,大概手艺还在,等你头发再长长些……”
或许有什么问题想问,或许什么要求,以前或以后。

“那我需要支付什么报酬?”
“一个吻就好。”

持续心动是最可怕,Roger有点太犯规了吧。




-
如果喜欢你,那可能潜意识里就会想变成和你一样的样子。
或者看什么都相似。
或者去找那些和你有共同点的存在。

Stan当然喜欢Roger。

🐮🐻

【翻译】Between the Weekends

2014-12-09

Roger Federer/Stanislas Wawrinka,

Magnus Norman/Stanislas Wawrinka,

Roger Federer/Marco Chiudinelli


Between the Weekends

By haruhiko (iacobus)


Summary:

Roger和Stan的关系停留在一种不愉快的模式, 并且Mirka无意之中挑起了争端。


Notes:

这是我多年来第一篇尝试完成,并且是我的第一篇完结了的RPF。:)故事发生在今年Roger和Stan在伦敦的比赛之后,在一周之后发生的...

2014-12-09

Roger Federer/Stanislas Wawrinka,

Magnus Norman/Stanislas Wawrinka,

Roger Federer/Marco Chiudinelli


Between the Weekends

By haruhiko (iacobus)


Summary:

Roger和Stan的关系停留在一种不愉快的模式, 并且Mirka无意之中挑起了争端。


Notes:

这是我多年来第一篇尝试完成,并且是我的第一篇完结了的RPF。:)故事发生在今年Roger和Stan在伦敦的比赛之后,在一周之后发生的事之前。

速战速决,有点焦躁但不是真的,有点柔软,希望能如往常的有趣。享受它!


正文:



在被烦躁情绪围绕的时候,Stan想,把注意力集中在圈数上吧。他仅仅刚开始在跑步机上慢跑尝试冷静下来,在ATP一个惊人简陋的临时健身房里,它看起来就像O2体育场里一个老旧的破房间。从上年开始那个更好的人发生了什么?在离开法国之前,他可能与Kermode有话要说。

现在最紧迫的问题是,即使在这个压抑的空间里,除了光秃秃的墙壁,一台转播中心球场频道的电视机被调到静音,他无法摆脱Roger的声音。他无法听到全部,深沉的带着音乐的,在赛后从赛场的广播中传来,最薄情的实质渗入大厅,穿过建筑的墙壁,钻进Stan的耳朵,又离开,就像一个恼人的缓慢的在你企图努力追赶时候过网急坠的厚颜的小球。

他沮丧的大喊,跑得更快了。

Magnus把头从手机上抬起来。他靠在一个有着小水槽的柜台上,装满水的瓶子占据了大部分的空间。

“冷静下来,你今天打得很好。我为你感到骄傲。我们可以度过明天的比赛并且在你和Stephane离开之前谈谈里尔。”

Stan跑得更快了。

Magnus的眉头皱紧了一些。“慢下来。 你也听过Stephane说的了,冷静下来,就像在那样的比赛之后。”

Stan大约在跑步机上按了309次的减速按钮,盯着Magnus,慢下来开始慢吞吞地迈步。

他不得不承认,他对于这样的能使瑞典人翻白眼的感觉,有一点点悖于常理的快感。

“听着,你想让我在外面等吗?”

“不,不!抱歉。我只是…仍然……愤怒。”正是在这样的时刻,他希望Magnus说法语。

“愤怒”某种程度上听起来比“生气”更孩子气。

“愤怒?那么,你想现在就结束这场比赛?”

“不,不,不是比赛。是……昂昂昂。她。”

Magnus眨了眨眼睛,松弛下来回想这场比赛。“什么,那些Federer的球迷?那个你开始和他争吵的女人?如果你让这影响到你,那么显然,我们有一些工作要去做了——”

“不只是一些球迷,”Stan哼了一声,打断了Magnus,“是Mirka。”

甚至没有时间反应的“等等,你说什么?”这时候,体育馆的门开了。

“STAN?你在这吗?”说着法语的声音。

Stan差点绊住自己的脚,在他及时停下跑步机之前。Roger以一个罕见的充满愤怒的姿态站在门口,他仍然穿着他比赛时的装备,仍然穿着那件可笑的开襟毛衫。 仅仅只有头巾被取下来了。 Seve,Mirka,Edberg都不在这,但Chris Kermode在,一只手谨慎的搭在Roger的肩上。

Stan冷漠的回复他,用英语:“如果你想用健身房,很好,但是不要跟我说话。”

Roger转向Kermode,耸了耸肩让男人的手从他肩膀上下去。“Chirs,可以请你让我们单独待一下吗?把门关上并且直到我们出去,别让任何人进来打扰。”

Kermode快速地环顾在场的三个人,然后微笑着说“没问题,Roger,你的时间。我会把好事者赶走的。”好事者是Kermode给那些似乎更感兴趣于在球员周围闲逛制造些花边多过于真实去报道比赛的记者的特有词。

“好!”Stan在男人快速的把门关上只剩下他们三个人时无力的大喊,仍旧用着英语。“谈,谈,谈。和墙壁谈吧。你有四个可以谈的。”

Magnus放下了手机,摇了摇头,拿起Stan的包。“不,你们应该谈谈。 你们很快就要在里尔待在一起了。”

“……哈啊啊啊啊?”

Magnus把背包换了个肩,拍了拍Stan的肩膀,无视后者控诉的死亡凝视说到“我会和Stephane在你的更衣室等你。”他的教练在Roger耳边低声说了些什么,然后走了出去并无声的带上了门,Stan的被背叛感加剧了。 

Roger下意识的走向Stan,但Stan无视了他,重新启动跑步机开始小步慢跑。

Roger在机器的轰隆声和Stan的脚步声下提高了声音,他显然很恼火于他不得不这么做:“你可以随你便地对我生气,但你不能把她牵扯进来。”

他在Roger切换成英语的时候有一瞬间的惊喜,然后迅速演变成愤怒,即使他已经开始了,“她?你甚至不和我讲她的名字?”

Roger的脸紧绷。“你知道我在说谁。而且你知道是你开始的。她只是向Seve发表了一个评论,她没有意识到你能听到。你没有必要停止一切,不去接近她!”

Stan冷哼一声,继续慢跑。“那又怎么样!现在我知道她是怎么想我的了。我听到了一切。她认为我不能发好。一个他妈的大满贯冠军不会打败她的丈夫。你的妻子总是对的。干得漂亮。”

“听着,不管你有什么问题,我们现在不能这样做。 难道你没有意识到几天以后我们要去里尔了?我们现在不能把事情搞砸了。至少等该死的一周,如果你真想这么做。”

Stan漠然地笑了“做什么?我知道我们要去里尔,你不需要告诉我。媒体一直告诉我。家里的每个人都在等着我让你失望。他们都等着你来带我胜利。”

Roger看着他,那种眼神就是一个家长在看着一个孩子发脾气。Stan想揍他。

“你因为输了愤怒?我知道比分很接近,我很抱歉。”

Stan继续跑。

“还是因为我的背?我知道你看到了,听着,我知道这不公平,但是我应该为里尔准备好,甚至可能是为了明天,我只是需要休息。”

跑步机在Stan脚下轻声轰隆。

“Stan?”

似乎过了几分钟,但根据跑步机的显示仅仅只有27秒,Roger不安地挪动。

“为什么你对我如此生气?拜托,Stan。告诉我。”

这比语言的转换更让他心跳困难。他停下跑步机,站在原地,没有眼神交流,停了一会,开始缓慢呼吸。他因感受到Roger耐心的注视,和等待,而脸颊燃烧。

用法语说:“我想是我把一切都搞砸了。”

Roger眨了眨眼睛。“什么?”

“我越界了。你和我,我们之间说什么都可以。但从来没有关于她。或者Ilham。”

Roger眼里的怒气已经消散了,甚至柔和得更深沉。“你愤怒,在比赛里,这些发生了。但我希望你再也不要这样做。我们向彼此保证,无论我们之间发生什么,不要把他们带进来。这是这唯一能起作用的方式。他们唯一的办法就是让这个起作用。”

Stan哼了一声。“起作用?你已经有两年没有理过我了。这些日子我们还可以称自己是‘在一起’?”

而不是说现在等一下,今年的印第安韦尔斯呢,蒙特卡洛呢,今年在日内瓦的周末呢,我们做////爱,快速火热,在和Marco、和Michi、和Seve、和其他人训练的时候迟到,Roger吞咽了一下,温顺地说,“你什么意思?”

不知如何,受挫的表情出现在Roger脸上并没有他想象的那样令人满意,但是Roger的不确定让Stan更加确信了他的想法,几个月以来的挫败感翻涌起来就像胆汁在他的喉咙里。“当戴维斯杯的周末,或者你感到孤独和想要打双打的一周里,总是好兄弟亲密又甜蜜。他忽略他无意的双关语,继续说到“然后接下来的几个月里,我就好像根本不存在,你不打一个电话,甚至短信也没有。”

Roger盯着他,他脸上的表情变得冷漠。“你知道巡回赛有多忙。你知道我现在有更多的孩子。”

“几个月,没有一条该死的短信,Roger!”Stan沮丧地按着跑步机的键盘,机器发出一声愚蠢的“哔”轻微打断了他的话。“然后突然之间,蒙特卡洛,或者日内瓦,你就向全世界表现得我们好像连体婴,就好像我们是每天都通话的女同学!够了!”

Roger看起来很困惑,当他们尝试解决发生在他们之间的这件事,在这些时刻里看到的Stan让他在某种程度上不确定自己。“我以为你想一个人。我不想妨碍你。”

“为什么??”

“你现在有Magnus了。不是吗?”

Stan眨了眨眼,因为他喊出的问题目瞪口呆。“别傻了。”

“所以你没有和他睡过?”Stan的脸涨红了,Roger把他的手臂交叉得好像一个盾,耀武扬威地说“看到了?我又不是瞎的。”

“Magnus是我的教练。”当Roger暗示性地挑眉,他怒目而视“停下。这只是发生过几次,它没有任何意义。”

“你认真的?也许我应该和Seve睡看看你会怎么想。”

Stan忽然醒悟过来,大笑“你在吃醋?”

Roger 看了看柜台,若有所思地盯着水瓶。

Stan感觉到酸楚、沉重的沮丧之云迅速蒸发,从他的视野里消失。简单地说,Roger已经略过了Benoit,和那个法国人之间甚至什么也没有发生。他从跑步机上走下来。

“Roger。”

男人没有动。Stan并不在意,他搂住Roger的腰,小心翼翼地,以免加重他背的负担。

“说点什么,不然我要去我的更衣室了。”

Roger仍然没动,双臂仍然交叉,但他开始说话。“几年前的戴维斯杯之后。我们输了,我说了些蠢话。我们之间真的太尴尬了。我知道我们已经谈过了,但是事情仍然不太对。然后马上你就让Magnus加入了你的团队。就像我说的,我又不瞎。我知道。所以我给你空间”

“该死的,Roger,我以为我们的误会在塞尔维亚都已经烟消云散了。在我拿到我大满贯之后,记得吗?我想要你更多的在我身旁,我需要你。Magnus这些事是从哪里来的?从去年起我就没跟他睡过。即使在我在澳大利亚赢了之后也没有。从来都不是这样的。”Stan没说出来的话就在空气里:不像我们。

Roger太过于羞愧去看,在他说话之前有很长的沉默“……我以为你说你需要我只是想让我振作起来。因为我真的对墨尔本很失望。因为那是戴维斯杯。” 

经典的费德勒举动,把嫉妒当作一种不值得耗费他的时间情绪,然后矫枉过正,通过忽视来并证明他并不嫉妒。拒绝接受Stan的感情,就好像那是一种施舍,他太过骄傲以至于无法接受。

Stan生气地摇头。“我们说所有的都过去了,我们说我们会努力。有一段时间,我以为我们是的。然后你就只给我几天的时间,在那里练习。永远忽视我,然后在你准备好的时候就期待我来。整个一年里都是这样。”

Roger终于转过身来,看着Stan,他眼神闪烁。“然后?你不是唯一一个等待电话或短信的。为什么我总是必须要联系你?”

Stan眨眨眼,闷闷不乐地低下头。“这就是为什么我说我把一切都搞砸了。”

罗杰皱了眉头。“你是什么意思?”

“我不想我们疏远,但这就是今年表现出来的。我一直在想,自从北京以后,我们经历了这么多的事情以后,再也不能在一起了。不是因为一场大的战争或者一场大的危机,而仅仅是因为我们……不再在意。”他感到眼泪快要掉下来了,他把脸转过去,在泪珠一滴一滴往下掉的时候屏住呼吸。“我已经准备好在一些大状况上失去你了,那些对我们来说根本没法控制的大状况,但这些天我担心我在一些很蠢的事情,一些小事情、小状况就把你弄丢了。今晚,我想我终于把一切都搞砸了。最后一个错误就足以结束一切。”

Stan感觉到Roger的身体在他的怀里放松了一点。“没事的,”他平静地说。“Mirka也感觉很糟。就像我说的,她以为你听不到她和Seve说的话。”

“我知道,我很抱歉。拜托转告她我很抱歉。”

“这没事的,我会说的。她也很抱歉。我也是。还有……你不会失去我的。如果我能帮上忙的话。”

Stan转过身来看着Roger,感到惊讶。Roger的脸颊确实微微泛红,就好像他为自己的坦率感到窘迫一样。


2lja )



Stan很快跟着他沉入睡眠,否则他会做出回应的。他盯着窗子对面桌上的微缩戴维斯杯奖杯复制品,睡意为他的眼睛盖上柔软的黑色毯子。微弱的光线穿过窗帘的缝隙,奖杯闪烁得就像白银制成的多层蛋糕,就像一道通向梦境的阶梯。

🐮🐻

最后一块拼图

Notes:轻微诺曼瓦吧,我的心是牛瓦的。但今晚真的是太难过了。😔。
下面正文:

膝盖刚做完手术,Stan躺在床上想多久能打比赛呢,第一场会和谁打呢。
Norman陪他恢复完就要回归家庭了。虽然他的教练没和他说过这些,可他都是知道的。他一时不知道是希望自己快些恢复得好还是再久一点,任性拖住Norman在他身边。
其实也不容易,当初他找了Norman好几次,后者当时就专注于家庭拒绝了他。他也等了好几年,等到Norman或许被他感动,或许能帮他提高,不忍心他埋没或就这样下去。终于来当他教练。他开心的不行,愿望和小目标实现的一点点。或许他知道,自己离梦想更近了一些。也说不上来是哪里来的信心。
Norman问...

Notes:轻微诺曼瓦吧,我的心是牛瓦的。但今晚真的是太难过了。😔。
下面正文:

膝盖刚做完手术,Stan躺在床上想多久能打比赛呢,第一场会和谁打呢。
Norman陪他恢复完就要回归家庭了。虽然他的教练没和他说过这些,可他都是知道的。他一时不知道是希望自己快些恢复得好还是再久一点,任性拖住Norman在他身边。
其实也不容易,当初他找了Norman好几次,后者当时就专注于家庭拒绝了他。他也等了好几年,等到Norman或许被他感动,或许能帮他提高,不忍心他埋没或就这样下去。终于来当他教练。他开心的不行,愿望和小目标实现的一点点。或许他知道,自己离梦想更近了一些。也说不上来是哪里来的信心。
Norman问过他的目标和梦想。他不知道那是否能达到,但他一直是看向Roger的。或许像那样,或许只要拿到属于自己的大满贯。Roger说他值得更好的,他说他知道。所以他也给自己更多的信心。打网球谁的梦想不是捧起一座大满贯的奖杯?不是这个愿望那就是更多座。
时光难以磨灭热情,可却能磨灭掉信心和职业生涯。打不出来打得出来当然不一样,他也已经不算年轻。
现在回过头来看经历过的那些时光,感受真的又奇妙又不一样。当初所有的多艰难多难过多想放弃和崩溃或者多开心多雀跃多无法平复以为就是永远到现在看,也不过是过去发生过的一些事。甚至有些忘记,甚至想不起来那些情绪是否真的出现和自己如何却到底度过。没有什么是迈不过去,是有什么大不了的。
Norman教了他四年,这四年里他拿下了三个大满贯,14年的澳网、15年的法网和16年的美网,一年一个堪称神奇。他的自信也在这个过程中被建立。还有他至今唯一一个的大师赛冠军,两个500赛以及7个250赛。大大小小13个冠军。这其中还有那么多难以置信和他理应为之骄傲的胜利,意义非凡。可以说是他职业生涯里最成功的四年。
当然这四年对他的意义不止这么多。就像13年的漫长和苦痛,他的坚持和努力让他等到他的伯乐。Norman是他的最后一块拼图。
Roger会说知道他会获得大满贯但并不能相信是在硬地,明明他红土打得更好。但这里面的重点是,如同Norman和他说,和他能给自己的信心一样,他会获得大满贯。他值得更好。
他当然值得更好。
他的膝盖一天天恢复,他期待能下地行走期待回归训练期待回到赛场。有期待和不甘心。他想念那片他付诸了时光热爱与青春的场地和网球这项运动本身。在这条路上是有榜样和引导者的。
他想起能有的机会并肩获得的荣誉的相互扶持,想起输过的一次一次,也想起更多的鼓励。和他赢下来对方发自内心的愉悦开心。他有时候不免开玩笑地想和抱怨,那为什么还要赢我这么多次。Norman就会说他你该从自己身上找原因。这个时候他就只能吃瘪地小声嘟囔我当然知道,你干嘛这么明白讲出来。Norman就敲打他快来练球啦。
Norman也会陪他网前玩些小游戏调节气氛。他本以为能够这么一直下去的。
他已经敲定了复出的比赛,只想着快可以回到赛场回到巡回赛去,见见许久没见的人和朋友们和也许不那么友好的对手们。他想念离开的这一切,这是他过去十七年间喜欢的生活。
可没有谁能陪伴谁永远走下去,总有分别和时光过去变老。他早该想到和意识到这些事情发生。
他看到Marco退役,看到Roger抹眼睛的样子。他不知道自己退役时候,谁会在现场或说是什么样子。他蛮期待它喜欢的人们都会在的。但他又不想想自己会退役的事,还不是时候。至少跟着Roger的步伐都要迟过四年再说吧。四年,又是四年。
Norman和他说四年了Stan。他就知道下一句会是什么,他有准备却宁愿自己不知道。Norman说他是他教过最棒的球员,也是很棒的一个人,说这是他最艰难的一个决定。他本想说出一些什么来缓解气氛却不合时宜,最后他只能说他知道,祝愿他回归家庭一切都好。
Norman曾属于他,是他团队中的一员。可他也不能否认的是,Norman也属于他的家庭,也应该有自己的生活。他已经将Norman拖在身边度过四年,总是该有分别到来的。世事如此,无需伤感遗憾。步子总要往前迈的。
虽然经历这样的时刻总是难过和没想象中的那么洒脱。
他又想起Roger,方方面面都可以成为他的指引。他经历过太多这样的时刻,不知道他会怎样和他说如何处理这种情况和面对他的心情。他的下一步打算和团队计划总是有Roger参与的成分在里面的。
他不知道Roger的最后一块拼图会是谁,Roger会怎么面对。
但他想问Roger他刚失去他的最后一块拼图会不会失去他的全部。
他知道Roger会给他答案。

-
他如果还想问Roger一个让后者不知如何回答或稍微做难的问题。

那大概就是他说“你可以做我的教练吗?”

🐮🐻
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找了张去年八月的草稿画一画……😹😹😹

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