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When Enemies Attract	By : tennisstar Category: Individual Celebrities > Athlete/Sports Misc Views: 3351 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know Roger Federer or Novak Djokovic, or claim that this is in any way representative of their true lives. I do not make any profit from the writing of this story. This is fiction.

Chapter List
- 5
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Chapter 6
Roger was lucky enough to be the first to wake the next morning, looking hesitantly over at his newest friend, deep in slumber. His inhibitions might have been loose the previous night, but his memory was well intact. Most of the night had been innocent enough, drinking beer and watching football, but then there was that other part, the wrestling part which might have been innocent too if not for the lip lock that followed.
Roger quietly gathered his things, feeling a strange sort of satisfaction in being the one who gets to sneak out early. It’s not that he wanted Novak to feel alone, but the last two times they secretly met up in a hotel room, the Serb had the advantage of leaving if things got too weird. Now Roger had that advantage and he used it, disappearing from the room in minutes. Within the hour Roger was on a plane to Miami. The three hour plane trip proved to be just long enough to convince Roger he had no idea what the hell was going on with his life anymore.
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Novak woke up with a mind-splitting headache. It wasn’t until he saw all the empty bottles scattered throughout the room that he realized why he felt so awful. Remembering the prior night he reached out his arm to the other side of the bed, only to grasp air. Roger was gone. There was no use wondering why he had run off, Novak had given him plenty reason to never speak to him again. Novak was hurt by his absence, but also relieved. How the hell was he going to explain what had happened? It wasn’t planned, though to Roger it probably looks like the Serb lured him here to seduce him or something. Novak didn’t even know he wanted to kiss Roger until he was doing it. And at the time the older man didn’t seem too freaked out by it, surprised maybe, but not run-away-the-next-morning-without-a-word freaked out.
It was confusing, and hard to think about, even if he didn’t have a headache it would be. He wasn’t even sure of his own feelings, and now he had to worry about Roger’s feelings too and how was he reacting? Does Roger hate him again? Is he freaked out enough to go to the media? Novak covered his head with the pillow, hoping that would drown out the questioning voices in his head. An alarm went off somewhere in the room telling him it was getting close to his departure time and Novak dreaded the Miami tournament and the Swiss man he would certainly see there, possibly even come across on court. How the hell was he going to survive this tournament?
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Mirka had gone home for two days, it was her mother’s birthday and she couldn’t bear to miss it, especially since she didn’t have much to look forward to if she stayed. They might have been more distant than ever, but when she arrived in Miami Roger was desperately happy to see her. She came knocking on his door as soon as her bags were safely in her room and Roger scooped her into his arms instantly, pressing his lips to hers with a desperation he hadn’t felt in years.
He heard Mirka moan into the languid kiss, but he didn’t feel the heat. Roger kept the kiss going, parting only seconds for air, hoping that he would feel something, anything really. It was wet, sloppy and her face was squishy against his. Roger hated himself for comparing her to the strong jaw of the Serb with a light dusting of stubble on his chin. Roger couldn’t imagine ever enjoying kissing Mirka now and that scared the hell out of him. He was determined to keep going with it until he did.
They pulled apart finally when breath was scarce. “What was that for?” she asked excitedly, her brown eyes full of hope. Roger didn’t dare acknowledge that question in his mind. He had kissed her many times before, she is his girlfriend after all, they’ve done a lot more than kissing over the years, but it was strange this time, unnatural and that thought was killing Roger. He should want to kiss Mirka, the love of his life, but he couldn’t help but feel empty afterward, bored even.
“I missed you,” he said simply, a pang of guilt hitting him in the chest. He missed the days when he actually did miss her, cared about her like that, loved her. Their relationship now is just a shell of what it used to be and they’ve been clinging onto it much longer than anyone else would…or should. He had made a mistake in letting her be his manager, at the time thinking she would be around forever, that he would want her there forever. She is talking now, suggesting they go do something, but Roger knows he can’t. The tournament starts tomorrow and he likes to be well rested and prepared for every match, and he’s had enough disappointment with her for the day. He was hoping, had been hoping for the past two days, that when he kissed her Roger would be reminded of the intense passion they used to share and be so mesmerized that he would forget about Novak and their strange night together. He had spent all his time hoping, praying even, that he could feel the same excitement when kissing his girlfriend as he had when Novak kissed him.
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He was in Miami now and feeling alone. Novak’s parents only came to the Grand Slams and European tournaments, not being able to leave their youngest son at home or bring him away from school for too long. Murray had texted him, but Novak knew he couldn’t face his Scottish friend. They had grown apart in the last few weeks and Novak knew he was to blame. There was tension between them because Novak had been holding back. He felt guilty for not telling Murray about his friendship with Federer, and now that Novak stupidly jeopardized it there was nobody he could go to for help. He and Murray had never talked about relationship issues, only an occasional hookup here and there, so it would no doubt be a shock to the Scot if he suddenly admitted to kissing a fellow ATP tour mate that everybody thought he hated.
As he checked into the Miami hotel the clerk at the front desk told him he had a message from Ana Ivanovic, his compatriot, occasional mixed doubles partner and one of his few platonic female friends. It was a friendly message inviting him to share a meal at some point while they were in Miami to catch up and discuss their plan for the Olympics. There was a meeting for Serbian athletes invited to play for the country’s national team coming up in less than a month and they had not discussed whether to play mixed doubles in Beijing. Novak sighed, the answer to his problems coming to him immediately. Ana was a girl, she knew about relationship sort of things and as long as he was careful what he revealed, she might be able to help him. Novak called her up and set a lunch date for the next day, hoping their matches would both finish long before the two o’clock reservation.
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Roger found himself looking over his shoulder at every turn, feeling eyes constantly on him. He knew somewhere in this very same hotel was Novak and the anxious uncertainty he felt about that made him question if he could handle being here. Roger knew he should hate Novak for what he did, that was the straight guy reaction to something like that, right? But it’s not like the Serb was alone in it, Roger kissed him back. He had thought of almost nothing else for days, as much as he’d like to forget it, but none of his elaborate explanations fit. He couldn’t just write this off in his mind. It had occurred to Roger that it might be a Serbian thing; maybe they kiss good friends casually, like the French offer a peck on the cheek in greeting. Deep down, Roger knew it was nothing like that. They had been together for several hours before the kiss occurred, so it couldn’t be a greeting, but that didn’t keep Roger from convincing himself it was just that, a casual kiss between friends. That was the only way he would ever be able to face Novak again and according to the draw, he would have to see him in the Semifinals.
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“Nole!” Ana shouted excitedly, waving him over to the table on the balcony. He would have to go through the restaurant to get upstairs to where she was, but he was grateful for the privacy they would have as the balcony’s only guests.
“How ‘bout it?” she asked immediately after they ordered. Her tone was simple, not demanding or persuasive and Novak didn’t feel pressured.
“My coach says it’s a risky move, being both of our first Olympics. Might tire us out for singles,” he commented.
“Yeah, Sven thinks I might be spreading myself a little thin, possibly risking injury,” she sounded moderately concerned.
“Next time?” Novak suggested and she happily agreed, glad to have it decided so amicably.
“So what have you been up to baby boy?” she asked sweetly. Novak was a year older than her, but in terms of maturity she was the elder and looked after him like a brother.
“I made a new friend,” he said awkwardly, a blush creeping across his face. Novak had considered many ways to have this conversation, but that didn’t make it easier.
“Oh yeah? What kind of friend?” Ana asked excitedly, already suspecting he meant more than friend.
“That I don’t know,” he admitted almost sadly. Novak didn’t even know if he was allowed to call Roger a friend anymore, or if that was all he wanted to call him. “I thought we were just friends…”
“Did you get into a fight?” she questioned, looking concerned.
“Not yet, but I think we might. I did something stupid,” he said, owning up to it for the first time. It was his fault.
“How stupid?”
“It was just a kiss, a drunken kiss at that. But it never should’ve happened.”
“There are worse things you could’ve done than kiss her. Did she tell you not to or something?” Ana asked, relieved that it was only a kiss he was concerning himself with.
Novak ignored the ‘her’, he would only tell Ana it was a ‘he’ if that was completely necessary, and under no conditions would he say it was Roger that had him all bothered. “Not exactly, but I knew that was off the table. I didn’t even know I wanted to until I did and now I can’t think about anything else.”
“You haven’t talked to her about it?”
“I haven’t had the chance to, apart from a call or text. I think it might be over for good,” he said, looking down at his food that had apparently been delivered at some point and pushing it around the plate.
“Don’t say that, I’m sure she is fine with it. More than fine. I can’t imagine a girl being upset that you kissed her,” Ana reasoned happily, failing to see the problem. What girl wouldn’t want to kiss a successful and very attractive professional tennis player?
“No girl maybe,” he whispered under his breath as Ana looked down at her food to take a bite. He hadn’t meant to say it so loud and regretted it immediately when her eyes shot up in surprise.
“What? No girl?” She looked astonished and Novak thought she may have a heart attack.
He wasn’t sure if he should explain or leave her dumbfounded and hope she would think it was a misunderstanding. Opting for boldness he continued. “That’s why it freaked me out so much. I kissed a guy,” he said softly, not wanting to startle her.
“I didn’t know you…” she said, slowly regaining her composure but not enough to say it out loud.
“It was news to me too. I thought we had this normal friendship and then all of a sudden it wasn’t so normal. And now I’m questioning every little thing since we first became friends. Was I happy to hear from him every day because it was a new exciting friendship or did I secretly like him all along?” Novak went on venting. It felt good to say it out loud and he felt some of the stress fade.
“Any chance I get to know the identity of this mystery friend?” she asked playfully, returning to her happy joyful self. He had caught her off guard, but other than initial shock she seemed quite accepting, more so than he had been at first.
“Maybe once I figure out if there is still a friendship to salvage. He may want nothing to do with me after that.”
“Did he kiss back?” Novak smiled. She really was a very nosy girl.
“I think so. But it probably doesn’t count. Most people would kiss back after a couple of beers,” Novak reasoned. He hadn’t really thought about that part. Roger kissed him back. It wasn’t a deep kiss, more like a prolonged peck, but he was not the only culprit.
“Really? Because I don’t know many straight guys that would agree with that. Most of them would be more likely to kick your arse for trying.”
“True. But he’s definitely straight. Girlfriend and all,” he said sadly. He may not know how he felt about the Swiss man, but Mirka would always be an obstacle, if he even gave thoughts of them a chance.
Ana gasped, swatting at his arm. “Oh, Nole. He has a girlfriend?” she sounded upset. Novak got the feeling that she was putting him in “the other woman” category and he didn’t like that at all. Sure, he kind of made Roger cheat on Mirka, something he had never heard of the older man doing before, but it only counted as cheating if he liked it, right? And Novak had no reason to believe he did.
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‘Damn him’ Roger thought as he raced back to his room after a routine win. He had seen Djokovic for the first time since that night and he had to get away before the Serb saw him. It had been nearly a week since the hotel room and Roger found himself reliving that moment as he lay on his own hotel bed, not seeming to care that this was a different bed at a different hotel in a different state. It still brought back the memory and his hand reached up to touch his lips softly in response, remembering how Djokovic’s lips felt on his. The more he thought about it, the less repulsed he was and that scared him.
He had gone through many stages so far, shock, awe, denial, but he was waiting for the anger to come so he could get to acceptance. The only thing that did make him angry was that days later he still didn’t have any contact from Novak. It fell on the Serb to reinitiate contact, since it was his actions that made it cease, but Roger had a feeling as to why he hadn’t heard anything. They were at a tournament and according to his own rules they shouldn’t communicate during a mutually entered tournament. ‘Damn me’ he thought now, knowing that he had done this to himself, or at least helped.
Mirka popped her head in to check on him, noticing that it was nearly nine o’clock at night and he hadn’t eaten. She ordered him room service and asked about his match. She was a tennis player herself, therefore completely capable of analyzing it, but he knew she was asking how he felt about it. Roger drew a blank. He was always one to remember every last detail from the moment he stepped on court and now he could barely remember who he played. It was someone he had played before, the face in his memory was familiar, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember who it was.
“Kiefer,” he said suddenly after several moments, remembering the German man’s face from across the net. Mirka looked at him oddly; they had been talking about the man for over five minutes. “Are you feeling alright?” she asked with a voice full of worry. Roger couldn’t help but think she was running over all the interviews he was scheduled for in the next few days and how she’d hate to cancel them simply because he’s ill. “Just tired, I think,” he replied and fell asleep before his room service dinner arrived.
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The tournament flew by quickly enough, both players flying through to the semifinals where they were doomed to face each other. Roger was worried, genuinely concerned that he didn’t stand a chance against the Serb in the match. He had been coasting through his matches without much thought, lucky that even his lowest effort was enough to beat some competitors, but it would take more to beat Novak. Roger couldn’t even be in the same room as Djokovic, he ran away at the sight of him in the locker room, and now he was expected to be around him for an extended amount of time. In public too! It was a nightmare, even worse than a nightmare because it would soon come true. Anxiety and dread filled the Swiss man as he flipped through the red folder on Djokovic.
He flung the folder across the room and watched with satisfaction as the papers scattered on the floor. Roger didn’t want to think about Novak, he thinks about him enough already and that stupid folder reminded him of the very man he wanted to forget about. Not more than a month ago he was handing over one of his precious red folders to an unlikely subject. He still didn’t know why he did it, nobody outside of his camp ever got access to these papers, not even Stanislas when they play doubles against some of these foes.
A soft knock came on the door and Mirka keyed into the room, she always got the second key. Roger could feel her at his side, looking over the disheveled room and then at him. She picked up the picture of Novak on the ground and set it gently on the bedside table. Every folder had a picture of the player, not that Roger ever forgot what they looked like, but it was customary, even the thick folder on Nadal has a picture. Roger looked over at the picture as Mirka collected the pages, attempting to put them back in order. The smirk was there, the arrogant one that Roger had hated for so long and he was reminded that Novak was always different on court. He was a different person, not the funny and bashful young man that Roger had gotten to know recently, an egotistically cold and distant competitor came out from the first point to last. Only after play was through did the other side of Novak show up, the side he feared. Roger knew that as long as he could stay away from Serb after the match he would be fine, or at least less of a flight risk.
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‘He thinks I didn’t see him, briskly walking toward the nearest exit of the locker room, almost abandoning the post match wrap up The Tennis Channel had him doing. All I want to do is clear the air, talk to him again, but he clearly won’t allow me that. I’d rather him yell at me than flee at the sight of me. It’s disheartening because I know now that it’s through, whatever strange quasi friendship we had is gone and he won’t even give me a blow out argument for closure. I was going to take Ana’s advice, talk to him, at least see how he feels. “There’s no use freaking out until you know his reaction. Just figure out how you feel,” she told me and I think I finally have. I liked it. I don’t know why but I really liked kissing Roger. Who knows what that means, but it’s the truth and I know that now. I’m not really sure exactly what it is I want from him, the thought of my first homosexual relationship was scary enough, but the fact that he is Roger Federer, a man who is quite possibly the best tennis player to ever exist, now that is truly intimidating. I know I want to be his friend still, I hope that will never change, but the other stuff, the more than friends stuff, has yet to be decided. Sure, I liked kissing him but do I want to do more? What exactly does more entail for guys? That’s the stuff I don’t know, but as I watch him scurry out of the locker room my gut clenches painfully and I wonder if it even matters what I want. It seems he has already made up his mind.’
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When Enemies Attract