balls in your court - r.c.
a/n: rafe cameron brain rot is back + tennis brain rot + 24/7 sadness = wtv this is. enjoy!!!!! (also i plan on expanding this universe???)
tw: angst and ooc rafe 😀
the front gate looms over him, his eyes burning from the late afternoon sun. rafe’s in his own personal hell. he hasn’t been to the tennis courts since his injury. since the two of you separated. the courts just a painful reminder of the game he lost and the girl that left with it. but here he is anyways.
one more tentative step forward and he’d be at the gate that separated the bar part of the country club.
he unlatched the hook, momentarily stunned by the harsh glare of the sun off the green and blue painted concrete. and he’s stunned. there you are. in all of your glory, just how he remembers you. as beautiful as the day you left him. your tennis skirt blinding and fluttering in the midday breeze, the loose athletic tank that clings to your figure, your grip on your tennis racket firm, but gentle. he watches as you volley the ball back over the net and it rolls to a stop after bouncing off of the metal cage.
if you notice him, you don’t say anything (he really wishes you would just see him, all of him one last time) he breathes in one more harsh breathe before fully emerging into the tennis court cage. and he’s instantly regretting it (he really wishes you didn’t see him now) your eyes flicker over to him and the recognition that shows in your eyes makes him more sad than if you didn’t even recognize him to begin with. (he thinks it’s better to be known but a stranger than it would to be nobody to you) you’re lips quiver into a small smile and your grip falters on the handle of the racket and he thinks for a minute that maybe he meant half as much to you as you did to him. you were his everything, so for him to at least mean part of that to you was more than anyone had ever felt for him (the only person to love him that much as his loving mother but she hasn’t been around in a while since the cameron family lowered her 6 feet under ground on their family plot)
he tries to smile back but he can’t tell what face he makes, and he doesn’t really have enough in him to care how it comes off.
“come back for your rematch cameron?” you yell. he thinks that’s the closest to heaven he’s ever been, hearing your voice for the first time in months causes almost the same amount of pain as the fateful day where the ball was in his court, bouncing over the net, and due to his absent mindedness, instead of the ball coming in contact with his racket, it hits the ground the same time and in the same spot as his foot does. (all he remembers is waking up being in the physical therapists room, and a phone with 9 missed calls from you. the last time you called him. oh, and the throbbing pain in his right ankle)
“nah.” he manages to get out loud enough for you to hear, but not in the same obnoxious tone as he previously held on court or anywhere near you.
he wishes he knew why he came today (maybe it’s because he still remembers your practice schedule and that today was a day where he knew he could catch you on the court) he wishes he could look at you and not feel immense dread inside his stomach.
“well… you know where to reach me when you are.” and suddenly he thinks for a moment that maybe seeing won’t always feel this bad. and maybe one day he’ll be able to look back at this and laugh at how stupid he was. but not yet, but today was a start.
