Chapter Text
The lime green fuzzy ball bounces off the pitted pavement effortlessly, and soars its way against the graffitied wall. Countless massive spray painted bubble letters of words you can’t decipher, the whole rainbow is splattered all over the place. As if a unicorn threw up on the wall. But what really ties the whole scene together is the straight white line that dashes through the art. It seems like a representation of a tennis net. Maybe one of these spray painters has a bit of a side hustle of being a tennis player.
The ball is taking off towards Robert’s lanky figure, and the loose grasp the boy has on his racket becomes more secured. He swings his forearm sharply; he’s been practicing using his forearm when hitting since the boy had noticed he always does backhand hits. He would prefer to always do them, but he got told by his coach and, father, to practice.
The tennis ball meets the white strings of his racket, before shooting off once again back onto the ground. The area is so quiet, besides the honking of cars and some chatter of people; the only thing audible is the sound of his shuffling feet and the ball.
It’s a Sunday evening and Robert found himself back in the alleyway near his home. It’s beside a classic fluorescent hip restaurant everyone in town has at least been to once in their life. The place is called Jammies, since they blast good jams, songs. The beach is on the other side of this street, so that’s why Jammies is always busy, and always playing some jams. The beach is nice, the loose brown sand gets tucked away by the radiant turquoise sea all so peacefully. The waves rarely crash hard, the water is always calm. Yet the boy rarely goes out to see the ocean anymore. He has other more important things, like tennis; and tennis is played on ground, not sand.
“Damn, it’s nice to know my net has other users than myself.”
A familiar voice strikes through his mind like the line on the wall, causing him to hitch his breath. His form falters, arm drops down to his side and the tennis ball hops freely away from Robert. The boy turns his head towards the figure standing before him; and Robert flashes a small grin at the sight.
Joaquin Torres.
He’s simply wearing a matching set of a black shirt and shorts. But it cups all of the tanned curves that were shown and underneath effortlessly. His thick black curls swayed with every subtle movement. Meanwhile Robert’s light brown hair was tucked away beneath a white cap. Said cap was put on backwards, making him look like a seven year old. His navy shirt and white shorts didn’t make the look any better. How is Joaquin going to find the appeal in that?
Joaquin had his sports bag clutched in his hand, which means he either was coming back from playing tennis or is about to. Truth be told, Robert really hopes Joaquin is just about to play so he can spend some time with him.
Not in a weird way, of course.
Of course.
Robert always admired Joaquin the most out of all the tennis players he knew. Or, personally knew because then that number just drops down to three. Not due to his looks, even though Joaquin is also probably the prettiest man Robert has ever laid his stupid eyes on.
Not in a weird way.
But Joaquin is crazy good at tennis! When he serves, the ball soars in the air, piercing through the wind. And it’s like he’s one with the ball, since he’s the same way on the court. Dashing to every spot in every direction. We call him the ‘Falcon’. Everyone on the school tennis team has call signs, just to seem scary to the opposing teams. So Joaquin is ‘Falcon’, though Robert’s on the other hand is…less scary.
“So you’re the one who made the infamous tennis net.” Robert chuckles out, honestly the boy isn’t even surprised. Joaquin takes steps closer to the other and extends a hand. Robert takes it easily, softly slapping their hands together. Their fingers were intertwined for a second, and in that moment Robert realizes how Joaquin’s hands are slightly smaller than his. The brown haired boy’s lips twitch with a curve, until the touch of his hand suddenly fades away and Robert’s hand is empty.
“That line is probably the most artistic thing I’ve ever drawn.”
“Come on, I’ve seen you draw. You’re great at it.” Robert says, almost shyly. Complimenting wasn’t his exact forte, he was horrible at it. But when it comes to Joaquin, he’ll pepper the black-haired up until he gets sick of it. He notices the way Joaquin’s rosy lips curve into a smile instantly at his words, which means Robert’s saying the right thing.
“Thanks, but the whole art thing is Peter's thing. He’s all photographer and painter shit.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Robert agrees in a mumble, not caring too much about the mention of their friend. Since it’s something everyone knew about Peter. He’s very artistic; his posture is horrible due to his hobbies that require him to bend constantly.
“So, did you just come back from a match?” Robert asks a bit nervously, eyeing the bag that was being held by Joaquin.
“Yeah, why is the sweat visible?” Joaquin questions jokingly, tilting his head and letting out a short laugh. Robert takes the opportunity to take in the view upon him. Honestly, Robert noticed his sweaty state the second Joaquin interrupted his thoughts. But the brown-haired couldn’t care, the other looked cute all gross and sweaty.
Okay.
Maybe that’s kind of weird.
But it’s not in a weird way.
Joaquin’s chuckles simmer down due to the quietness radiating off Robert. He clears his throat, glancing away for a moment before raking his gaze on Robert once again.
Robert swallows hard.
“Some of the guys on the team asked to play a round after school on friday. But I couldn’t make it, so we played today.” the tanned boy explains, threading his fingers through his black locks.
“Who?” Robert questions a little too suddenly for his own liking. His tone was heard bitter to the ear, making it seem he’s not the happiest of Joaquin playing with others. Which is not the case.
He's not jealous.
Obviously.
Joaquin is liked by everyone on the team and in school. He's the sun in everyone’s day. Why should he be jealous of Joaquin brightening someone else’s day?
Maybe Robert’s just like any other Icarus in Joaquin’s life.
He hears a soft click coming from Joaquin's tongue, and the brown headed nervously looks away due to the noise.
“Sam and Steve.” Robert shoots him a somewhat surprised look at his words. He knew Joaquin and senior Sam Wilson are pretty close, they both are gliding, quick players when they’re on the court. They have the talent to make the ball curl and groove through the air. Every movement used with little effort. The two have their call signs revolving around birds, just Joaquin got lucky with his.
“Wait, so our captain invited you to play with them? Or was that just Red-Wing?” Both of the boys crack a grin at Sam's silly call sign. Everyone on the team teases him about it; Sam always ends practices with annoyed groans due to their banter. But the thing is, Joaquin playing with the older doesn’t surprise him, it’s more on the fact that he played with Steve. The captain on the tennis team.
Steve Rogers, a hard hunk of ice that you can’t break. He's steady, he never plans on melting or leaving anywhere. Just a glance from his icy azure irises sends shivers down Robert's spine. He's got ice boulders for muscles, which is a weird way to describe. But he’s literally the scary version of Frosty the Snowman; and his paleness doesn’t help with that comparison.
So obviously this guy is their captain.
He's the best on the team, obviously. which can be annoying, but yet again he’s their rock. The guy moulds the team together, it’s shocking how his aloof demeanour can melt if he notices something’s off. He melts, into a gentle and here to help kind of guy.
“Steve, Cap, did. He said I did great work during our practice on Friday.” Joaquin states smilingly, he seems so proud of himself. Robert can’t help and be proud of the other too. Every praise Joaquin collects by Peter or Johnny, others from the team, or even Robert. Couldn’t compare to a compliment from our coach or captain. So this was practically gold to Joaquin.
“You always do great, why did he only notice it now?” Robert says softly, his eyes searching every feature on the black haired’s face. As if he hasn’t memorized every single one by now. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself Reynolds, you’ve got skills yourself. Don't waste all your flattery on me.” Joaquin chuckles out quietly, there’s a slight tint of pink that tops his tanned cheeks. Robert can’t tell if it’s due to the heat of the day, or his words.
He really hopes he made Joaquin blush.
Which is also weird.
But he doesn’t mean it like that.
A comfortable silence falls between the two, Robert zones while Joaquin has his head turned to watch the cars that pass by. They leaned against the bricked wall across from the vandalized one. Until it seemed they both had something to say at the same time.
“Hey, you wann-“ Robert starts, finally finding the confidence to ask the question that’s been aching to be told.
“I think I’m going to-“ Joaquin abruptly stops as he realizes words were coming out of the other’s mouth as well. He releases a small giggle, which causes Robert to melt into a smile.
“You go first.” the brown-headed says, pushing himself off the maroon brick wall. The hold on his tennis racket tightens once more, only this time anxiously.
“I'm going to,” Joaquin bends down to pick up the forgotten tennis ball that was left on the pavement. “head back home now.” he finishes, extending his hand that holds the ball. Robert's throat feels dry like the sand on the beach across from the street.
Robert didn’t want Joaquin to go.
Not yet.
Not when things were finally starting to feel right.
“Alright, get back home safely then. I’ll..see you at school.” he forces out a grin, it seems and feels lopsided. Robert takes the ball back shortly, once it was now in his hand, Joaquin was straight out of his sight. He feels dumbfounded, watching the black haired boy walk away. He wants to call him back. Tell him that they could go to Jammies. Eat their famous jam sandwiches, laugh over cringey jams.
He wants to tell him to stay.
“Joaquin-“ Robert calls his name dryly, voice faltering by the second.
Joaquin was already gone.
The sun peeks through the long windows of their large gym. brightening the room as they get lectured, which isn’t so cheery as the sunlight filling up the area. Robert lets out a short sigh as their coach continues to nag them about fixing forms and not letting the ball “be the player”.
Speaking in all honesty, Robert still doesn’t know what that means.
Sunrise Peak High School's final tournament before the summer is just a corner away; and it’s tennis. Which he supposed makes the situation more exciting. Their coach has been telling them to not fret, the Sunrise Puffins never place anything lower than bronze in tournaments. In any sports. But they do have a reputation to sustain; and that is something to be frantic about.
Sunrise's flame isn’t something you blow out, and Steve Rogers has a tendency of making that clear.
Steve's just as bad as the coach, one mistake and Steve pops out of nowhere. Constantly asking you if that’s how you’re going to be during the tournament. Or any games.
Robert steals a glance towards his friends, first looking over to his fiery pal Johnny.
Johnny Storm.
Johnny is the sport tennis through and through. He's been playing his whole life, but don’t call him a try hard. He'll just be the person he is on the court. Which they call, ‘Flame’. It’s his call sign, and it’s very fitting to say the least. The blonde can get too heated in the moment at times, he’s broken three rackets this season due to a couple of fits.
Again, heated in the moment.
Been benched countless times due to his “minor” outbursts. Swearing and complaining to the referees.
Heated. Just like the games.
Some teams are just jerks.
But Johnny is great when he plays. He can do a three versus one, and still win. He has all the traits to being a good tennis player. Speed, strength, agility, and most importantly confidence. The second reason onto why he’s called ‘Flame’ is due to his assertiveness. The opposing team can take one glance at Johnny and already know they’re going to be crushed by him. It sets a radar off in them, it sets off an angry flame.
At the moment, Johnny seems bored out of his mind, his blonde hair sticking out all over the place. Likely due to the fact he swings his head around when he gets upset. It's a slightly better tactic than throwing rackets, it was suggested by the coach. But he must be having a migraine right now. The blonde huffs out a breath, and subtly rolls his eyes. Robert stifles a chuckle at the sight of his friend.
Robert then shifts his gaze over to the figure across from Johnny, which was his scarily flexible friend, Peter Parker. When he’s on the court, he dashes to the ball, extending his arms to his limit just for a hit. It's like every limb in his body tears apart from the seams. In other words, he spreads like a tarantula ready to attack. Hence on his call sign, ‘Spidey’. Peter is quite the opposite of Johnny. When he’s frustrated, he shuts down; just like Robert. But there are some differences. Peter just becomes more quiet, hits are more sharper which usually causes his hits to go out of bounds. The boy’s voice turns more gruff, and brown brows are furrowed.
Still a spider ready to attack.
Robert on the other hand doesn’t only shut down mentally, but shuts everyone and everything out as well. He molds in one place, staying in that area for days. never stepping a foot anywhere else. Though Robert has been feeling so well lately, shutting down hasn’t been a thought that came to mind.
Lately.
It could always break.
Like Johnny's tennis rackets.
Robert had taken notice in the way Peter's eyes always had a tendency to find its way over to Johnny's. Right now, the spider seems to be taking interest in the heat. Staring at the blond like his life depends on it.
And it probably does.
“Well, that’s all I've got for today. Great work but we need to practice more. You may all be dismissed for lunch.” The coach finalizes, likely seeing how no one was clearly paying attention to his words. Besides from the captain. Everyone seemed to bolt out of the gym like it was a signal, like they were sleeper agents hearing their trigger word. Which was probably lunch, Robert was starving.
Robert makes his way to the locker room, squeezing through the large figures of seniors that were in the way. He managed to get past them, but he stops his tracks as he hears his name being called.
“Hey Bob, wait up.”
Yep. You’re a fool if you think ‘Bob’ is just his nickname.
It's his call sign.
Since Bob is just so scary.
The voice is familiar, and the steps behind him get closer and Robert holds his breath. Bracing himself as he turns around, he’s greeted by a smiling senior. The younger lets go, becoming relieved.
It was just Bucky.
Bucky, well, his actual name is James, is an intimidating hermit crab of a person with, at times, long slicked back hair. But just recently, he had that luscious black hair chopped. Fortunately, now he looks like any other dude that you pass by on the street. He's like Steve, considering Steve is his best friend. But Bucky's quieter, he doesn’t try to grab all the attention unlike Captain. Not like Steve tries anyway, his charisma percentage is out of the roof.
“That forearm hit you did earlier was clean. You’ve been practicing, haven’t you?” Bucky inquires, his blue irises wide, full with desire. No one ever looked at Robert like that, it was always him gazing with longing or curiosity.
“Yeah, I’ve gotten better. I think, at least." Robert hums out, completely shutting down the idea of praising himself. But Bucky’s brows knitted together, and a grin formed on his lips.
“Uh yeah? Of course you got better. I remember last week you were struggling to even swing a racket. Now you’re like the next Novak Djokovic." Bucky states smilingly, placing a hand on Robert's shoulder and squeezing it reassuringly. Robert can tell the older is being true to his words, but the younger finds it hard to believe.
Since Robert's ears are used to hearing the simple phrase:
You’re still shit.
Usually coming from his father’s mouth.
But Bucky is not his dad, he’s…Bucky. So it’s gotta be different.
It has to be.
The junior can only release a hum, alongside a quick thank you. The black haired takes that as his cue to let go of his shoulder. Bucky clears his throat, throwing a glance towards Steve and Sam, who were behind him. The two were talking, well, more like Sam endlessly speaking and Steve simultaneously going into airplane mode. Nodding, but definitely not getting a word.
But smiling, looking at Sam endearingly, weirdly enough.
Bucky murmurs something Robert couldn’t quite hear before turning back to the younger in front of him.
“Wanna hangout this lunch?” the senior inquires, sending a subtle wink. Robert cracks a small smile at the action, but furrows his brows realizing the question. “What about Captain and Sam?” the brown headed says, deep down, he knew Bucky would rather spend an hour with two people chattering their heads off while he sits back and listens. Not eat lunch with the kid who gets awkward after a high five and barely has anything to say.
Bucky lets out a soft groan.
“Gosh, he has a name, you know. You're just adding onto his scary, captain persona. But it’s fine, it seems Sam's got Steve wrapped around his finger today.” the black haired states, almost bitterly. The way his voice lowers at the mention of Steve, the way his eyes always seem to trail back to Sam. The boy can only assume Bucky wasn’t happy with the two.
Because what the hell does being wrapped around a finger mean?
“I mean, I guess so. yeah, we can hangout.”
Just as Robert accepts the offer he sees Joaquin enter the room.
“So, are you nervous about the tournament, Reynolds?”
Bucky asks, before inhaling half of his roast beef sandwich that was being sold as the school’s entree for lunch today. It made Robert’s stomach growl, considering the younger only bought a cup of strawberry yogurt for himself since he presumed he “wasn’t that hungry.” Robert tried to ignore the feeling.
The junior could only hum at the senior’s words, unsure if it was out of acknowledgment or agreement. Robert is the definition of a nervous wreck, his knee jerks uncontrollably when he’s anxious, his palms get sweaty, and his stomach goes into a pitiful state. His mind reels and he feels he might mold into one place all over again.
But the thing is, Robert doesn’t feel a single bit of worry over this tournament.
He feels ecstatic, he’s so excited, because he finally feels worthy to something he has been working himself up to his whole life. Robert barely felt happiness when it came to tennis, he can’t recall a time where he felt happy when playing the sport. It felt like a sacred priority, a gifted responsibility, a legacy to carry on.
His father was one of the bests, he can’t let the Reynolds name down.
Or else Robert will just go down with it.
“Nah, I know we’ll win. We have to, Steve will make sure of it.” The brown-headed says lowly, trying to the set a casual tone, but he delivers it as if he isn’t convinced himself. Bucky gazes towards him with skepticism, but it seems he let it go since he just nodded knowingly and took another bite out of his food. Robert believes the older can read him like a book.
“I seriously don’t get why you guys think Steve is this strict captain, that will yell at you if you serve out of the court. He really isn’t all that. He’s just some guy with muscles and happened to be given the role of a team captain.”
The cafeteria is loud, and the two are sat in the middle of it all. Yet, Bucky still managed to cut through the volume and chew out those words through his stupid roast beef sandwich. The younger raises one of his brows, looking around if anyone heard the same thing as him.
Where did this come from?
Bucky practically said the same thing in the locker room, so what’s up with him and Rogers?
“Are you and Steve fighting or something? Because if that’s the only reason why you wanted to hangout with me, I don’t mind, but I’d like to not be in the middle of it.” Robert states, scooping a chunk load of yogurt up to his mouth afterwards. Bucky only sighs, placing down his sandwich and shaking his head ever so slightly.
“Of course not Reynolds, it’s just, I keep hearing the same things about the guy and it’s getting old. And even if we were fighting, I would never put you in the middle of it all. It’d probably be…”
The older’s words trail off but Robert is desperate to hear more. The boy tries to think back from earlier, Bucky’s gaze darkening at the sight of Sam and Steve together, but every time his view would land back on Robert it’d just wander its way back to Sam.
Then it hits him.
“It seems Sam’s got Steve wrapped around his finger today.”
Robert eyes flicker over to the black haired senior, who seems to be looking out in the crowd of students. So many students, but the boy knows those ocean eyes are only searching for one.
“Sam.” Robert huffs out quietly.
Bucky slowly turns his head to the younger’s direction.
“This is about Sam, isn’t it?” Robert inquires in a hushed tone, as if speaking about the topic was forbidden. And it probably was for Bucky’s sake. He hears a soft click coming from the other and he remembers that sound all too well. “Are you mad at him?” The brown-headed questions, it’s a bit intrusive considering Bucky is known to keep to himself. But he knows the older might cave in.
“No, I could never be mad at Sam. It’s…Sam.” The black-haired breathes out, as if saying the other’s name is dreadful to the throat. Robert nods, knowing the feeling. But Bucky shakes his head, probably realizing he’s saying too much. “Why- Why am I even telling you this. Sam is- Whatever. I didn’t take you as the nosy type, Reynolds.”
“How would you feel if I asked how you and Torres were doing?”
Robert chokes on his strawberry yogurt.
How did he know?!
Was the boy really that obvious? Is he really as see through as he thought he was? Robert deadpans in an instant, almost like a robot losing all its power on the spot. His mind reeling, thinking about every single thing he’s done to make this…admiration; towards Joaquin clear to see.
He lets Joaquin copy his sheets at times because the other is too chatty for his own good, chatting around with anyone in his sight so he doesn’t do the work and becomes stressed out after the period. Joaquin hides his anxiousness, the only sign of stress that peeks out is when his knee is rapidly twitching. He shares his food with Joaquin whenever they go out for lunch, because he knows whatever Joaquin orders for himself, he wouldn’t like it and would end up eating Robert’s.
But those are things friends do!
They notice the littlest things.
Right?
“Jeez, Bob, it was just a joke. Didn’t expect you to take it personally.” Bucky chuckled out nervously, finding the blank look on the younger’s face rather unsettling.
Robert snaps back to reality realizing he zoned out with his mouth stupidly being left open. He seals his lips, trying to hum out a noise to make it seem like he was playing along. It embarrassingly came out strained, making the situation more awkward than it already should be. The brown headed earns a raised brow from the other, but knowing that Bucky knew Robert well; the older didn’t bother speaking on anything that had just happened.
The senior tilts his head closer to Bob, but his gaze is directed elsewhere.
“You know, I think you’re actually the most scared out of anyone on the team.” Bucky states, lowering his voice to a murmur. Robert feels an ache in his stomach, the strawberry yogurt likely churning hearing those words. The younger furrows his eyebrows, lips fall into an agape again and his skin starts to crawl.
“What do you mean?” Robert asks dryly.
“About the tournament. Everyone is terrified about it, but you; you said you weren’t. You said you know we’re going to win, but how can you be so sure?” The older questions, and Robert knows he’s just trying to get into his head. Since that’s just who Bucky is. He can be so supportive but can make you spiral and doubt yourself whenever he knows is the right time to do so. The black-haired usually does this when things aren’t going his way, so Robert can only presume this is because of the Sam incident.
“You think you’re all set, worthy of competing in this tournament. Just because you got a champion’s name right up your sleeve? And you can barely live up to it. You’re just a puffling, man. In a team full of puffins who know their game.” Bucky projects, finally looking at Robert in the eye. His cool blue irises, meeting the other’s wide brown and helpless ones.
The tone, the phrases.
If Robert closed his eyes hearing that statement, he would’ve mistaken that his father was speaking to him and not Bucky. It hurt knowing every single word pierced through him with truth. He hates that he was right, he hates that the other knew him best, he hates that his father was a league player. He hates himself.
However, most importantly, what the hell is a puffling?
Robert slowly rises up, standing tall, but not confident. Dragging his legs outside from hiding underneath the cafeteria table.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Buck.” He bids quietly, grabbing his backpack and letting it prop around his shoulder. Bucky doesn’t face him, but he receives a nod. As Robert was about to leave the older alone he remembers one more thing.
“Hey Buck.”
The black-headed at last looked towards him once more, sending the junior a questioned look.
“I prefer Rodger Federer more.”
Robert grins out, it didn’t fully make it to his eyes. But he saw the senior crack a small smirk, so he knew that he said the right thing.