She's back ~ L. Hamilton

122.| US 2023 Final - Part 1

The morning of the US Open final starts quietly, which feels like a trick.

I wake up before my alarm, eyes opening slowly to a room that's still half in shadow. For a second, nothing feels different. It's just a hotel room, just another morning, just the distant sound of New York already in motion.

Then it lands.

Final day.

I don't move straight away. I'm lying on my side, Lewis is still asleep beside me.

He's on his back, one arm tucked under his head, the other resting loosely across my waist like it ended up there at some point during the night and never left. He looks... calm. Completely, unfairly calm. Like he doesn't have a habit of turning everything into a competition, like he isn't one of the most intense and competitive people I know.

I stay still for a second, just because moving would mean starting the day properly.

Eventually, I shift slightly, and his hand tightens instinctively, pulling me back before he's even fully awake.

"Don't," he mumbles, voice rough with sleep.

I let out a small breath that almost turns into a laugh. "I have a match."

"Later," he says, eyes still closed. "Irrelevant right now." He attempts to pull me closer with each word

"Pretty sure it's extremely relevant."

He opens one eye, just enough to look at me. "You're not going to suddenly forget how to play tennis in the next hour."

"Bold assumption."

That earns the smallest hint of a smile from him before he finally lets go, dragging a hand over his face as he wakes up properly. I sit up, stretching slightly, feeling the stiffness in my shoulders.

"Big day," he says, quieter now.

It's not dramatic. He doesn't make it sound like everything is riding on it. He just says it like a fact.

"Bit, yeah."

He studies me for a second, like he's checking for something—nerves, maybe, or doubt. Whatever he's looking for, he doesn't comment on it.

"Would've been awkward if you'd accidentally scheduled something else."

I glance at him. "I'll see if I can move it."

"Appreciate that."

There's a knock at the door before anything else can be said.

Not a normal knock.

A Daniel knock.

Lewis exhales slowly, already knowing exactly who it is. "Of course."

I get out of bed and head for the door, not bothering to check. When I open it, Daniel's leaning against the frame like he's been there all morning, which honestly wouldn't surprise me.

He looks me up and down once, unimpressed.

"That's it?" he says. "No dramatic pre-final energy? No intense staring into the distance?"

"It's seven in the morning," I reply, stepping aside. "Give me time."

He walks in, nodding like that's reasonable, and then his eyes land on Lewis.

There's a pause.

Lewis sits up a bit straighter in the bed, expression instantly neutral in that very deliberate way he has.

Daniel looks between us once. "Right."

"Goodmorning," Lewis says.

"Is it?" Daniel replies.