She's back ~ L. Hamilton

126.| The End

A/n: lots of other chapters posted today! So make sure to have a look through so that you don't miss any!

There's something strange about quiet.

Not the kind you get before a match. Not the heavy, suffocating silence that sits in your chest and dares you to breathe wrong.

No. This kind of quiet is... earned.

It's early morning. The kind where the sun is barely awake, slipping through the curtains in soft, lazy streaks. The Perth sun comes in rays through the blinds.

I'm standing in the kitchen, barefoot, leaning against the counter, watching the coffee machine like it personally offended me.

"It's not going to go any faster if you glare at it."

I don't turn around.

"I think you'll find," I say, "that intimidation is a very effective tactic."

A quiet laugh behind me.

Footsteps.

And then warmth—his arms sliding around my waist, his chin resting lightly on my shoulder.

Lewis.

"Right," he murmurs. "Because the coffee machine is absolutely terrified of you."

"It should be."

"It's a coffee machine."

I tilt my head slightly, just enough to look at him. "And?"

He smiles, that soft, easy smile that used to be rare and now... isn't.

That still surprises me sometimes.

"How did you win so much," he says, "being this ridiculous?"

"I carried the sport," I reply instantly. "You're welcome."

He huffs a laugh against my shoulder.

For a moment, neither of us moves.

Just standing there. Existing. Breathing.

It still feels new, sometimes. Not him—never him—but this. The stillness. The lack of urgency.

We don't have to be anywhere.

We don't have to prove anything.

We just are

The kettle clicks off.

I pour the coffee into two mugs—his black, mine with far too much sugar—and slide one across to him.

He takes it, brushing his fingers against mine like it's nothing.

"You're going down later," he says casually, taking a sip.

"Oh, am I?" I reply, equally calm.

"Yeah. Nicki's been training all week. She's in one of her moods."

I groan softly. "She's always in one of her moods."

"That's because she's the greatest tennis player of all time."

"She's retired."

"She'll still destroy you."

He considers this.

"...I don't like playing her."

"That's because she embarrasses you."

"I've won seven world championships."

"And yet," I shrug, "she's Nicki Li"

He narrows his eyes at me, but there's no real fight in it. Not the way there used to be.