sonofaraven
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He's had a bad night.
Not just the match itself. That had been shitty, of course: nothing worse than serving for it in the third set, getting broken, getting your ass handed to you in the tiebreak. What’s worse is the salt in the wound that comes after, Ben seething at the net, and Flavio with the sinking feeling that he knows exactly why.
Ben and Flavio in the wake of Toronto.
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The court was practically vibrating with the way the audience was cheering for him. His victory was well earned and beautiful, even Flavio couldn’t help the cautious grin that slowly grew on his face. And still. And still, and still, and still.
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benflavio at Toronto 2025: the match, the fight, and the aftermath
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Ben can’t say when he first took notice of Flavio Cobolli. Certainly New York, but it could have been before then—DC, or maybe even Geneva, though Ben had figured at the time that it was the loss to a lower-ranked player that stung him and not who the lower-ranked player in question was.
Ben deals with his feelings how he usually does: not well.
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“I was in the Wimbledon quarterfinals,” Flavio says, and he grins as if it’s just hitting him now. “I was in the Wimbledon quarterfinals and I won a set against Novak Djokovic.”
And Ben, despite everything, can’t help but smile. “Yeah. You did.”