Archive of Our Own

Some people believe that fate has the beginning and end of everything in your life. An inevitability that certain events are bound to happen in your life, if you will. Whether that means a true life’s purpose or finding your soulmate – fate seems to know all about it.

Hence, even when you’re tied by fate to meeting the right someone; in a way, you should always keep your eyes open because you can never know where or when, exactly. Fate will let you meet this certain someone at least once in your lifetime and guide you to your rightful destiny, is what they say.

Jannik might have declared that these sayings were true – had you asked him at his respectable age of a little boy that could just barely grasp the meaning of having a “soulmate” and what “fate” actually meant. The one thing he understood, though, was that it meant he’d find true love someday.

After all, he had grown up in a household that was always warm somehow, always warm with love. His parents, his brother, even his cat (he still misses Yeti every time Mama sends him pictures) – all were full of this warmth and happy to pass it on to him.

He was surrounded by love and, in a most endearing way,yearned for it as much as someone could at this age. He believed that if he looked long and hard enough, he could be lucky in finding his soulmate.

It did not happen when he tried it with a piercing stare at the really pretty dark-haired girl in his class one time in elementary school.

Mind you, that didn’t stop him from believing in fate.

However, if someone asked him now, he wouldn’t have given you even the hint of a surprised look and brushed it off with his perfectly media-trained unbotheredness. Later on, he might have a laugh about it with Jack or anyone else because it would have been a really out-of-place question for a professional tennis player, and no one asks such questions, really.

But long into a deep and starless night, somewhere in a hotel he didn’t stay any longer than a week or two, he would twist and turn and helplessly lie awake, trying to keep his mind from spinning back to this question. Spinning because he couldn't believe it had been true, after all.

His mind couldn’t seize the fact of that, even when he’d thought he’d finally matured enough to disregard believing in superstitious entities such as fate. But even with all his rationalism, he just couldn’t deny it.

Because he’d never thought he’d find something close to a soulmate in a place that was usually only filled with competitiveness and a deep hunger for winning. Where nothing mattered except the hunt for being number one, being the best, being untouchable.

In this deep sea where Jannik was lost, he had actually found a light – a joyous light – that shone just barely enough for Jannik to understand that the saying had been true, for him at least, since the very beginning. He desperately wanted to touch the light even if it burned his skin. But the sea was dark and the light was just a little bit further away than a hand's reach.

To be exact, just right on the other side of the court, masked as his biggest rival.

 _______

Jannik met Carlos Alcaraz for the very first time on a sunny day in April in a Challenger tournament, but it wasn’t actually the first time he had heard the Spaniard's name. There had been a few hushed whispers around the tour about an uprising and a very talented 15-year-old kid from Spain who thrashed the yellow balls with a fun ease to the other side of the net.

Barely mature enough to fathom how well he was playing for his age, Jannik did not think twice about him. He had other things to worry about. Having received a wildcard for the tournament, Jannik figured he was going to use it to his advantage.

When they stepped on court together all those years ago, taking their respective positions, Jannik did not think about anything except replaying his strategy in his mind on how to beat this younger guy as efficiently as possible. He remembers that he had actually assumed it was going to be a quick and easy match.

Pretty funny, considering their present circumstances.

Nonetheless, he promptly had to change his mind the moment Carlos finished his first service game of the match with an ace. It looked like it wasn’t going to go his way after all.

Carlos beat him. 2-6 6-3 3-6.

It was an energy-loaded match and very physical, too. That boy had him running around the court like a dog running after itsstick, trying to catch up. The tricks he had up his sleeve left Jannik wondering if he was even bothered to win the match because it seemed he would much rather toy with him just to keep things interesting.

After Carlos won the match point, Jannik was rather annoyed with the predicament he found himself in. Upset that he lost to a younger and non-ranked player.

However, when they shook hands at the net, Jannik suddenly noticed the tight but somehow gentle grip with which he took Jannik's hand and, in a friendly manner, thanked him in broken English for the match.

Jannik realized he couldn’t stay angry at this nice guy (he wasn’t a sore loser anyway) and congratulated him earnestly for his win.

They walked back to the umpire's chair together and on the way there, Jannik noticed a second thing. Carlos’ smile. It stayed on his face the whole time without disappearing once and became even stronger when he got up to leave the court and told Jannik with a heavy accent:

“It was nice match. You play good. Maybe we meet soon again, yeah?”

—

They didn’t see each other again for quite some time but Jannik was still kind of impressed. Disappointed that he lost too, of course, but Carlos’ energetic way of playing tennis had caught his attention.

Though, the thing that had really stayed with Jannik after their meeting was Carlos’ smile. It was always the first thing that came up in his thoughts, like a photograph, every time he saw or heard his name somewhere from then on.

_______

In the years that followed, they played matches against each other a few times again, on bigger stages then, not the biggest ones though.

On-court they had the perfectly balanced colleagues-turned-friends relationship, which consisted of Carlos sending him every now and then silly pictures with a string of colourful emojis and Jannik chuckling at the message – but always sending calm but thoughtful comments back. Every time they saw each other on tour they had at least once lunch together, with Carlos babbling Jannik's ear off with funny hometown stories.

Yet, Jannik liked being friends off-court with Carlos even more because even though Jannik would seem not to like such boisterous company, wearing this stoic expression for the most part, Jannik loved doing silly and boyish things; stuff he did at 14 years old. He was a young boy at heart, still, and even though he left home early and had to mature faster than other kids his age to focus on his career, he loved playing video games, watching funny YouTube videos, and eating junk food.

Sometimes he missed those easy days when nobody had held any expectations for his success, not even him. Don’t get him wrong, he loved being on tour and could feel the push he needed to get to the top; knew he wasn’t far away from it.

That’s why his friendship was so close to Carlos in those days, when they were still kind of unknown. Together they could have open fun and laugh like they were just two young men spending a good time together: Play FIFA, eat burgers, and laugh at bad online memes.

He chased that happy feeling that always stayed with him after he said goodbye to Carlos.

And he had the feeling that Carlos might have felt the same.

After every time they met up outside the courts, he received a kind message from Carlos, mostly containing how much fun he had with Jannik, how good the food was and so on.

With other people, Jannik wouldn’t think twice about such a message. It was a polite thing to do. But Carlos still managed to somehow put a more meaningful intention into it, considering it was never Jannik who would start with these texts. And somehow, time after time, at the end stood:

jan i hope u had good time too

To which Jannik replied every time:

Always

_______

As Carlos started becoming successful at winning tournaments, Slams even, Jannik suddenly realized that there were two gaps between them. One in their game, sadly, but mostly in their own respective understanding regarding sharing their emotions.

While Jannik had always been a quieter and more collected person around people he didn’t know well enough or like that much, Carlos wore his heart out in the open for everyone to see. He loved talking about his family, his friends, his childhood – just everything that came to his mind, really.

He was like that even with reporters and press people, so eventually, when they started to get more interested in him as a player and as a person, Carlos complied to their questions every time. A lot were about his free time and hobbies but occasionally there was a player related question, too.

At first, mostly concerning Djokovic or Nadal but once or twice reporters picked up the topic of Jannik’s and Carlos’ friendship off-court and demanded a retrospect on how close they actually were. And Carlos always answered earnestly, like he was talking to a nice stranger, not a hungry journalist.

One time, Jannik heard Carlos’ answer to a reporter's question and almost had a heart attack because, firstly, he couldn’t believe that Carlos actually gave them something to chew on and secondly because Carlos was saying all that with a wide, shit-eating grin like a little child.

He half-heartedly confronted Carlos about this answer sometime later because he was curious if it was supposed to be a PR-stunt or just an honest answer. To said question Carlos only replied with a bright and sunny smile:

“Ah Janni, the things you ask.”

While finishing his sentence Carlos barked out a joyful laughter and grabbed Jannik into a tight side-hug. Jannik felt a little sheepish for asking but also somehow not content with Carlos’ answer because he felt Carlos didn’t really answer him. But who was Jannik to push someone like Carlos Alcaraz?

—

[….]

“Carlos, would you say that Mr. Sinner has the potential to win a Grand Slam in the future? If so, would you like to see him competing against you in a final?”

“Jannik is a very talented player and I believe he will win one very soon, but ah …I think that us in a final always means great great match and great energy. But mostly I think if I lose against him in a final I am happy too because I love playing him and for me I wish to see him every time I play because I know we will be perfect.”

—

Jannik rewatched that part of the press conference at least 5 times that night until he was so tired he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. The warm feeling stayed with him even days later.

_______

The moment he fell to the ground in Melbourne for the first time he knew this moment was going to engrave itself into his mind forever. He was high on the winner's adrenaline rush and the handshake, the ceremony and the press conference all passed by in a blink without him even realizing it. He wandered around the long hallways like caught in a dream haze and occasionally was stopped by someone who wanted to congratulate him.

The heavy silver trophy in his hands had felt rather light, much heavier though felt the validation he so desperately wanted for himself – that he was capable, too – and the result of tonight glimmered right before his eyes and pleased him very much.

However, when Jannik sat on his bed, showered and finally, finally calm, the trophy just in the right corner for him to see, he suddenly felt more alone than ever. His team hadn’t left him all evening but Simone, Darren and everyone else had wanted to go to sleep as well, all exhausted from the excitement that had filled them all up. But after hours of loud cheers and applause his hotel room felt just a tad too quiet for a winner.

Jannik reached for his phone, trying to distract himself, and scrolled past all the congratulation messages he had received. He suddenly stopped when his fingers reached a certain someone's chat.

Even though he knew Carlos was still disappointed from his tough run at the Australian Open this year that had sadly ended in the quarterfinal, he was not surprised that Carlos had shown his excitement for Jannik's first Grand Slam win. He had to chuckle lightly at the piles of random emojis he had chosen to end his message with, a little amazed why he would choose a waving racing flag and a tiger with the given context. It made him feel giddy at the thought that Carlos had probably chosen these because it made him think of Jannik.

All of a sudden a recent memory flashed before his eyes of the two of them, when they had met on a practice court a few hours before their semifinal match in Beijing last year, sharing friendly smiles and chatting a bit when Carlos unexpectedly had put his hand heavily on Jannik's shoulder and had told him with his twinkling kind-of-crooked smile:

“Jannik, play nice today for me, vale?”

While talking, Carlos’ hand had wandered innocently down his back to Jannik's waist where it had stayed just a tick too long for this kind of conversation – but then Carlos clapped him twice on the shoulder and went off with Juanki without saying anything else and Jannik realized he had held his breath the whole time until Carlos had disappeared from his sight.

He all at once had felt a little too hot and sweaty and tried to remember if he had been practicing too extremely for his body to have caused such a physical reaction. When he came to the contrary conclusion he tried to shake off the scorching feeling that came with the realisation that he was actually flustered because of Carlos.

Later, Jannik had won their match – he’d played unforgivingly, like he was chasing something (a title? or something else?). Carlos still gave him a warm hug at the net and later, in private, had asked him if he wanted to get dinner sometime again.

Jannik had said yes without even thinking about it for a second, happy that Carlos wasn’t hurt in any way and still wanted to meet up with him.

The memory made Jannik a little uncomfortable again, just like then when he felt his cheeks blush a little because of Carlos’ words. Mein Gott. He threw his phone away, somewhere where he couldn’t look at all the stupid smileys and in lieu buried his fiery cheeks in his palms.

Jannik replied the next morning with just:

Next time is final against you

_______

In the months that followed the Australian Open Jannik reached out a little less than usual. Jannik tried to put some friendly distance between them because, frankly, it was getting out of hand. He was getting out of hand and completely lost rational control when talking or thinking about Carlos while the other one probably was – at most – barely even thinking about Jannik outside the tennis court.

He hoped Carlos wouldn’t notice him withdrawing but they were pretty close then and Carlos was a clever guy after all, so a few weeks into mid spring hard court season he caught Jannik walking by in the locker rooms, pulled him aside and demanded an answer. He wasn’t angry or sad at any rate but his eyes had this worried look that made Jannik feel like being scolded by his mother.

“Jannik, qué tienes? You are ok? Is something wrong?”

He pursed his lips a little and with his big brown eyes, Jannik thought for a moment that Carlos looked like a sad puppy. Ups, schlechter Zeitpunkt. He felt his neck and ears already burning with the thought, which was probably the reason his answer rushed out way harsher than he intended to say it.

“No, is all fine. There is nothing going on, okay!”

He could see the second Carlos registered his words and was a little taken aback by his tone. Jannik was surprised, too. Usually he didn’t let his personal feelings and emotions overcome his mouth instinctively, without him controlling it. He felt sorry the moment the words left his mouth and desperately wanted to take them back.

“Just want to ask, but if you ahh... are okay, all is good. Perdón.”

Carlos gave him a little awkward laugh, like he couldn’t believe they were caught up in such a situation, very atypical for them. Jannik opened his mouth to say something else but the words died on his tongue. Lingering for a moment, Carlos then squeezed his arm in a warm manner and wandered off back to the locker room.

Dumbstruck, Jannik stayed put in the place where Carlos had left him and felt stupider than ever. Still burning from both the inside and outside the thought “It’s not going to work like this” was the only thing that Jannik could comprehend afterwards. He didn’t feel like himself the rest of the day.

Simone told him during dinner that he seemed unconcentrated recently and asked if something was going on – just like Carlos had done hours before him. Jannik shrugged his remark off, seemingly unbothered but in reality, it made Jannik’s head feel even more troubled.

—

He lost in Indian Wells to Carlos, feeling miserable and not at all like his usual, collected self. After their match he told himself he needed to do something, finally – to stop him being a mess – and fast.

​

_______

Jannik had seen Anna a few times on tour before and they had chatted a bit for him to know she was more than just a beautiful tennis player. Hence, when they met again at a player’s private event a few weeks after Indian Wells, he went up to her and struck up a conversation with her. He had a very good time, while laughing together over drinks and sharing memories of mutual experiences. To be honest, Jannik was a little surprised they got along that well because he didn’t think Anna would be interested in guys like him since Anna was naturally confident and Jannik was, well, Jannik. But it was actually her that asked him on a date and he gladly complied.

The media broke a little when, at Roland Garros two months later, Jannik announced her as his official girlfriend – but he didn’t mind at all.

He did mind, though, when Carlos went up to him a day later in the players gym, seemingly normally chatting up a fellow player and friend but Jannik noticed that his usual sunny demeanor was nowhere near his face at that moment.

Rather, his eyes missed that little sparkle and smug attitude, and though Jannik wanted to convince himself he was just imagining it, Carlos' brows were just a little too furrowed as if there was something bothering him. His heart was doing worried somersaults at the thought.

But the longer their conversation went, the more it became apparent that Carlos was heading somewhere with this, somewhere Jannik definitely didn’t want to go. Then, finally, Carlos broke the dam by saying:

“So uh, I heard… you and Kalinskaya? Congrats, of course. She is very pretty, yes, and amazing tennis player too.” His voice hitched a tiny bit up when he said Anna’s name, though Jannik wasn’t so sure if he hadn’t misheard it.

It surely couldn't have happened because not even a second later, Carlos was already reaching out his hand to Jannik for a proud bro-handshake and carried their conversation on by asking a few small talk questions about their relationship.

Jannik answered everything while smiling sheepishly, scratching his neck a little to release some tension from his shoulders. He really didn’t enjoy having this conversation with any player, but especially with Carlos – talking about her with him made Jannik feel a little shameful, which was just really unreasonable.

Still, Jannik had dreaded the conversation ever since announcing it in the press conference but had felt it looming around the corner anyway.

With Carlos, he felt guilty, as if he was somehow replacing Carlos with her. It was a weird thing to say out loud but even with his other girlfriends, Carlos had always been such a significant part of his life. As competitors, Jannik always needed to tactically prepare his game against him and as close friends they naturally shared their mutual love for their profession and found comfort in knowing that they were both stuck in the same boat. When he thought about tennis, Carlos was probably on his mind too. And Jannik barely thought about something other than tennis.

It made having relationships with anyone, friends and girlfriends, hard because most of the time they couldn’t comprehend the effect tennis had on Jannik. How could they even?

Yet, all Jannik wanted, no, needed to right now was for him to focus more on his own career and sustain a healthy relationship with Anna – and thinking about Carlos, too, was just too time-consuming with all his other responsibilities.

While talking, Jannik watched Carlos’ face carefully, trying to find another out-of-character reaction from Carlos to convince himself he had imagined Carlos’ crestfallen face earlier. Although sensing Carlos being slightly shaken up by his and Anna’s relationship stirred something in his stomach.

Having registered that thought, Jannik immediately tried to shake it off again. This wasn’t something he wanted to think about when talking to his rival about his girlfriend.

Their conversation then quickly took a more uncomplicated turn in topics because it clearly seemed that neither of them really wanted to talk about the elephant in the room.

The elephant being: Like why Jannik had suddenly stopped messaging Carlos late at night about football matches and funny videos, why Jannik had stopped sending pictures of self-cooked dinners to Carlos when he felt proud of his cooking skills.

But mostly, why Jannik didn’t tell Carlos about Anna. He didn’t mention her in any way.

Jannik could, admittedly, understand Carlos’ reasonably woeful mood because generally, friends tell each other these things. Hell, Jannik and Carlos had already talked about much weirder things than their girlfriends and it had never been a problem before.

But these days, their given situation was completely different. How could Jannik even try to explain to Carlos that he felt completely different now than before, when they shared the same space?

Still, when they parted ways after their chat, Jannik couldn’t forget the heavy-hearted face that had appeared for just a moment between Carlos’ eyes when he first mentioned Anna.

Nevertheless, he seemed perfectly fine when they met unexpectedly a few hours later in the same French restaurant and sat with their teams together, just like they normally would. Laughing at Juanki’s jokes and telling the whole table about his recent golf exploits.

Jannik was only half present that evening, with his mind trying to analyze their previous encounter, just like in any other match. But no matter how he twisted and turned their conversation, he came to no satisfying result and returned with empty hands, granting his opponent the win through retiring.

​​​​​​_______

It was a brutal semifinal: Jannik’s and Carlos’ match. Carlos had the considerably upper hand in the match to the end and both of them knew. The defeat hit Jannik hard because it was the nearest he ever got to reaching the trophy in the French Open. But the bitter feeling he experienced afterwards was not only from his loss – it was Carlos’ behavior as well.

They shook hands at the net and ran through the routine-like procedure but Jannik could feel that Carlos wasn’t his normal self. He seemed distant to Jannik, which was so unlike Carlos. Typically, even when Jannik wanted space, Carlos still tried being in touch with him in some way. They both knew that Jannik was way less vocal about his emotions, hence why Carlos always made the first step to reach out.

This time though, it seemed that Carlos tried to cut their private conversation short and when Jannik said his goodbyes whilst he left the locker room first, Carlos only gave him a hesitant nod. It almost made Jannik halt in the middle of the room. Even as his feet dragged him away from Carlos he could feel himself wanting to turn back to the Spaniard and plead for an explanation.

When Carlos won the French Open two days later Jannik sent him a short but friendly congratulatory message.

Carlos only sent a plain gracias back.

_______

Jannik's Wimbledon run was impressive but just not enough. He lost to Medvedev in a gripping five-setter in the quarterfinal. After winning Halle, he really had thought his chance this year at the Championships would grant him a deeper run. But Medvedev still seemed to seek revenge for the AO final and Jannik's muscles felt weirdly numb from the week of playing before. Especially in that final set, Jannik sensed his intensity shift downwards, and in the rear of realizing this, the last point had already sailed past him.

Even though Darren told him to cool off, preferably without watching any media, Jannik was glued to his phone screen, rewatching the other players’ matches.

While it seemed like a reasonable and justifiable thing to do – analyzing his opponents – it felt more like an egoistical thing to do when he tapped play on the video to rerun Carlos’ match. It was true what they’d said about Carlos, even before he got successful: his whole demeanour practically glowed on court and his body language almost never revealed to anyone watching if Carlos did, in fact, not enjoy his time on the court.

Jannik knew this, of course, but watching Carlos always mesmerized him in a way that only a fellow professional could understand completely. The Spaniards’ whole attitude on-court screamed like the trophy was already in his hands.

He groaned, telling himself Schluss jetzt! and let himself fall, eyes closed and facewards onto the bed, like a starfish, sensing his physio's disapproving, scolding look from through the hotel walls.

–

When he a few hours later checked his mobile notifications, he surprisingly found one from Carlos. They hadn’t texted much after Roland Garros except a bit of tennis small talk. It was maybe the first time in months, or rather years, that neither of them (in the past there had been many more pursuits from Carlos though) had really reached out personally. Understanding this, Jannik hurriedly clicked on the new message:

sorry for tough loss today jan… hope you are ok. The message was followed by a sad emoji and praying hands. It was the most normal message one could get from him but Jannik's heart still bloomed with warmth.

The gesture seemed like an olive branch from their out-of-the-ordinary kind of radio silence. Jannik couldn’t grab after the branch fast enough, already holding onto it dearly.

Grazie Carlos but I am okay. Medvedev deserved it.

The message felt dry to Jannik the moment he sent it but as he received Carlos' fast and eager reply, the thought didn’t jumpinto his mind again.

me alegra. And a smiling, blushing emoji.

Another one: when are you leaving???

Tomorrow morning, I go home to Innichen a bit.

qué bien 👍

Then the typing dots appeared and disappeared, Carlos clearly struggling with himself if he should send another message or not. Jannik knew exactly how it felt to be in such a situation;after all, he’d been in Carlos’ position a few times over the years as well, always sensing the edge of the cliff by saying something that could never be taken back. It made Jannik even more agitated at the thought that Carlos possibly was considering sending something out of the ordinary.

To think something like that was nowhere near rational thinking but Jannik was already long gone past any rational thinking when it came to Carlos.

Then, the notification sound went off on Jannik’s phone.

do you want to talk?? right now?? I stay same hotel as you

Jannik’s head was momentarily empty. Void. Nichts. He registered his own hammered breathing, the pace of it speeding up and then suddenly breaking off when Jannik looked at the message again.

The letters burned Jannik’s hand and the longer he stared at it, the more he regained his critical thinking, reckoning that maybe he should text back.

His finger flew over the keyboard, trying to come up with something that sounded like “yeah let’s do it bro” and less like “I almost had a seizure when you asked me that”. It was harder than one would think, actually, and in the end Jannik’s best option turned out to be a simple:

Yes

Carlos’ reply came in an instant:

lobby 15 minutes?

Okay

—

Jannik self-consciously stepped out of the elevator into the empty reception hall. He had quickly pulled a comfy black hoodie over his sleeping t-shirt and thrown on some baggy sweatpants. It was well past 1 am and the thought that doing this was not very smart, especially in a partly public space, kept nagging him in the back of his head. Darren’s voice ordering him to turn back right now and go back to his room filled his headspace.

Even so, the moment he saw Carlos standing behind a pillar, all pessimistic thoughts promptly vanished into the thin air around him. What was even wrong with meeting his close friend in the hotel they both stayed in? He deserved some cheering up after his loss today, right?

As Jannik approached him, he noticed that Carlos hadn’t seen him yet. He was rapidly typing something on his phone, seemingly a little nervous. It made Jannik smile a little to himself.

He only looked up from his phone when Jannik ultimately stood before him and in a hushed, a bit playful voice said:

“Hey.”

It was apparent that Jannik had startled him when he exclaimed a little too loudly: “Ah Janni!” And chuckled lightly because of his own reaction. Jannik had to cackle a little, too, always holding Carlos’ expressive demeanor dearly.

Their chuckling came to a slow halt and a short silence settled between them, neither uncomfortable nor natural.

“So… this is surprising,” said Jannik into their shared space, trying to casually break the silence.

“Yeah, uh, you know, we don’t talk much in Paris.” Even though Carlos spoke in his usual, fast speech he nonetheless displayed his bright smile that always seemed a tad too earnest for Jannik.

“Yeah. It’s very late though, Carlos…don’t you play tomorrow?” Jannik’s eyes searched for something on the Spaniard’s face, like an explanation for their ludicrous situation.

“Sí, but I came from the physio an hour ago and tomorrow I have no time to see you.”

“Ah… okay.”

Silence again. The sound of a car just outside the hotel swooshing by.

They’ve never been here like this before.

“Why…,” Jannik started cautiously, trying to find the right words. “do you write that you want to talk?”

Carlos charged to life; he was clearly prepared for this question. His answer still came out a little shy with hints of guilt underneath: “After Paris I feel sorry I was weird to you about Anna. Lo siento. I was not a good friend to you.”

He paused, like he was contemplating saying his next words. A little visible twitch rushed through his body, seemingly having made his decision.

Carlos inhaled briefly and then: “Jannik, … but why you didn't tell me about Anna?”

Even though everybody always seemed to praise him for his strong mentality, Jannik wasn’t strong enough right now to look the younger one in his eyes. There was just no way he was going to tell him the real reason. It was way too embarrassing.

But he could feel Carlos’ big brown eyes bore into his face. His ears growing hotter any second. His (surely) expectant look.

That’s when he decided fuck it.

“I like our friendship Carlos, and it’s good. On-court and off-court. But I thought if I had told you about Anna, that that would change. That you think you are not important enough for me anymore because she is there now too. That you mean less to me just because I have a girlfriend.” Jannik felt a little breathless. He was saying too much already but his mouth didn’t want to stop now that it finally had its chance.

“Carlos, you understand,” the words escaped Jannik like a broken dam, flowing out in the open, for the whole world to see, for Carlos. “that you are bigger part of my life right now than her, no?”

Thus was the moment Jannik decided to look into his eyes. And with that, Jannik realized his attack on the opponent had backfired. His choice of gameplay had slacked and he now found himself in a compromising position, open-stanced, a clear shot for the opponent on every side of the court.

Carlos was standing there, mouth slightly open, a shocked expression dancing in his big brown eyes.

Jannik momentarily experienced an exploding burn in his ears and in the back of his neck, sensing the jitters of feeling metaphorically completely bare in front of someone.

With every millisecond passing without an answer from Carlos, he could feel his composure turn back to cold, emotionless, a steady machine already again– when Carlos suddenly tugged his arm and crushed his whole body into Jannik’s front.

To say the least, Jannik was so stunned that he at first didn’t reciprocate the embrace. But then naturally, his long arms wandered softly round the Spaniard's body and hugged him back.

This was nowhere near their “normal” embraces – after a match, at the net. Warm and friendly, yes, but intense? Never.

And it was as intense as it could get. Jannik had never been this near to Carlos before, especially not in such an intimate way (Jannik wasn’t sure they’d ever really hugged in private before). It was a hug that didn’t belong on camera, for everyone to see. On the contrary, it blossomed in their shared, lone presence.

He had known that Carlos smelled of a citrus and musky fragrance, often mixed with sweat. But this? The cozy smell of freshly washed laundry blended with a hint of a rainy and warm summer day?

This was definitely the first time he had been this close to him, or else Jannik would have surely noticed.

The hug didn’t last long and after a few seconds Carlos almost timidly stepped out of Jannik’s embrace, a slight blush in his ears.

Then, the moment stopped and the time that had seemed frozen until now all at once melted into a warm puddle. With that, both remembered where they were standing right now: amidst a hotel lobby, long into a starless night where they should have been long asleep already.

A faint smile escaped Carlos’ lips. There wasn’t even a hint of any awkwardness in the air that, with any other person, would have made Jannik certainly feel uncomfortable.

“Janni, I really like this honest side of you,” said Carlos, with a slight tease in his voice. “Maybe now I will want to see it more often, yes?”

Jannik chuckled heartily. “I guess we’ll see. You will have to ask.”

–

They talked a bit about their upcoming holiday plans and tennis schedules afterwards, nothing too serious though. Jannik’s high of him openly sharing his feelings had already come to an end tonight. There wasn’t any kind of this courage left in him.

But when they parted ways twenty minutes later and Jannik stood before his room’s door again, his keycard covering his palm, he felt braver than after any match win before. These thoughts he had held close to his heart were never supposed to leave their place in the first place. Yet, the reaction from Carlos had given him confidence for the future. It seemed that even though proposing these truths could always somehow backfire negatively, the positive outcome when opening up to someone turned out to be much more fulfilling.

With these thoughts in mind, Jannik lay down to sleep that night. When he looked out of the window before getting into bed, the moon appeared high on the horizon, perhaps coming out between the clouds to enlighten him for his newfound spirit.

_______

New York City greeted Jannik with its buzzing sound of millions of people living their very own lives, minding their own business. To most, Jannik was a nameless, unimportant figure in this well-oiled machine called metropole.

While it wasn’t Jannik's favorite city on tour, it was the place where he’d felt this roaring outcry in his chest the moment he first set foot here.

The atmosphere of this place was busy in a way that was so unlike his small mountain village. He definitely didn't feel at home here, far from it actually (this place was reserved for one place in the world only) but New York City had its own charm and he loved the taste of being here. He loved that the city skyline danced with busy business mornings in the early mornings and with daring nightlife in the late evenings.

And it seemed that New York liked him back this time, enough at least.

After his win in Cincinnati, he sensed that this time could finally be his moment in the Big Apple. He was hungry for the win and he knew he was so very close to clasping the silver trophy. Every time he walked past the treasured trophy, it seemed like it pulled him to it.

But something completely distinct pulled him in as well.

—

Seeing Carlos’ Wimbledon win over Novak and then his heartbreaking defeat in the Paris Olympics left Jannik a little unsure how to act around the younger one. Straight after Wimbledon, they had kept in a lot of contact, but after the Olympics, Jannik understood that Carlos needed some space from him – not because of Jannik personally but solely because Jannik’s persona embodied tennis and Carlos needed a break from it.

When he saw him in Cincinnati, he was prepared to find a perhaps little bit disappointed alternate version of the Spaniard but he was hit in the face with a much, much worse level. Even if Carlos tried to hide it, he looked awful. He lost the very first round, playing horridly.

Afterwards, he tried to console his friend a bit by cheering him up with a surprise entrée in front of his hotel room that evening. His match was sometime around midday the next day but all Jannik wanted to do was somehow get Carlos’ radiant smile back.

It was so unlike Jannik to plan something like this and to be fair, Mark had teased him a little for it when Jannik told him his idea on how to cheer up Carlos over the phone earlier. He had bought the Lego set of a beautiful red Ferrari racing car a few weeks prior and had planned to build it himself in a quiet moment on tour but now it seemed like the perfect cheer-up activity.

But when the door swung open hard and a red-eyed Carlos appeared before him, desolated from any fire, his plan was immediately forgotten.

Instead they sat together on Carlos’ bed in the silent darkness of his disarranged room, rackets and clothes thrown everywhere. Every now and then Carlos exhaled shakily and Jannik could feel him being on the verge of tears.

“Jannik…I-,” his voice broke and Carlos hid his face in his palms before continuing. “I just don’t know… w-what to do. Juanki... He tell me-” Carlos didn’t need to carry on. Jannik knew very well that the feeling of helplessness was one of the worst experiences an athlete could face.

He sensed his own body wanting to erupt with an overwhelmed response. He knew he had to help him somehow. So he did what he’d want from his closest ones as well, if he’d been in Carlos’ position.

He tentatively leaned closer and gently put his arm around his shoulders. Jannik then slowly murmured. “It gets better. You get better.” Carlos didn’t look up from his seat, only dumped his head on Jannik’s chest, letting it rest there without any comment.

They stayed like that for a seemingly infinite time.

Only when Carlos quietly whispered gracias into Jannik’s shirt and steadily stood up, turning swiftly away from him, Jannik remembered to get up and, while saying nothing into the silence of the room, go back to his own respective room.

The way back was unsettling in all aspects. Mostly because Jannik had realized two things: One, he’d been in there for over an hour (it could have been a whole day) and two, which turned out to be far more serious than the first one, he hadn’t wanted to leave. Like, at all. He would have been more than happy to stay at Carlos’ side longer. He wanted to try everything that somehow could have helped the Spaniard, even if it meant occupying his whole night.

Jannik didn’t want to dwell too much on the second thought, though.

When he called Anna that evening and told her about their encounter, he left the head thing out. He didn’t feel guilty or anything – after all, nothing did happen to make him feel guilty. But it felt like a moment that belonged only to the both of them.

“You two are very close, yeah? I didn’t really think this was true,” was Anna’s response to Jannik’s story, a bit surprised but mostly unmoved.

In that moment, Jannik couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that she was clearly unaffected by what Jannik had told her. But it also punched some sense into Jannik. Maybe it was him that was too afflicted.

He tried to not think about it anymore but still struggled to listen to what Anna was saying about some other girls on tour.

—

Thus, when he got to New York, Jannik was still feeling a little puzzled about the whole Carlos-is-hurt-and-I-don’t-know-how-to-help-him situation, which was why he kept a friendly distance. He thought this might help him cure his sorrow. He also felt that this would maybe help him concentrate a bit more on the current tournament.

(It didn’t.)

Carlos, of course, noticed. But him still being frail from the Olympics didn’t leave any energy in him to go confront Jannik. He was evidently tired. So all they did was share casual smiles and light conversations in break rooms.

They did, in fact, not talk about Cincinnati again.

Nevertheless, Carlos lost in the early rounds, still shaken up. Jannik told himself it was better for Carlos anyway to get away for a few days – but deep inside, he missed him on the court, in practice or a match. The locker rooms felt emptier than ever and Jannik couldn’t help but think that was due to Carlos’ absence.

—

But New York was good to him that year otherwise, with people anticipating him to win the tournament, his colleagues firing him up before the last matches. He swept through the rounds, opponents like Medvedev or Jack no real challenge for him.

In the end, he really reached that trophy and got to wrap his name tightly around it, after over two hours playing against Taylor in the final. His name at the end of an ever-long list of champions.

Game, set, match, Sinner.

He was right about his intuition for this year's US Open, after all then.

The moment of his match point; his team rising from their seats, celebrating; Anna being there – they all melted into one single joyous memory.

However, when Anna and he lay in bed together that night, his girlfriend already sleeping peacefully next to him, Jannik, still a little drunk from his celebratory champagne, realized that this memory was missing something essential. Though his drunken mind couldn’t really dissect this problem and find the missing puzzle piece.

He fell fast asleep, thinking about a heavily clouded figure creeping closer to his heart every minute.

​​​​​​_______

During the next few weeks, Jannik hardly had any time to think about his US Open win – the season was far away from ending and the next tournament stop for him was Beijing.

He had won the tournament last year against Medvedev in two close tiebreaks. It was common sense that the possibility of him winning the tournament twice in a row was exciting. But the real reason he so gladly returned there had actually more to do with a certain Spaniard he hadn’t seen in person since New York.

Lately, they had been in contact more than ever before (much to Simone’s and Darren’s disapproval) – Jannik snapping pictures of self-made cooked meals and Carlos sending videos he thought Jannik would like, always accompanied by the emoji spam. Nevertheless, Jannik harbored an inner turmoil after New York he hadn’t wanted to examine any closer so far.

The realization had hit him the day after the final in New York: He missed Carlos more than any of his other friends on tour or, hell, even his girlfriend!

Accepting this hadn't been that hard for Jannik because they had, in fact, spent a lot of time together, especially this year – so it was only natural for Jannik’s body to experience some kind of withdrawal.

The thing that bothered Jannik much more was that he somehow recently started responding wholly differently to Carlos’: he was eagerly expecting Carlos’ messages, happily answering his calls even though he’d be busy, and had become aware that everywhere he’d go he would see something that would somehow remind him of Carlos.

It was all very humiliating. They were good friends, Jannik would even call him one of his closest on tour – but above all, he was his arch nemesis, rivals to the core, you name it. And Jannik couldn’t be caught up with this kind of hyperfixation.

You see, Carlos surely had better things to do than to think about Jannik in kind of inappropriate moments (after waking up, when getting food, before going to sleep…) and well, it also made Jannik angry at himself.

Because the last time he had been too confused over his friendship with Carlos, the result had been Jannik rocking a losing streak against the other one.

Therefore, Jannik made a promise to himself before getting out of the plane in China: he would spend time with the Spaniard, but only in a regulated manner, without overstepping the invisible line protecting his inner peace.

Won’t be much of a problem, right?

Right?!

—

But, as it often is, fate created the impression of having other things stored for Jannik.

—

As Jannik stood on the winner’s podium – the silver plate in one hand and the microphone in the other one, right before starting with his runner-up speech – he knew that today marked a tipping point. He tried to stay calm on the outside, letting no crack be shown in front of the thousands of people who watched (and who probably didn’t care at all what was going on in his head and just wanted to watch some good fucking tennis).

He tried to start casually, his media-trained tongue rattling off the routine-like praises and acknowledgements that were etched into his system – he couldn’t erase them from his mind whether he wanted to or not.

But nobody could have had even a clue what in the world he was actually losing his mind about. Not his coaches nor his family. He himself was still working through the early stages of the thought that came in the tiebreak in the first set.

Jannik had looked over to the other side of the court and just, out of the blue, a specific thought broadcasted itself into every part of his brain. It felt like a hidden drawer had been opened, no, busted out, which he didn’t even know had existed, and there was no key to lock it back up in sight. It attached itself onto every fiber of his body, every part of his mind and started a burning fire in his heart.

Carlos looks so fucking good on court today.

He won that tiebreak, just barely, and had to crush himself onto the bench to catch his breath. But not because of the heavy physical exercise. No, because he couldn’t let that thought go.

When he returned a few minutes later to his position on court, nothing was alright anymore and even though Jannik had tried to shake it off, the thought stuck to him like old chewing gum that hid under your shoe sole.

Though the second he was back to playing, there was nothing in his brain except tennis. But the moment the point finished and he briefly glanced over, the thought came rushing back, like a bullet, and hit him right in the middle of his chest.

Jannik tried to convince himself that he lost the second set to Carlos because he was playing worse than the other one, which was of course true, but the latent idea of why he was playing worse, was unspeakable – even to honest Jannik himself.

They played a deciding third set tiebreak but Jannik could feel the trophy slipping away under his fingers. He had been doomed since that first tiebreak, admittedly.

So when Jannik concluded his speech and looked over to Carlos, who was grinning from ear to ear – evidently happy with his win – Jannik couldn’t even feel anger at himself for losing today because Carlos was just that euphoric. It was a nice change when comparing how the younger one had been acting in the summer after the Olympics, and Jannik almost felt proud of himself that he was the one that did that, his smile, only to remind himself that this was due to his loss to him.

It was good that Jannik was able to leave court soon after because he desperately needed to catch a fucking break. Normally he was a fast changer and didn’t take too long in the locker room but today was different… given the circumstances.

He let the mild shower drain away all his thoughts, or tried to, and even though he was sure that his team was waiting for him outside these facilities, as was the press, he took his time, trying to find his balance again.

Rationalizing everything of course, he thought that, objectively speaking, Carlos was naturally attractive. Anyone could say that. Even Jannik. He had modeled for Louis Vuitton and CK before. There were a few more attractive players than others on tour as well – this was a known fact.

But no matter how he twisted and turned it, there was no getting away from the scary truth:

He had found Carlos attractive in this particular moment today, their whole match really, and in a sense that was definitely more than an objective observation.

This left an uneasy feeling deep in his stomach.

As if our friendship wasn’t complicated enough, thought Jannik.

—

Just when Jannik finished packing his stuff into his Gucci bag, the door opened and before him stood the person Jannik actively wanted to avoid. He knew he had to face him again, very soon probably as well, but right now seemed like the worst time ever. He wasn’t feeling like himself at all but there was no way he could escape this conversation anymore.

“Jannik, you are still here!” was loudly exclaimed by the Spaniard, already stepping right next to the taller one and leaning into a friendly side hug.

Jannik was too shaken to react in any way, hence why he dumbfoundedly let himself be hugged by Carlos like a lifeless puppet. If Carlos noticed this, he didn’t mention or show it.

“Great final again, but no surprise really from you,” Carlos continued, as usual rambling on everything that came to his mind, already unpacking and reorganizing everything while simultaneously getting rid of his shoes and sweaty pink tank. “great tiebreaks, sí, you agree?”

With that, he looked over to Jannik who still stood frozen in the place where Carlos had found him a minute earlier, staring breathlessly at the younger one. He hadn’t noted the question Carlos asked him. In contrast, he rather obviously stared atCarlos’ athletic back and strong muscles that hid under there. Carlos’ slightly sweaty face looked at him in full attention, the Spaniard’s teeth grazing for half a second the plush, pink lips underneath.

They looked so very soft and kissable from Jannik’s point of view.

His mind went blank – it was like a switch turned off all rational thinking that he just thoroughly went through in the shower cabin. Jannik wouldn’t call himself superficial but thinking anything other than what had gone through his mind just now seemed absurd.

How had he never noticed Carlos' athletic figure? His perfect facial harmony that seemed made for those lips?

Then suddenly an “Uh… Jannik?” finally found a way into his ears and his brain, where he quickly processed that a, Carlos had asked him something to which he hadn’t replied yet, and b, he had caught Jannik staring at his lean figure these last seconds, basically undressing Carlos with his eyes.

A striking red blush promptly emerged on Jannik’s ears and cheeks, guilty as charged. He drew his glance completely away, trying to pull off some damage control.

Trying to find some composure, he uttered something like “Uh, yes, very good,” hoping it somehow matched what Carlos had asked him.

When he looked right back into Carlos’ face after finishing his helpless act, he was only met with a deeply puzzled expression. It was clear that the gears in Carlos’ brain were rotating and working like crazy, attempting to examine Jannik’s reaction.

There was a crease forming between his thick eyebrows and before Jannik could try and reach out to smooth it out with his fingers, he quickly turned his upper body to his bag, threw everything in his near proximity into it, let out a rocky “Great match, see you soon Carlos!” and stormed out of the door.

He didn’t look back to see Carlos who, still stunned, was still standing in the middle of the locker room, with a wide-eyed expression looking after Jannik. Then, suddenly a ruck over his whole body. A stark inhale.

And then – turning away from the door, continuing with his own after-match procedure.

—

The rest of that evening had been a disaster, too. Starting with when he almost started a fight with Simone and afterwards almost snapped at a journalist’s question.

Everyone thought Jannik was just angry at himself for losing the match. And, well, he was! But in a different sense. He was angry at himself about how he lost that match – drooling over Carlos like a lovesick schoolgirl. In retrospect, it wouldn’t have surprised him if he had started to giggle mid-match.

However, the crucial apprehension of the situation hit when he got a video call later that evening after his nightly shower. He picked up his phone to look at the contact’s name and…

Anna.

An afflicted feeling settled in his stomach that moment.

She had been on his mind only a few times over the course of the evening. Yet, every time her name popped up in his head, Jannik had to forcefully guide his thoughts away from her, the guilt being too strong.

He dreaded their conversation, even though he understood that this was something he needed to tell Anna to be fair with her.

Jannik hadn’t been unfaithful physically to his girlfriend but the betrayal of him having had these thoughts about another man, about Carlos, felt way worse.

Hence he knew that he couldn’t look into her beautiful grey eyes and tell her about the match today without the words flowing out of his mouth.

The phone kept ringing in his hands until the sound died down, lying motionlessly in his right hand. Silence in his room again.

Heute nicht. 

_______

They didn’t really talk until Turin again. Sure, they had chatted a little on court before practices back in Shanghai and messaged each other indifferent information from time to time.

In their time “apart”, Jannik had some time to reflect on his own actions in that locker room in Beijing and came to understand that he maybe – almost – had been on the brink of doing something irreversible.

He didn’t exactly know what that could have been, but looking back at how he had mindlessly ogled Carlos’ lips, he could kind of guess where he would have been headed.

And it alarmed every reasonable part of him for the right reasons.

So, when all they did in Italy was share fun moments in the locker room, on-court and even in the media interviews, Jannik was glad because it reminded him of a much simpler time.

It all looked so casual: them chatting, them joking together, them practicing.

And while it was indeed casual and held very professionally, Jannik was also aware that Carlos acted a tiny bit odder. Hidden glances, always swaying close to Jannik, always in the pursuit of hunting after Jannik. If you didn’t know and therefore didn’t look hard enough, you would surely overlook it. But there was undoubtedly something happening.

He was following every one of Jannik’s steps, studying his playing style, taking apart Jannik’s game piece by piece in a deeper sense than only tennis.

Carlos surely hadn’t forgotten their moment back in China. This was clear.

But it appeared that neither Carlos nor he himself really wanted to address his escape in that locker room. Maybe Carlos was too polite to mention anything?

Nevertheless, what if he grasped the extent of their situation? What if he knew what Jannik had been thinking since then? What if…

The thoughts spooked Jannik’s mind night and day, doing roundabouts in his brain cells – even if he told himself they didn’t matter. He wasn’t here to discuss some confusing feelings; he was here to play.

—

The night Carlos lost early in the group stage to Sascha, Jannik spent his evening in his room, distractedly half-watching the match while prepping for the next day.

He hadn’t been watching for a while; thus, when he looked at the TV and saw Sascha leading with one set and the second set almost in his grasp as well, Jannik felt a small sting in his chest – it was looking like he probably wasn’t going to play Carlos this year after all.

This thought, to everyone else, might seem very abnormal. And while it wasn’t normal for athletes to support their direct rivals, it was different for him. For them, as always. Jannik loved his sport and that meant loving to play a talented and scary opponent. And Carlos was both of these things.

Still, Carlos lost the second set 4-6 and with that, his chance for a deeper run in the finals.

Jannik knew that defeat must’ve hurt; therefore, as part of their well-disposed rivalry, Jannik wrote him a consolation message. He clicked on Carlos' contact and started typing, keeping it short but well-intended. This ritual – he didn’t do this with all players, just a few he considered his friends or as a polite returning act.

Carlos replied seconds after Jannik tipped send on the message button:

jan can i come see u?

To say the least, Jannik was surprised. Of course, they had already hung out in their respective rooms, but without any notice before? Late into the night? This was certainly new.

Jannik didn’t know what to respond. Just yes? Or should he say no? His practice session tomorrow was scheduled pretty early. He should act reasonably here.

Just as he was already on the threshold of writing sorry not tonight, early practice tomorrow, he received an additional message from Carlos. Simple and so clearly intentional to have an effect on Jannik.

por favor

He stared at the message, his heart rate weirdly speeding up. What did Carlos think he was doing? Pulling some pity-me move? Jannik desperately didn’t want to give in – already dreading all the possible horrible outcomes of this late-night visit – but something in his chest just clicked and before he could really think it through, his room number looked right back at him from their chat.

Breathing deeply through his nose, he tried to collect his thoughts.

Okay… so they were doing this now.

While his heart thumped in a race-like motion, he quickly looked around in his room, contemplating if his room looked like it’d been trashed or not. But before he could actually collect any of the scattered clothes next to his bags, there was a cautious knock on the wooden door.

Jannik froze. His mind couldn’t deal with the fact that Carlos was here so soon already. Had he run up all the floors to get here?

Another knock, more hasty this time.

Finally, Jannik reacted with frantic movement, only briefly checking his appearance in the mirror next to the door, a second later ridiculing himself again. Why would he even need to look put together? Carlos was more likely going to look a mess. He needed consolation after a tough loss – that was essentially the reason why he even asked to see Jannik, right?

With this self-assurance, he swiftly opened the door, only to be met with a … smiling Carlos?

…Was???

“Jannik, can I… eh, can I come in?” a light self-doubt mixed itself in Carlos’ friendly greeting after Jannik was left standing speechless in the doorframe. Or maybe Jannik was imagining that because his rational mind was suddenly nowhere to be found.

The moment dragged on. Then a stuttered “Uh… yeah, yeah, come in.” from Jannik, as if he didn’t know Carlos would be coming at all.

He pushed the door wider open and stepped aside, letting Carlos enter his hotel room in a nimble manner. After looking around to check that nobody saw the Spaniard tread into his room this late, he quickly closed the door.

When Jannik turned around, the sight his eyes fell upon was like something out of a weird dream. Behind Carlos shone the historic center of Turin, the yellow light from the streets casting a warm embrace on Carlos' backside.

It was just the two of them now, Jannik realized, with nothing between them except the breaths leaving their chests.

Carlos’ eyes were twinkling, his mouth was pressed together but the slight edge of a smirk seemed to break out from it. Jannik’s back erupted under a shudder. It was fear, but Jannik couldn't point out what exactly he was so scared of.

Perhaps he knew, but that wasn’t something he could admit to himself in a moment where Carlos was standing in the middle of his room.

“You don’t look like you are sad from losing,” was the sentence Jannik uttered to break the charged silence. “... Why are you here, Carlos?”

“I am. I don’t even qualify for the quarterfinal. You think I want to lose?” With that, Carlos barked out a sarcastic laugh but it lacked the mean undertone that normally would have been suitable to use here.

Carlos remained chuckling softly while he looked around for a seat. He settled for the small couch opposite the ruffled-up bed. Jannik observed Carlos’ movements carefully while being fully aware that the other one hadn’t answered Jannik’s question, the much more substantial one.

Jannik wasn’t sure what to do with himself, even though this was his room. But standing around like a startled deer definitely wasn’t an option; hence, he decided to sit on the double bed, facing Carlos.

There it was again, this electric silence that had followed every one of their meetings since, well, Beijing, probably.

(Jannik knew it started way before that.)

It wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward. They rather enjoyed this silence, as it meant nonverbal understanding between each other. They didn’t need to talk about why seeking comfort in another player felt like the most obvious choice sometimes. At the end of the day there were only a handful of players that could really grasp the pressure of being a top player.

Still, Carlos wasn’t usually this kind of person – normally preferring louder white noise around him, whether it was from his team or a deep bass thumping into his ear – instead of tranquility. And on top of that, Jannik wasn’t sure if Carlos had come here for consolation after all.

A few moments passed, Jannik still looking right at Carlos. Their eyes met across the room.

Carlos averted his eyes downwards, playing with his expensive watch on his wrist. His hands came to a sudden halt after a few seconds, with his eyes locking back into Jannik’s, target-driven.

The next thing he said came without a warning, without any restraint – just pure honesty:

“I came because I think I understand what happened in Beijing.”

Jannik’s breath caught in his throat, and a chainlike physical reaction started to explode all over his body: his heart galloping in an unhealthy manner, his palms sweating, a low buzz in his stomach.

Nonetheless, what came out of his mouth was wholly different to what was physically going on in him.

“What do you mean, Carlos? I don't think I understand.” He was after the short shock already collecting himself again, his unfazed Jannik persona returning – the short instant of his body’s reaction set free long gone. “I lost to you, remember?”

Carlos grew a little restless at this answer, straightening his upper body.

“No I mean– you know… Not this.” He finally stood up, the pent-up energy already emancipating itself in his limbs, and crossed the room to stand directly before Jannik, a determined expression on his face. “Jannik, I mean in the locker room. After the match.”

A minuscule pause.

“I saw how you look at me then.”

With that, Carlos couldn’t help but unleash a knowing recognition in his eyes, evidently knowing what effect he had on Jannik that day.

Jannik registered all of this only half-heartedly, his focus shifting to the ringing alarm bells that were filling his head with additional unhelpful questions.

Why did he come here to say this?

How did he even fathom this?

… What else did he know about Jannik’s deepest thoughts?

“How I..? Carlos…” the words died on Jannik’s tongue, not knowing how to alter this point to his favor.

He couldn’t even try to explain anything because Carlos shut him completely up by taking a step forward, thereby invading his personal space with an exceedingly composed expression.

They weren’t closer than ever before but still, an invisible line had been crossed; Jannik was sure of it. Otherwise he wouldn't have felt this speechless.

But it didn’t matter because Carlos momentarily started speaking again.

“Janni, seeing the way you looked at me in these past matches…” A small chuckle escaped Carlos but it felt more like a breathless puff. “Do you realize, joder… that I look at you the same way?”

There wasn’t any amusement in Carlos' face left, though – in its place an unforeseen seriousness clammed into his face, deeply looking into Jannik’s eyes, searching for something.

It was way too late into the night for this kind of honesty that could break them both and all Jannik was able to think of was that he was utterly fucked.

He, in a flash, as if long forgotten, remembered everything between them: every hug, every touch they ever shared. The gazes across courts as if they were alone in this world and nothing mattered but them. Their ups and downs, how they always somehow wound up together again, whether it was Carlos or him reaching for the other one.

Alicante, all those years ago – Carlos’ warmth that seemed to attach itself onto Jannik.

Umag, just two years ago – when he first noticed this sunny look Carlos shot him at the ceremony, brighter than any of the fireworks that lit up the night sky.

Murcia, last year – when Carlos invited him for a few days to train but they did anything but. Instead they were glued onto each other and the touches, as innocent as they were, were suddenly far away from unintentional.

This year, the French Open, then Wimbledon and finally Beijing – they all abruptly gathered in Jannik's memories and clearly gave one thing away.

He and Carlos – they were far from being professional colleagues. Even just friends seemed like a laughable thing to say in this moment.

Carlos – looking like that at him in practice. Carlos – looking like that at him in the locker rooms. Carlos – looking like that at him right now.

And as these reminiscences piled up in his head, he knew that this was not something he could allow himself to think about. So just like in any match where you realize you’re going to lose, Jannik pulled himself together and determinedly grabbed the metaphorical racket and attempted one last rescuing serve.

He turned away, all at once, leaving Carlos standing like a lone puzzle piece. Jannik was sure that if he’d look into the Spaniard's eyes, he couldn’t push this through.

And he needed to do this. For both of them.

“Carlos, I think you should leave. I am very tired tonight and I have match tomorrow. I’m sorry.” His voice had a slightly shaken edge to it.

He waited for Carlos’ reaction. But there was none.

And then … the sound of a door shutting, so quietly as if it had never been opened in the first place.

—

Turin was fun. Tennis-wise. Last year’s defeat in the final to Novak had been tough – but he pulled through this time, reminding himself what he was capable of on court.

And, in the end, it was Jannik holding up the Finals trophy, with Taylor looking small next to him (again) with his simple silver plate. He couldn’t have been prouder of himself for his run here, in front of his home crowd. A straight-sets win.

Nonetheless, while he seemed calm from the outside, a storm raged inside his chest.

​​​​​​_______

Coming back to Australia felt like returning to a place filled with only happy memories. Only this time a dark thundercloud seemed to hang above his head.

The off-season hadn’t been fulfilling at all, for a number of reasons.

For one, he and Anna had been broken up since the beginning of the off-season. There was no anger involved, and, unlike his other relationships before, both parties felt like that breakup was for the most part a better choice for both of them. Maybe, if Jannik had been more attentive, it could’ve worked out in the long run. But all in all, their timing didn’t seem right at the time – especially with Jannik’s high in tennis right now. They parted ways on good terms and Jannik was endlessly grateful for that, always the non-confrontational type of person.

Two, the doping scandal. It had been stuck in the back of his mind since last spring, burning an ugly dark spot there while being left unattended. Luckily, the media wasn’t alerted to the contamination until the whole investigation came to a close, which happened to be just before the start of the US Open. It had all been very overwhelming but Jannik had tried to think of it as little as possible which had really seemed to work.

There had been a few darker thoughts, though, and he was forever filled with gratitude for the effort his team had made for him in those days.

Thus was the reason why the rulings of the World Anti-Doping Agency felt like a slap in his face. The whole thing had blown up over the off-season, with the result of his lawyers pushing him to accept a three-month ban settlement in the early start of the season to not further endanger his career. They had agreed to publicize this agreement sometime after the Australian Open to not affect his run there, but Jannik felt the weight of what was coming onto him anyway.

And lastly, maybe the most inconsequential thing but for Jannik, somehow felt like the most prominent problem of his because it just didn’t leave his mind. Even when trying to sleep, it sneaked into his thoughts. Or rather, he.

Carlos.

Ever since that moment in Jannik’s hotel room in Turin, there had been radio silence in their private messaging. It was hard not thinking about him when the world seemed to adore the Spaniard. He was practically everywhere.

Every time he thought back to that night, he felt this deep rumbling in his stomach that seemed to want to escape in the form of a blurted-out word puddle. Full of excuses. Full of take-it-backs.

And well, Jannik hated this silence. He wanted to know what Carlos had been up to. What his vacation was like. What his thoughts were on the ongoing football season, F1 season and thousands of other topics.

Of course, there had been times when they hadn’t been in contact (most evidently sometimes last year) but these moments all seemed insignificant in retrospect to their current situation.

He had no idea that his life, without tennis and Carlos, could be this empty.

When not in training, Jannik had spent most of his time in Monte Carlo in his apartment, alone, thinking. Hadn’t he been visited by his close friends from his hometown or a few from the tour, Jannik was sure he’d gone crazy.

Because no matter how he turned and twisted that moment, he couldn’t think of a better way to end the conversation. And Jannik couldn’t have let the conversation go on – it would have been the breaking point for both of them. Even when thinking of the possibili– Nein.

It was probably better like this.

—

It definitely wasn’t better like this.

Jannik was sure of it.

Every averted gaze from Carlos when it was just the two of them hurt like someone shooting a bullet into his chest. On court, when everyone was watching, he acted completely normally – his bubbly laughter open for everyone (even though it used to belong to late-night calls with Jannik too) – but the warmth of it never reached his eyes.

Furthermore, there was this harsh wall in them that seemed to emit even more indifference towards Jannik when they were hidden from any cameras.

It made it really hard to concentrate on anything else when they shared the same space.

–

When Carlos lost in the quarterfinals to Novak, Jannik knew this loss would probably guarantee his second trophy in Melbourne, considering his current form. Still, he could feel the Spaniard’s sadness through the screen when he was watching the match.

Jannik wandered around the rest of the day with that sad feeling, mixed a little with guilt, too. For what? He didn’t really want to explore that further.

Hence, when he saw Carlos the next day, standing in the empty hallway of the players’ hotel, his packed bags ready to leave the continent, he sensed that he needed to say something. Quickly. Their time in the same place was already slipping through his fingers.

They (or rather, he) couldn’t go on with this weird ignore-each-other thing between them, as if they were never friends in the first place. Maybe it wasn’t fair to Carlos, bearing in mind how Jannik had reacted then, but he was willing to step over his embarrassment for him and come crawling to the younger one with a sincere apology for his immature dismissal, hoping to rebuild their old relationship.

(Was this even possible anymore?)

He told his team that he needed to take care of something and that they should wait for him in the lobby before he easily jogged off in Carlos’ direction. Carlos hurriedly typed something away on his phone, not sensing Jannik’s approach.

“Ah, Carlos…” Jannik began when coming to a stop next to the Spaniard, trying for a casual tone, but it came out more awkward than intended.

A moment passed in which the spoken-to man didn’t react in any way. Then, a small acknowledgement from him, in which he stopped typing, still looking onto his phone screen though. Jannik started again. “You uh… are leaving today?”

The question stayed put in the air until Carlos decided to raise his head slowly and meet Jannik’s eyes.

A shudder ran down Jannik’s back. The warm chocolate eyes evoked only coldness towards him.

“I saw your match against Novak. You uh- played well.” He tried a third time, more and more discouraged by Carlos’ stillness.

A jolt visibly pushed through Carlos with that, resulting in him declaring in a flat tone: “No I did not. That is reason I lost.”

“Ah… I see.”

A beat. A harsh exhale from the sunshine boy.

“Jannik, what do you want? I need to leave like right now, car is almost here for me.”

“I know, I know. It’s just… we didn’t talk since … you know … and I wanted to see if you are ok.”

A long pause.

Then an unsure: “If we are ok?”

Jannik didn’t know where his bravery came from, but seeing Carlos already so finished with him had him realize that this was maybe the last chance they could talk to each other before Jannik’s … break.

But this question seemed to make Carlos even angrier than he was in the beginning of their conversation.

“”If we are ok?” Mierda Jannik, I don’t believe you tell me this. Do you not remember what happened in Turin?” Carlos looked like he wanted to throw something, preferably at Jannik. “I wanted to talk to you about what happened in Beijing, what you did in Beijing but no, you say nothing! You just send me out of room.”

At that Carlos barked out an ugly laugh.

“You did not want to talk about it. Ok, I understand. I leave you alone. But don’t come to me now and pretend nothing happened, Jannik.” That part was practically spat out, Jannik seeing the turbulent emotions gushing out of Carlos. “Jannik, we both realize what happened in that locker room, no? Because I remember you looking at me like you want to kiss me.”

… And there it was. The fatal admission that had been following Jannik slyly around since October.

Carlos was breathing hard, evidently emotionally exhausted from his accusing speech. And Jannik was, well … still processing.

Yes, I wanted to kiss you.
Yes, I wanted to touch you more than that in that room.
Yes, I really want to kiss you right now.

Oh mein Gott.

How could he have been this much in denial?

Though Jannik’s mind was overflowing with comprehension, with understanding, out of his mouth came only a simple: “Yes.”

This stopped Carlos right in his tracks, who already had been working on his next monologue. Substituting, a confused expression made its way onto his face.

Carlos' bewildered look gave Jannik finally the confidence to continue his thoughts out loud. It was only fair to Carlos if he knew what had been going on in his brain ever since autumn, especially after his cowardly behavior in Italy.

“Yes Carlos, it’s tru-” but thus was the moment footsteps echoed in the hallway and a “Jannik?” was heard through the corridors.

In that instance, both turned their heads. It momentarily left Jannik's sentence unfinished forever because, for one thing, both of them realised that their whole argument had been acted out in a public hallway and secondly, that was definitely Darren’s voice.

Jannik turned his head back to Carlos’ face. Darren was still somewhat away.

They could still talk it out. But the Spaniard was already looking at his phone again, a stressed look now framing his features.

Before Jannik could even begin to say something, a hurried Carlos’ rushed by, aiming for the elevator. He was left there looking after the silhouette of his biggest rival/friend/more? Exiting the scene, Carlos shot a last desperate look at Jannik and then disappeared behind the closing metal doors.

And just like that, it felt like he had taken Jannik’s heart with him.

–

Winning Melbourne twice in a row was certainly an achievement to be proud of. But instead of feeling like a champion, he returned home with a two-time broken heart. Just like the sport he loved, the man he … trusted the most, had turned his back on him.

​​​​​​_______

If he’d ever thought it wasn’t possible for someone to get hurt the most by the things he held the most dearly, well, he fucking knew it now.

He had prepared himself for some lonely months, but he could have never predicted the effect the ban would have had on him and his relationships with other players, too.

Specifically, a player.

—

When the doping agency released the news of the three-month ban in mid-February, Jannik knew the backlash would be greater than the one he had received last year. Jannik wasn’t active on socials that much anyway, but still, family and close friends all told him to sit this one out, offline.

So he stayed a month with his parents, reliving a somewhat peaceful time, stripped of any meal plans and training sessions, reminding him of his younger days before returning to Monte Carlo later on.

Regardless of the fact that his social media accounts were all inaccessible to him, Jannik still grasped the extent of his ban on the rest of the tour – opinions clearly divided. Some believed in his innocence in the case; others accused him of top-favoritism. And while he was lucky to not miss any Grand Slams, nevertheless, three months of not playing tennis at all seemed humiliating enough because, after all, he was “just” taking responsibility for his team’s actions.

Whereas he didn’t particularly care for some of the players' opinions, some of them were quite unexpected.

But the thing that hurt the most was probably the isolation from the other players. Only a handful of players he had actually thought of as friends had reached out to him in that time. Instead, it became pretty clear whom he could trust from now on, and for that, Jannik made a mental list of players he now considered trustworthy enough.

(The list was awfully short.)

And this list was missing a certain person he’d wanted to see on top of it.

A certain Spaniard.

Carlos hadn’t really reached out since Melbourne. There had been only a short message from him right after the ban had been announced:

is it true what they say? To which Jannik had only replied with a simple “No”.

That was all that had been said between them. And normally, Jannik would have been confused by the others' silence but not too hurt.

This was not the case now, though.

Their hallway moment still crystal clear in Jannik’s memories. Still a painful memory.

The way Carlos had just stormed past him when Jannik had wanted to finally, finally tell the truth to Carlos, and, in a way, to himself as well. The way he hadn’t even been eager to hear Jannik finish his passionate admission.

Jannik had actually thought that that was exactly what Carlos had wanted to hear from him right there and then. Just pure and raw honesty. Full transparency on his emotions. But it seemed like, when thinking back to his sudden departure, the contrary must’ve been the case.

The weird thing was, while being interviewed in press conferences, Carlos was constantly asked about his opinion on Jannik’s ban, but he never gave them a real answer. Mostly ignoring the question and when directly asked, just vaguely and neutrally responding.

It was unusual for Carlos to stay quiet on a topic that affected him directly, and it seemed like the journalists caught on as well. Hence why, the longer Jannik’s ban went, the more of these kinds of questions piled up before Carlos. All unanswered,though.

Altogether, he was unsure where he stood with Carlos. His mental “who-to-trust list” kept reminding him that whatever they’d had before was definitely over now – probably since Carlos' angry outburst in Melbourne but without a doubt by Carlos being MIA for the whole length of his ban.

It hurt to think that there was no going back from their current place. Whether that meant their relationship or tennis rivalry. Jannik’s asterisk (cheater, doper, fake) would always be somehow hanging above his head, whereas Carlos, the young tennis prodigy, was being adored more than ever.

Which was why Jannik decided that their confusing relationship status (if he even could call it that), as well as his weird feelings for the Spaniard, would from now on only belong to the past, together with all the hurt and confusion that the doping scandal had caused.

But Jannik was, deep down, a very hopeful type of person. Which was why he had to push down the little cluster of hope that sparked in his stomach every time he thought back to Carlos’ intense gaze right before he’d entered that elevator. He couldn’t allow himself such unreasonable feelings.

_______

The roaring Italian crowd had welcomed him immediately back on centre court.

“The return of the black prince” – was how they announced him everywhere.

Someone had even screamed, Forza Darth Sinner! on his way to the open-air arena.

It was painfully refreshing, stepping on court again after all of these long months, feeling his stoic presence fill up the clay court when every other player looked at him. He knew what he was feeling was called determination – determined to prove everyone wrong about him and his tennis.

“Come back stronger than ever” was the thing Darren had whispered into his ear the first day he was allowed to pick a racket up again.

And truth though, he did come back stronger. Just not strong enough.

Against Carlos.

His composure had crumbled piece by piece the longer he looked at those warm chocolate eyes across the net. He’d relieved all the ups and downs of their rather recent mess of a relationship in these last months in a harsh first set that ended with a tight tiebreak loss for him. That was the moment he knew he was finished, in both senses. There was no way around his power now, whether that meant on court or between them.

In the end he had to lay down his newly obtained crown again to the one player he, as a matter of fact, did not actually want to play against.

It didn’t matter who they claimed him to be. King, prince, machine. Whatever all his nicknames were, Jannik was, after all, just a boy who had opened up about his feelings just once and then been crushed cruelly. And he was being crushed again, this time though mortifyingly in front of the whole world.

Feeling his hard breathing chest against Jannik’s own by the net cord was more electrifying than any point he had played today. Hence he couldn't stand being on the orange deathbed any minute longer when all the necessary formalities were over. He practically stormed off court, blocking out Carlos’ slightly pained voice calling for Jannik to celebrate with him.

Who did he think he was?

Beating him shamefully in front of his family and friends, everyone really – and then easily touching him, smiling at him like all was fine? Had he forgotten… Or was he just the world’s best actor?

Raged by these angry thoughts, Jannik quickened his pace, wanting to remove himself even faster from there than he already was.

He arrived in the player’s locker room, already feeling his breath suppressed by the court’s atmosphere, and when he looked down at his hands, he noticed a little shakiness in them. Sitting down, Jannik felt his whole body weight tumble down onto the little wooden bench, overstimulated with various feelings.

Negative ones. Losing the final. Thinking back to his ban. Carlos, running away.

But good ones as well. Being back on court, the sun framing his red locks. Feeling the crowd's excitement. Carlos and him having an intense match, just like if nothing had changed. 

Even if he’d been furious just moments ago – his anger subsided with every balancing eye blink he spent alone in the too bright and a little smelly room.

This anger and confusion at himself felt like Beijing all over again, this time though with everything and nothing hanging out in the open between them.

Jannik hid his face in his still-burning palms. Everything around him seemed to come to an infinite halt.

Then, all of a sudden, he felt a warm hand creep up on the back of his neck, waking him softly up from his trance. He turned around, expecting to find his coaches face him – the way they usually came to him after a tougher loss.

In its place, he met his infuriating brown eyes that had followed him in his sleep ever since … Ist das wichtig? His whole system suddenly lit on fire, a match in a firestorm. They looked at him with excruciating worry.

“Jannik, you are ok? You look a little …” The sentence was left unfinished, and Jannik tried not to dwell on the implications from it.

“Yes, yes. Just, you know … tired.” A short pause. “A great match from you, again. You deserve the win, Carlos.” Jannik concluded earnestly; never a sore loser, especially not with Carlos.

He was also aware of the position he was in right now: feelings loose, uncontained. And the position they were both wrapped up in – their never-ending circle of push and pull that had seemed to have come to a sudden stop ever since Australia… or had it been before that?

“Ah, thank you… Sorry I had to beat you in front of your home crowd. I think they wanted you to win here.” Carlos’ lips escaped a little chuckle, and Jannik couldn’t restrain his own little smile from forming on his lips.

With them, it was always like that – too amazed by their creation of gameplay to be long saddened by a defeat. When they could joke like that, Jannik always reminisced about times when everything was yet filled with thrill.

But it was different now, though, especially since the last time they had seen each other. A lot had been going on for both of them. Jannik wasn’t sure he could call Carlos his friend anymore, much less anything more than that.

Their untroubled moment concluded. Instead it was filled with unspoken things, and a heavy silence settled over their heads, keeping any show of emotions at bay.

While Carlos was still standing next to him, unmoving, Jannik got up as well and started packing up. Their conversation seemed to have come to an end. In spite of that, he felt the brown eyes stare a hole into his side profile.

Jannik knew the reason Carlos had come here so early; there was no reason for him to be here except to see Jannik. Both knew that this was a chance to speak about what happened.

But, to be frank, Jannik wasn’t really interested in an insincere apology for why Carlos hadn’t called, why he hadn’t kept contact, or why he had run away. Maybe, if you’d asked Jannik a few weeks ago, there wouldn’t be anything he’d rather want than to reconcile (except maybe to lift the ban for him earlier).

Though having said that – now, it was too late for that.

Jannik was probably a little selfish for that, wanting to ignore this sore spot between them for now but he was a professional after all, and just like Carlos had kept away from him during his ban to not inflict any negative verdict onto himself, Jannik right now wanted to keep away from that, too.

Keep anything irreversible from happening.

All that mattered now was him being back. Him proving to everyone that his rank and dominance on court still belonged to him. He would not be tested this early by being lured into something where he didn’t know how the outcome looked.

If there even were an outcome, to begin with.

In an unbothered manner, he nodded to Carlos – signaling his leave – who was, surprisingly, frozen and didn’t give any acknowledgement, and hurled his big bag onto his shoulder, deserting their little shared space.

Yet, just as he reached the middle of the room, he noticed a hasty movement out of the corner of his eye. The warm hand that had just a few minutes ago consoled Jannik had returned into action by grabbing Jannik’s free hand and thereby stopping him in his exit.

He turned around to look into the Spaniard’s face for the second time that day, expecting something else again than what he was momentarily met with:

A frowning Carlos, breathing hard like he’d just run a marathon.

“Jannik…”

But in lieu of falling softly for the confused look on Carlos' face, the anger Jannik had felt slowly subduing in this exact roomreturned abruptly with a never-felt-before force.

This anger reminded him of checking chats for hours, checking calls, even likes – just to find nothing. Afterwards, he would liein his darkly lit bedroom in Monte Carlo, curtains drawn, and stare at an empty phone, just a brink away from losing it all. He had felt like a vacant and lifeless version of himself; the person who had just won the Australian Open light years away.

Thinking back to this broken version of himself, he assured himself that he wasn’t going to go back to it again because of someone who had been a rather significant factor for his self-suffocation.

Jannik snatched his own hand out of Carlos’ grip, wanting to continue his way out when the soft, Spanish-accented voice called out for him again.

“Jannik, wait… I think we need to talk.”

At that Jannik sarcastically said, “You tell me this?” to which Carlos just slightly flinched, clearly not used to a passive-aggressive Jannik.

“You know Carlos, I didn’t hear anything from you since Australia. And now you come here and think everything is normal again? We laugh about the match? Is that it?”

The accusations landed like punches on Carlos, which seemingly powered him back up, a fierce look in his eyes now as well.

“When I wanted to talk to you in Turin, you literally tell me to leave and then didn't write anything anymore. You wanna know how I felt about that? Two months of nothing from you after this? And then you suddenly come to me in a fucking hallway and want to talk.”

Carlos paused and searched Jannik's eyes for something but quickly gave up again.

“You realize I think the whole time since Australia that I pressured you to tell me about Beijing? When Darren came you didn’t even say anything anymore, even after I tell you everything I felt in Turin and Melbourne!”

“I wanted to but you ran away, Carlos. Don’t tell me things the wrong way when I was there. You saw exactly I wanted to keep talking but you just had to go to the car and leave me there. You didn’t even say to me that we can talk after! I think the whole time that you are too mad at me for what I did in Turin to ever forgive me. And then I get no message from you for three months! Niente!”

Carlos’ eyes widened at that. His accent considerably heavier than normal when he opens his mouth to strike back.

“Jannik, you tell me nothing in that hallway, I remember this good. You just say yes. Yes, what? Yes, I’m sorry Carlos, I don’t see you the same w–?”

Warte, was?

A shocked expression solidified on Jannik’s face. “Carlos, no, wait. You think– you really think that was what I was about to say?”

Carlos’ anger sprung into irritation. “Uh… sí? I know this Jannik. You know I have been so obvious the last few months and from you is nothing. Juanki even tell me I need to stop obsessing over you.”

Admitting this, a sheepish edge materialised in Carlos’ body langue; scratching his neck while he subconsciously flexed his bicep.

Jannik was too speechless to say anything; hence, Carlos continued talking.

“Jannik… I don’t want to force anything from you if you don’t want–”

“But I want this! Carlos, don’t you realize I wanted to tell you in Melbourne that I could think of nothing except kissing you on court, in front of everybody? To be honest, I think of this, of you, all the damn time. I can’t concentrate when you are –” but Jannik couldn’t finish his sentence because he was muffled by the surprising feeling of the hard press of … lips against his own.

Just for a moment he was too baffled to reciprocate anything before he realised that Carlos Alcaraz was actually kissing him. Here, jetzt gerade.

Jannik closed his eyes and pushed deeper into the kiss, opening up his lips while his hands settled in Carlos’ fluffy and slightly dampened hair.

The kiss was everything and more. Like the tides, they took and gave back while taking turns pushing into the other one. It had this kind of rush to it that usually lasted after a heated argument, the air electrifying with tension over their heads. Like when you are caught underwater and just a brink away from drowning, the only source of air suddenly being Carlos’ mouth, into which he was gasping for air.

Carlos’ fingers pressed deeply into Jannik’s waist, the pressure a welcome feeling. Under all the heat between them, he made out the sensation of Carlos biting sharply onto his lower lip, the metallic taste already mixing with their tongues.

He then half-consciously realized that Carlos was walking him slowly back to a metal bench, without stopping the kiss, to swiftly straddle Jannik’s hips when the latter one collapsed roughly on the hard metal of the bank. If it even was possible, the kiss suddenly became much more intense, with Jannik feeling the whole length of Carlos’ heavy-breathing chest and muscular legs on his own body. Carlos rather quickly got to work on Jannik’s neck, which made Jannik release a soft groan.

Every fiber of Jannik seemed to connect with Carlos, feeling every small shift closer to himself of the Spaniard’s body. It felt like a too vivid dream because Jannik’s vision, when he momentarily opened his eyes, seemed to only perceive him, with everything else shifting into an unnecessary background.

Jannik didn’t know how long they had been kissing, no, breathing each other, but a faint knock with someone calling their names behind the closed door launched them both out of whatever haze they had fallen into. Panting into each other's faces, the realization struck them both at the same time.

Realization of the intense kiss they’d just shared. In the locker room. Behind the doors of a completely packed out stadium.

Carlos promptly stood up from Jannik’s lap and quickly turned away from the Italian, though he was not casual at all, his burning red ears giving him away.

At that, Jannik felt the pressing issue in his own shorts, too. With the same embarrassment Carlos was surely facing as well (Jannik knew this; he had felt the burning touch of this evidence just seconds ago). Jannik tried covering up his crotch while breathing slowly through his nose, saving every small bit of his composure that could be saved.

Jannik got up in a similar hurried manner, returning to his bags while being painfully aware that he got hard from their rough make out session.

This was definitely a slight step up from their previous encounters.

… Was für eine Untertreibung.

“Er…” tuned Carlos’ slightly wrecked voice from the other side of the room. He cleared his throat. ”I think I need to go. Juanki, you understand… he needs to see me.” While this was a perfectly reasonable matter, Jannik knew Carlos was saving them both a little dignity also.

But with his hands on the door handle already, Carlos all at once spun back around and looked directly into Jannik’s eyes.

“Janni…” There was a dark twinkle in his eyes, summarizing everything that had happened in the last minutes in a single glance. “This,” he pointed with his index finger to both of them, “is ok, yes?” A tiny tremble appeared in his question, revealing just how unsure he was of Jannik’s answer.

Instead of thinking of a bad excuse to save himself, Jannik just blurted honestly and quite straightforwardly, “More than ok.” The relation of his own answer to Carlos came as a shock, while also hearing that his own voice was just as wrecked as Carlos’.

But Carlos' hopeful and blinding grin made Jannik forget any insecurity from forming. They both bashfully cracked smiles at each other, their hot moment a distinct memory of two wholly different people again.

Carlos then slowly turned around, collected his undisposed bag, and left the room just as quickly as he had entered it before.

Before he had kissed Jannik and turned his whole world upside down.

Jannik was left with his burning face hitting the wall behind him while the lust still roared in his lower belly. Only then did Jannik allow his head to busily fill up with a million mixed thoughts, feelings, and sensations.

And so much to keep things professional, huh?

Ach du heilige Schei-​​

​

_______

The mental aftermath of their kiss for Jannik was pretty…you could say extreme, considering that he had never harboured feelings or attraction for another man before, nor actually physically ventured into any possible curiosities. Replaying the locker room kiss with Carlos gave Jannik a headache.

Not in the way of regret, though; no, he definitely didn’t regret it, but rather the complications that had come with it. They were colleagues, rivals, for fuck’s sake! His rational mind was already creating various scenarios where someone had seen them, or worse – photographed them – and it all came tumbling down onto them like an avalanche. He knew there was a lot at stake for both of them. And the risks if this thing were to continue would only rise higher.

On the other hand, his thoughts were brimming with wooziness, too. In the months of his ban, he had to become truthful to himself and his feelings and therefore reveal his deepest desires – which were, without a doubt, Carlos.

Since they’d always been friends, the emotional attraction had come to him in a creeping manner, sneaking up in his deeper thoughts in the most random moments. It was rather easy to ignore it (for the most time), and labeling them as “just good friends” seemed to Jannik like a compelling excuse. After all, what was wrong with feeling lightheaded after seeing his good friend Carlos, talking to him, or just texting him?

But the physical part – to Jannik it had felt more like a tsunami crashing with its full force onto him all at once. He’d neither seen it somehow coming nor had been prepared for it, and when he’d at last experienced it, it had felt wholly overwhelming.

(This was an absolute lie since Jannik could remember a couple of times before this revelation in Beijing where his gaze had remained a tad too long on Carlos’ biceps, abs, legs… to be reasoned as just professional – but for nothing in the world would Jannik admit this to someone, though, not even himself.)

The only way through it had seemed to be to ignore the desire completely, but that had all backfired – remembering Turin rather well – which was why he’d maybe given himself the push in Melbourne to speak up about Beijing. The feelings were definitely there, and it was no use to backstall them, and additionally, Jannik had always hated being held back by something, even if that meant stifled feelings.

However, Carlos running away (he now knew this had not been the real case) had taken him back two steps again. Was Carlos even interested in him that way? After all, he had actually never revealed in Turin or Melbourne if he’d wanted to kiss Jannik as well.

This got Jannik to thinking if Carlos was even romantically interested in men anyway. Jannik himself hadn’t known about it until a few months before!

Even though Carlos’ attraction to men was quite the rumor on tour, without any real evidence, Jannik had never taken it too seriously – seeing Carlos with beautiful models once too often. Jannik also fairly well remembered Carlos talking of an ex-girlfriend when they’d gotten to know each other in the early years of their careers.

Still, Carlos’ warm smiles and lingering touches hadn’t felt like a platonic friendship to Jannik in the troubling months of his ban. The affection from the Spaniard for him seemed, when looking back onto old memories, as clear as daylight to him.

All the same, with Carlos not reaching out at all to him throughout his ban, Jannik had come to the conclusion that he must’ve been wrong from the beginning and this had been just an one-sided attraction the whole time. Locking his feelings deeply into a little mental drawer in the far back of his mind sounded like a fitting precautionary armor for his heart before the end of his ban.

It made focusing on being back to court a little easier.

On the inside, though, it destroyed him when he’d first seen Carlos in Rome after the grueling months of isolation, thinking that even that little flicker of hope had been just a specter of his imagination after all. Noticing the same lingering glances and smiles from Carlos like from before, Jannik had just felt stupid – like experiencing an unrequited child’s infatuation.

The realisation that Carlos had just always been an affectionate person with everyone and Jannik had completely misunderstood his friendly signs and alternately had let his heart run with its own explanation was quite humbling.

Hence the anger had come naturally and had turned their argument into one filled with accusations.

Though nothing could have prepared him for what Carlos had said about his feelings for Jannik then and not even remotely could Jannik have foreseen Carlos crashing his lips onto Jannik’s, turning their heated argument into a heated make out session.

When he came back to his hotel room that evening, it took a lot of processing for Jannik to wrap his head around the idea again that Carlos was, after all of his overthinking, still, or rather had never stopped being, interested in him. Only this time Jannik had firsthand evidence.

Why did it have to be this messy with them?

​​​​​​_______

Jannik had come into the French Open with a much too loud head, and while he’d played fabulously, having his first Grand Slam final here against the one person who was the reason his head was screaming all over with confused feelings in the first place was pretty inconvenient.

—

Despite them talking about their hot kiss just seconds after they’d stopped making out, the topic never rose again in any subsequent conversations. To be fair, there weren’t many to begin with – Rome ending only a week before Roland Garros –but neither had dared to text the other one, or rather, to talk about what had happened in the meantime.

Jannik knew he wasn’t too scared to bring it up, but he just didn’t know how; it was quite difficult saying the right thing over text.

“Hey Carlos, how are you? Anyway, remember that kiss?” Or worse: “I really want to kiss you again,” was what he’d truthfully liked to say to Carlos, but he’d never bring himself to hit send on this kind of message. And talking about tennis or every other small talk topic seemed like a lame excuse or trying to brush it over with normalcy, which was the opposite of what Jannik wanted to do.

Truthfully, in the time between the tournaments, Jannik had even drafted a few text prompts, but none were much to his liking. Either they were too forthright or lacking in honesty.

And frankly, Carlos hadn’t texted him as well, so it wasn’t just his fault for not clarifying anything between them.

Logically speaking, Carlos had confessed to him being obsessed with Jannik and then kissed him right after, which – to any person – would be a definitive clue that the Spaniard was into him. And Jannik’s own response to this kiss was an answer to its own. But that still didn’t mean that any of them were going to do anything about it. Jannik felt like a horny teenager again, too scared to talk to his crush even though he knew the feelings were somewhat mutual.

For this reason, every time they would walk past each other, albeit on practice courts, in locker rooms, or in the player’s tunnel, an electric wave spurred between them, the consciously half-attentive glances speaking volumes.

But neither spoke. Not even pre-match banter that normally was part of their casual tennis talk.

Naturally, after some time, Darren and Simone noticed this behavior too, and the puzzled looks they gave Jannik after every encounter were incredibly embarrassing. Actually, one time in the third round or so of the tournament, it seemed like they’d wanted to discuss this matter with him, but Jannik rather quickly changed the subject and asked for Simone’s opinion on his kick-serve, which successfully shifted his coach's focus to his technique instead of his relationships.

Being in the same locker room was especially unpleasant because both of their eyes seemed to find the other one’s eyes,and some kind of recognition flashed behind them, their kiss in Rome looming over them. Though such moments always ended with a quick turnaround and a suppressed shudder, followed by a deep breath from Jannik to regain some of his composure.

As a result of their restrained feelings wanting to break free, it was only a matter of time until they would clash against each other, but fate, once again, liked to mess up Jannik’s organized plans, and therefore, the last two names on the opposite sides of the draw were his and Carlos’– meaning they’d have to play the final.

This caused a rather groundbreaking realization to kick in: the person he could potentially lose against in a fight for one of the few things he’d wanted most in his career was also the same person he wanted next to his side, probably indefinitely. Whether it was on court, on tour, in his apartment, his bed, or his life.

—

And it was absolutely brutal. A match that came down to the wire.

Five and a half hours of a pure emotional rollercoaster while the championship title stood on the line, just in eyesight from Jannik’s place behind the baseline.

When he lost the tiebreak in the fourth set after messing up his championship points, he sat there, on the bench, his thighs shaking a little from the physical exercise, the loud cries of excitement from the crowd thumping in his ears. Jannik knew they wanted to see something spectacular, and them going into a fifth and final set seemed to raise an even louder uproar in the masses.

That feeling, their excitement, was a little too familiar for Jannik, especially when the cheers came back even louder after a point won from Carlos. The crowd was against him today, Jannik had concluded that, but he also couldn’t help but sympathize with the cheers for the Spaniard because he’d be the same. If he were to sit up there somewhere, swamped by people, he would cheer for Carlos this loud as well – he was their charming clay prince after all, the sunshine tennis prodigy, the natural talent – and not this lanky and somewhat awkward tennis player with a recent controversial history.

When the ”time” announcement came, Jannik pushed his body up to deliver a last outstanding performance today.

All or nothing now.

—

And outstanding it was - just not in the way Jannik wanted it to be. The last point of the match flew by his side while his whole body seemed frozen as he watched the ball shoot by, completely out of reach.

No matter how he had tried to play a point, Carlos today had always seemed to have an effective counteranswer for it.

The match point was over, the championship won, and Carlos momentarily fell to the ground, the crowd erupting in cries. And Jannik? Perplexed was one word for it. A better explanation was the sheer helplessness he felt.

The loss was hurtful enough in itself, but the fact that he just couldn’t escape Carlos, whether on court or from his own feelings, made the ache so much deeper.

Tears wanted to break free and roll down the cheeks on his face,but Jannik was not going to give anyone the satisfaction of him obviously suffering; hence, he suppressed all of these sensations.

(Later, Jannik would come across videos of him visibly shaking, his eyes glassy. He was not good at hiding strong emotions after all.)

It made giving his runner-up speech much more agonizing. Carlos noticeably tried not to gloat too much, but it wasn’t fair to him to expect him to not celebrate at all after this unbelievable comeback.

Thankfully, the ceremony didn’t last long, and Jannik was fortunately allowed to run off soon after.

—

The silence in the player’s locker room was even more so deafening. The stark contrast to the crammed stadium was even more bitter. It meant finality.

Once more, it was Carlos who dismantled him.

Like no other player could.

And finally, Jannik allowed himself to shed a few tears, the salty taste leaving behind the acid taste of defeat. He needed to get himself together before going to the press.

Right before he left the locker room, the courtside door opened behind him, giving a view of an exhausted Carlos, who was rapidly checking the room, searching for something.

Or rather someone.

Carlos quickly looked around, eyes wide as he took a step forward, a small “Janni…” escaping his lips, his bushy brows a little furrowing.

But he had no time to say anything else because Jannik didn’t let him. While his heart rate exceedingly went up, he simultaneously quickened his steps, trying to pretend he didn’t see the Spaniard, the… champion, and fled through the hallway.

He knew it was poorly executed (Carlos surely had to know he had seen him, right?), but he couldn’t face him right now. Even if he knew that Carlos probably came to console him a little, his loss was still too present. His feelings were still scattered all over the place, too. Looking into his deep and warm brown eyes meant a definitive breakdown for Jannik.

Another tear ran down his cheek, this time not a reaction from the defeat, though.

The reason was maybe more profound than any grand slam final loss could ever be.

—

Jannik’s team knew all too well that all Jannik wanted right now was some peaceful quiet, partly to regain balance and sort out his thoughts but also to just let his emotions loose.

It meant angrily marching up and down his hotel apartment, analysing every aspect of todays match. It meant bawling his eyes out when he had seen his Mama’s face in the player’s box, her whole being hurting for Jannik. It also meant staring blankly into the opposite wall and trying to find a solution.

For his game. For his endurance and mental power in future matches.

For Carlos and him.

—

He had wanted to call it a night at 10pm already, but his thoughts wouldn’t let him find peace in a good night’s sleep. Which was why he’d heard the low knock on his door at 2am in the morning – he hadn’t been able to fall asleep at all.

Still drowsily, he stood up and walked to his door, thinking that Simone probably wanted to tell him something important but couldn’t reach him through his Do not disturb. His beige sleepshirt and comfy short sweatpants stuck a little to his body, the Parisian pre-summer heat already making his pores sweat.

But the sight in front of him when he opened the door was quite shocking.

Carlos.

To be fair, after contemplating the whole evening on how to fix all the messy aspects of his current life, he’d decided to finally address the Rome Incident™ by straightforwardly going up to Carlos the next day and at last sorting out whatever still stood unsaid between them.

But it looked like Carlos had beaten him to it.

The aforementioned man paced a little before the door, eyes drawn to the ground as if guilty, the slight rosiness in his cheeks suggesting he’d had a drink or two.

However, the moment the door opened, he instantly looked into Jannik’s face. Carlos’ eyes possessed a clarity that signified he’d come here without any influence from his drunkenness.

Just pure intention.

“Janni…” he whispered, just barely audible, the nickname slipping for the second time that day. Jannik’s breath caught in his throat. He wouldn’t have bet on anything today that Carloswould find his way to his hotel room number today, but against all odds, he was here, the sight of his presence making his heart stutter a little.

“Carlos… what- what are you doing here?”

“I, uh… y’know after ceremony I go to see you in the locker room, but you leave. So I think the whole night we talk now, no? Darren gave me room number when I asked him.” Carlos chuckled faintly at that. His English was much faster than normal and his accent slurred heavier than when completely sober.

Darren, that bastard. So he probably had his own guesses at the state of their relationship… seemingly wanting to push them forward to resolve the issue he shouldn’t even be aware of!

“Ah… I see.” was what Jannik said to that, trying to keep his voice from wavering. “Congratulations again, by the way. You deserve the win, Carlos. Really.” This was an honest answer. There was no point in denying that Jannik hadn’t been the better player today, even though he had a very possible chance to win, too.

It still hurt, of course. As much as Jannik wanted to, the slight shaking in his voice couldn’t be concealed and Carlos’ somewhat happy mood turned to a certain degree afflicted.

“Jannik, you do know-” but whatever Carlos wanted to say to Jannik was left unfinished; instead, he cleared his throat and asked in a much calmer manner, “Can I come in?”

“Oh ja, sure. Sorry.”

Realizing their conversation was held in a corridor again, Jannik swayed a little to the right to leave enough space for Carlos to trot into his room, a similar memory from Turin suddenly dancing in the top of his mind.

Hadn’t they been in this exact position before?

He pushed the thought away, though, not wanting to think about distressing memories in this exact moment, and followed Carlos into the living space, who settled onto the big white couch in front of the TV setup.

They sat together on the couch, although with a considerable space between them, not touching any body parts. A safety measure.

“I guess you have been out celebrating a little, no?” Wanting to relinquish the silence by comfortably kicking off the conversation, he started with the obvious. Though it came out more pressured than Jannik intended to, the loss still aching in his bones.

The sight of a sheepish Carlos knocked Jannik off his focus. “Ahh… sorry I beat you.”

Jannik held his hand out at this remark, apologetic. ”No, Carlos, you saw the chance and you took it. I would’ve done the same and you know this.“

A short pause. Then, a truth slipped from his mouth, Jannik unable to take it back: “And you see, I admire this in you. You never give up. … Even when I was match point away.”

Carlos’ tautness visibly let loose, and a warm smirk adorned his features, the pearly whites showing off. “I guess I was a little lucky today too.”

Both of them chuckled slightly at this for a short while. But before the moment receded, Carlos searched Jannik’s face with the same earnest look Jannik himself held a few moments earlier.

Them two, they were so obviously (from the viewpoint of a bystander) into each other, though maybe both didn’t want to yet admit this to each other in words.

But maybe Carlos did.

“We both fight until very last point of the match. …You understand, t’was greatest match I ever played. And somehow the best are always against you.” Carlos' pointed yet sincere gaze made Jannik's skin prickle. When the moment became too much for both of them, he drove his gaze a little to the side, clearing his throat. “What I want to say with this is, Jannik… no one makes me feel this alive except you. Not on court. Or anywhere else.”

If someone had cut the heavy tension that the room was filled with with a knife, a physical object would have been the end product. Breathing seemed to Jannik like an unnecessary thing to do right now.

“Playing you today made me realize this. It also make me think of what happened in Rome.”

There it was, Jannik's mind unhelpfully complied; we addressed it. He was following every minuscule movement in Carlos’ face, body language, hell, even eyes.

Carlos’ monologue wasn’t finished yet.

(Had he practiced this?)

“I don't know why I didn’t talk to you or write to you or anything. I think I was just scared that it was real now, after Rome.”

At this, Jannik stopped Carlos' self-accusatory speech, placing his palm on his knee. “No Carlos, this is not fair to you. I also did not write anything or talk to you in Paris and then today I run away when you want to talk to me in the locker room…”

“You lost Roland Garros to me. I think I know why you not want to talk to me in that locker room.” A grin illustrated itself on Carlos’ face, Jannik’s serious response faltering just for one second.

“Yes. Don’t remind me. I am still pretty miserable from this.” As true as this was, a lighthearted tone undermined this statement so that Carlos understood he’d get over it.

After some time, of course.

Switching back to seriousness, Jannik continued on. “But you know Carlos, it has been real for me already since Turin, maybe even before that. That I want this. And I was scared, too. I didn’t know if you feel the same way or if I was just crazy.”

Carlos' eyes widened a little. He didn’t acknowledge Jannik’s retort. In contrast, he was glued onto a detail Jannik didn’t see as really attention worthy. “Since Turin?” A little bitter laugh broke out from him, seemingly in disbelief. “Jannik, you do know I've wanted you since Umag 2022, yes?”

…Umag 2022?

Jannik’s no-reply was apparently enough of an answer for Carlos; hence, his mouth rapidly started spilling memories. “Under all the fireworks, all I looked at was you. For years I thought you knew this but didn’t feel the same. Joder, Jannik, everyone knew. I never say anything more to you because I want to protect myself… How did you not know?”

The utter surprise and disbelief in his face would have been amusing to Jannik if he himself hadn’t been this overwhelmed by all this new information.

Carlos, into him, since 2022? Everybody knew? How had he not known?

Another thought came flying into his brain.

How long had he unconsciously drooled and longed for Carlos as well?

Countless vast moments piled up in this short span of thinking time, already gaining enough evidence that Jannik knew his own friendly touches, circling thoughts, and hyperfixation on Carlos hadn’t probably been this platonic for the last years, after all.

“I…” was all Jannik could answer then, everything else getting stuck in his throat.

Carlos shook his head just a tiny bit. “Doesn’t matter now no more. I came here to tell you I will not be scared anymore before anything when it comes to you. No matter what you want or not want.” His voice was shaking a little, proving just how pure of poise he was stripped here.

However, before Carlos could lose even more of his determined resemblance, Jannik grabbed his neck and softly put his own chapped lips on top of the Spaniard’s, stopping the jittery movements of Carlos’ talking at once.

It was wholly different from Rome; instead of hot, messy and intense, just soft, calm and reassuring, the slight hints of the winner’s champagne leaving a sour aftertaste on Jannik’s lips.

A delicate sigh escaped Jannik’s mouth when Carlos pressed a little closer, opening Jannik's mouth up for his tongue to enter the wet mess of their togetherness.

They sat there for a while, unrushed, gently discovering their mouths and their closeness while finally being somewhat on the same page. Both tired from their legendary Grand Slam final and spilt feelings, any desire was left unexplored or rather didn’t even arise. Just their hands and bodies holding each other as close as they could, searching for comfort in the other one’s presence.

After several minutes (or had it been hours?), they both simultaneously drew away, locking their eyes into each other. The “stay here for tonight” was left unsaid by Jannik, but Carlos understood just as well as if he’d said it out loud.

It was a lot like that between them. More often than not, it wasthe unsaid things that brought them closer to each other, whether that meant on court or elsewhere.

Together, they settled comfortably into the large bed, Carlos kicking off his shoes and shirt in one-go and settling right next to Jannik, who seemed to be almost asleep already.

The sleep that hadn’t wanted to come to Jannik all night now contentendly engulfed them both in a sweet, sweet dream.

—

Warm sunshine rays nuzzled onto Jannik’s cheek, waking him slowly up from the deep and peaceful slumber. Blinking into the sunlight, the gears in his mind started to turn. … He usually slept with the curtains drawn tightly.

Something was different.

Jannik was instantly awake, his upper body coming up from the fluffy pillow to look at his surroundings. While scanning the room, he saw nothing out of the ordinary except the sleeping body next to him.

The sleeping body next to him?!

Memories from last night came rushing back to him. That epic French Open final, him darting away from Carlos in the player’s locker rooms, Carlos knocking on his door in the dark of the night, them talking, them softly kissing, and finally, Jannik, with one foot in the dream world, sensing the weight of the bed shift when Carlos lay next to him.

His breathing picked up into an unsteady rhythm. Looking back at everything that had happened yesterday, it felt like straight out of a surreal dream, but Carlos’ calm sleeping face pushed everything right back into the present.

He was here. With him. Everything else came later.

And for the first time in a very long time, Jannik could relax again. He settled back onto the cushion and closed his eyes again, a small-lipped smile forming.

Everything else would come later.

—

A while later, it wasn’t the warm morning sunshine that was interfering with his slumber. Rather, it was a soft hand that cautiously grazed his temple and played with the red locks there.

Even without being really awake, he knew who the perpetrator was.

Jannik, still drowsy from the heavy sleep, only felt the movement of a hushed whisper against his ear shell without grasping what Carlos was saying to him.

Then, an apologetic kiss was pressed to Jannik’s cheek, and suddenly, before he could respond to him in any way, the warmth exceeded itself momentarily from him with light taps on the wooden floor retreating away.

The quiet shut of the hotel door echoed in the room’s silence as Jannik fell back asleep.

—

When Jannik awoke again a few hours later, the bedside next to him was already long gone, cold and empty.

Nevertheless, the sharp panic in his chest didn’t get the chance to settle down for longer than a second because, right then, his notification centre shut off his sleep mode, and through his Do not disturb went a pang of messages from a certain someone, having sat there since the early morning.

Still, the lovesick smile came without any permission from Jannik.

morning guapo 😍🤪 dormiste bien?😴 had to sneak out because of interviews…

u know champion stuff

was worth it tho for sleeping with you

*next to you!!! perdón😅

orrr??😏😏

que mal we dont play same tournament😓

sooo ig see u in wimbledon jan

cant wait to see u again

❤️

​​​​​​_______

If Paris had felt hot to Jannik, London was practically burning up in early July.

It was as if the sun wanted to personally bring hell onto the slippery grass courts in the All England Club. Or maybe Jannik was just being dramatic.

After all, the practice court booked next for him was presently being used by Carlos, who was having his training session shirtless and his white compression shorts tucked tightly under his as–.

He was definitely not being dramatic in any way.

Ja genau… whispered that tiny voice in Jannik’s head unhelpfully; it seemed like it dared now more often than not to declare Jannik’s feelings, per se, for Carlos.

As Jannik stood courtside with all his stuff and his whole team, waiting and desperately trying to look unfazed by what was going on right before him (Carlos caught him lurking every so often, embarrassingly), he also thought back to the time he had spent at The Championships so far this year.

After Halle had been over in a quick blow, Bublik actually surprising him while his thoughts were among other things; he had just a little more time to prepare for the upcoming Grand Slam than under normal circumstances. He couldn’t wait any longer before stepping foot onto the beautiful green lawns and experiencing the atmosphere of being here at all.

However, the truth was, he had also been giddy at the prospect of seeing Carlos again.

Honestly though, when he’d first gotten the Spaniard’s message of having landed at Heathrow, all the anticipation turned into nervousness. Jannik’s head was suddenly full of questions he hadn’t even thought about yet.

Where did they stand now? Was there even a label for what they were? And what if… what if Carlos had decided otherwise in the few weeks they hadn’t seen each other and rather wanted to go for someone simpler. Someone that wasn’t his direct rival, and a man at that as well.

But by the time Carlos arrived in the locker rooms (and Jannik had turned his whole head inside out with insecure thoughts), it didn’t even take a second until Carlos was saying casually, audible to anyone in that room who was in earshot, that he needed to ask Jannik something about his schedule and therefore had pulled him into an unused storage chamber and kissed him senselessly.

Yeah, senselessly was the right word for it because Jannik couldn’t remember anything, even if he’d wanted to, other than that they’d both stumbled out of the cabin after thirty minutes, lips a bright red and swollen from their hot makeout session, their breath still ragged, clothes crumpled, and hair standing up in weird places. Both of them had then come late to their practice sessions.

Where they’d been, nobody had asked, strangely.

And so this secrecy thing went on for the whole length of the tournament.

Sometimes it was exchanging kisses in dark and hidden corners, empty of any peeking soul; sometimes quiet bathroom stalls where one or the other dropped to their knees, the adrenaline rushing through their blood vessels as if they were playing a Slam final; and sometimes just prolonged touches and looks right on court that seemed innocent to everybody else except them, the hidden meaning always very prominent to the other one.

The first time Carlos had gotten mid-making out down to his knees with an indicative gaze to the filling tent in Jannik’s training shorts, Jannik had almost burst from suspense. Having had his own fair share of being on the receiving end of a blowjob, Jannik knew how good and well-practiced (he tried not to dwell too much on this concept) head felt, especially when Carlos’ dark and round eyes were looking up at him, a light smirk adorned the edge of his mouth between breaths, and his pink tongue licked his plush lips sporadically. God, he was so done.

Though, never would’ve thought he’d be enjoying giving one himself, the idea never being realistic before, and ever since he’d known about his attraction to Carlos, thinking anything more intimate made Jannik feel a little shameful for harbouring these thoughts.

Sure, in the lonely months of his ban, he couldn't stop these from happening, leading to some various … scenarios when he’d felt the need or wanted to.

Still, that didn’t stop him from being nervous the first time he’d told Carlos his proposal when they were lazily kissing in their hotel room after the third round. But the Spaniard had been very reassuring and guided him through all of it calmly so that the next time Jannik had offered to suck him off, the worry hadn’t even appeared. All the same, as Jannik was a competitive soul at heart, he’d taken the “practice session” before as a chance to prove to Carlos that he just as well could positively surprise him. Or rather, blow him away.

Taking that into account, it all came down to another competition between them. This time, though; not with trophies but with themselves: who could outplay the other one with something to drive them crazy. Whether it were hot and heavy glances, dirty things whispered when passing by, or burning touches – everything was allowed and very welcome.

A tournament busier than what they’d both expected it to be, at last.

—

By the time they both were into the semifinals, Carlos told him the evening before his match that it looked like it was going to be them going for the title again.

“Some day you have to beat me, yes?,” Carlos had murmured, although it was empty of any viciousness, more softly spoken with a tinge of attentiveness to Jannik’s reaction to his statement.

Cuddled up together in the queen-size bed, the evening light illuminating their room, the thought of it seemed a lot less threatening to Jannik, though, especially when he decided to shut the Spaniard up and therefore pressed his mouth onto his, cruelly sneaking his tongue into the other’s and muffling anything Carlos would’ve wanted to say.

It worked pretty well, distracting the younger one a bit from the ongoing topic. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to talk about the very real possibility of another Sincaraz final, but he didn’t like jinxing anything, Roland Garros and the “3 match points for Sinner” still resonating in his head. He would never admit it to anyone, but when it came to tennis, he was rather superstitious.

Just when he thought he had Carlos trapped into the kiss, Jannik’s fingers sneakily wandering under his shirt and caressing the golden skin there, the next thing Jannik knew was that Carlos broke away from his mouth, the wet sound of their mouths parting leaving Jannik wanting more, and straddled his long legs while also putting his whole body weight onto Jannik’s. Curiously, he looked into the Spaniard’s eyes, trying to disdain any mischief from appearing, but the twinkle in Carlos' eyes gave away that he knew exactly what the redhead had tried doing.

“You know, you are not very smooth, amigo,” was whispered into the redhead’s ear as a consequence of this, Carlos’ sharp teeth grazing the shell of it while a shudder traveled all over Jannik’s body. His whole being turned to butter the moment the younger touched him in any way.

There was no use in trying to switch the subject. Not with Carlos, who so easily could see through Jannik’s walls. He exhaled as if annoyed, but a pleasant grin emerged anyway. “Ah… we’re going to see tomorrow after semifinals. But if the final happens against you, I will fight for it again. I love matches against you. And hopefully I finally beat you.”

This was true to its core. After all, the battles against Carlos were what made him work harder for winning titles.

“Ok… deal. But let’s make stakes higher, sí? Winner can choose any reward from loser.”

And then Carlos had the audacity to wink at Jannik.

Oh nein, he would definitely not just let Carlos walk to the trophy.

—

It was ridiculous with them, really. One would think they weren’t the current players at the top of their sport, but… well, they were. That they were giggling and kissing into long nights when they should’ve been asleep already was just an unfortunate side effect.

(Not so unfortunate if you’d ask Jannik on this matter, though.)

Ridiculous was also the fact that either Jannik or Carlos had to sneak out in the early morning afterwards to not attract any unnecessary attention from their teams or someone untimely to know. Sneaking around was thrilling, of course, especially if it meant between practice sessions in the light of the day. Yet, it also meant not being able to spend the mornings together, to touch openly in front of their teams.

These asterisks came with the sport, or probably any sport. And even though Jannik was mostly glad they could be private, he didn’t want to keep it a secret from everybody since he himself had hidden it away for such a long time. His family and team should know, he thought. Jannik was also pretty sure that Carlos had told his brothers already, so where was it wrong to indulge their teams as well?

(He got the feeling that neither team would be very surprised, especially Darren and Juanki. There had always been some kind of secret agenda, looking back now, to push them together.)

Only, that would come in its proper time. Right now, all that mattered was getting into the final.

—

Stepping foot onto center court in Wimbledon came with its own feels.

Jannik had watched matches being played here ever since he was a kid had watched from afar from a small town in Italy as all the greats had raised their hands with the golden trophies. And now, it was Jannik’s turn to rise above everyone, as it seemed.

He won quietly. Neither screaming, jumping, nor falling to the ground. More willingly, he just gently put both his arms into the air as the whole stadium erupted in a deafening applause, as if to say “I did it. Look at me, I did it”.

It was a message to everyone who had doubted he could come back from his loss in Paris, from his doping scandal, and from his tennis kryptonite named Carlos that they’d said he was never going to beat.

And he’d almost believed the moment right now wasn’t real if, from the corner of his eye, he hadn’t seen Carlos smiling from ear to ear at him from the net, waiting for the celebratory player’s hug, waiting for him.

When they embraced at the net cord, the Spaniard had put his hand on Jannik’s shoulders casually and had whispered with a little taunting grin while also looking into Jannik’s eyes deeply, honestly: “Great match, as always.”

As if they were alone on court for this very instant, a flicker of something more personal shined through and blossomed between them. Jannik knew this meant they were going to be okay anyway, even though Jannik had beaten him rather effortlessly in the end.

He was so relieved in that moment that Jannik would’ve almost, almost kissed him in front of the royal family and everyone who watched, including his own family. Though he supposed the latter ones knew already, somehow, anyway.

Instead, Jannik just shot him a quick glance and put his palm on the other’s chest, on his heart, signalling “I got you.” and also “Thank you.”

Neither could stop smiling throughout the ceremony. It was wholly different from Roland Garros, not only tennis-wise but also emotionally.

There were no hidden or repressed feelings that affected them in any way; rather, the complete opposite. Just total admiration for their other half, no matter who would’ve won.

And yes, Jannik had desperately wanted to win today, had needed to to some degree, but if he’d lost fair and square, that would’ve only pushed him to work harder, harder for their next encounter on court. This was their dynamic, after all.

But don’t sue Jannik for feeling a little proud of himself when he walked off court, a Wimbledon Champion, waving at everyone on their feet and walking into the locker rooms a little while later, the trophy a rather lightweight thing in his left hand.

Although, what he didn’t expect was Carlos leaning in just his tiny compression shorts on the locker wall, appearing to have waited not for very long since his hair was still wet from the shower.

The sight left Jannik haltless in a way more than just his physical reaction, his eyes quickly grazing over the lean muscles of… everywhere.

“You don’t forget our deal, no?” Carlos' smile turned cheeky, knowing the effect he had on Jannik.

All the air was punched out of Jannik’s lungs immediately. Still, a big smile also started forming on his mouth, the moment so bizarre with everyone awaiting him in a few minutes for his walk to the Champion's balcony.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t think of anything more important than the glowing Spaniard, straight out of a dirty dream of Jannik’s. Merely a dim-witted half-sentence managed to form on his tongue.

“Never. Not with you.”

“Okay.” And then, without waiting for anything more, Carlos closed the distance in a few big steps and messily crashed their mouths together, both of their hands instantly finding their respective places on Carlos’ waist and Jannik’s neck, tugging the red curls in his nape there.

And if they both took a little longer in the locker room, delaying Jannik’s Champion Walk a few minutes, then that was just a thing between the two.

(They blamed it on the showers, which apparently took an eternity to heat up.)

​​​​​​_______

The summer break rolled over Jannik in a constant haze of practice sessions and family trips, and Cincinnati flashed by as if a fata morgana were to lurk in the depths of Ohio.

With Cincinnati, the heat found a constant in Jannik’s life, leaving him panting with no breath left.

But it wasn’t just the location that made Jannik's body temperature rise unnaturally fast.

Another person was the clear culprit in this matter.

(Need you say his name even anymore?)

Not having seen each other since Wimbledon, their reunion was quite … passionate.

That first evening, they had sex for the first time.

It started out unplanned, really: just needily grinding onto the other one in Carlos’ low-lit suite, pleasured noises verbalizing freely in their mouths – after finally finding each other behind closed doors following weeks of lonely phone calls and texts – until Carlos suddenly broke away while also deeply flushing. Jannik, who was still foggy from their heavy makeout session, was unsure why Carlos had stopped right then and there. He looked at him a little confused.

At that, Carlos had flushed even more, avoiding Jannik’s gaze. It made Jannik a little bit frantic because in no world would he leave this matter alone now. Something was definitely up with him.

With a soft touch, he caressed Carlos’ jaw and gently turned the younger one’s head back to him, smiling softly. Silently, he urged him to speak up.

Carlos almost visibly shook a thought out of his mind, then stated in a tender voice: “Jannik, you–... ah, I don’t know how to say. But I want you to know this, between us… means a lot to me. Like–” he huffed out a light laugh that strained a little bit onto the painful side too, ”you don’t even know how much.”

The confession was somewhat surprising but also not surprising at all. For all that was worth, this was Carlos, who was maybe the most emotionally outspoken person Jannik knew.

“I think I know how much, Carlos. I feel the same as you. Don’t you see this?” And with a newfound urgency, he pressed everything he had to give into this kiss.

There was no need for anything else to say right then, and when the kiss became hungrier, as if both were starving, only a small nod from both of them was needed to grant permission for Carlos to remove Jannik’s breezy clothes, Carlos stripping his pants and underwear in one smooth motion.

They had seen each other shirtless countless times, even before their thing had started, and ever since Wimbledon, their dicks weren’t unknown body territory, either. But this time, it was wholly different – the tension in the room cracked from what was coming, their gazes interlinked as their naked bodies touched one another, and the burning hot touches spread all over where they were connected.

It was Jannik’s first time with a man, and even if he guessed it wasn’t Carlos’, the look in his eyes when he pushed into Jannik was something he had never seen on him before: just completely enamoured with the man under him, with Jannik. The meaning of this was as plain as day to him, as clear as the last point before a victory, as obvious as when he’d seen that same look in his eyes in Umag all these years ago but, at that time, had unknowingly shied away from it.

This time, though, he was not going to be scared of it; on the contrary, he would embrace it and give it double the time back.

So he just kissed him over and over again as Carlos steadily rocked inside of him, the sweaty pearls on his forehead dripping onto Jannik’s flushed skin, panting Jannik’s name over and over again into his ears while everything between them intensified the harder Carlos thrusted into Jannik.

When they came, they came in sync, as everything seemed to be connected with them, always.

Afterwards, after cleaning each other up and basking in the afterglow of the shared pleasure, the room reeking of sex, Carlos turned to him with a very content smile and, while intertwining their legs, uttered, still slightly breathlessly (and boastfully too): “You know Janni, I always think you want to be better than me in everything. But if I am on top, that’s pretty hard to do, no?”

A devilish grin appeared.

Jannik smacked Carlos’ bare chest maybe a little harder than he should have, with Carlos grunting a little “ouch” from beside him.

“Carlos. I can get out of this bed any second.”

“But… you wouldn’t.”

“...I wouldn’t.”

(The next day Jannik would press him into his own hotel room’s bed and show him on top.)

—

Even though the week started out good and in favor of Jannik, the tournament had a rather unpleasant end to itself, Jannik remembering feverishly stepping on and off court in the final, retiring mid-match. And all while also playing against Carlos.

But worse than losing was probably the worried look Carlos wore during the match and throughout the end of it when he stood by Jannik’s side and carefully held his shivering shoulders, holding him.

It was hard not having him by his side that evening, even more so when they’d spent almost every day of the two weeks together.

Coming to New York City a bit later than planned, but healthy again, helped.

​​​​​​_______

Arthur Ashe Stadium, the biggest tennis stage in the world for the last Grand Slam of the year, was special in its own way for Jannik.

Last year, he had won here, coming into the tournament holding the mess of pieces inside himself together by a thin string.

This year, he would come full of confidence and love.

Determined to not give both of these things up.

—

New York was also the place where Jannik had told his close team about him and Carlos. To most, not a surprise.

The reaction was quite different with everyone. For instance, Darren had hugged him tightly, whereas Simone just affectionately clapped his shoulder and told him silently, in Italian: “I see, this is how you want to beat the Spanish boy after all.” The smile emerged naturally on Jannik’s face, being glad to have found people who supported him also nevertheless in this matter.

Alex, his manager, took the situation a little bit more seriously. He and Jannik sat down one evening and discussed how and what would change for him if he wanted to come out with this to the public. But he didn’t stress him in any way, and together, with Carlos’ knowledge and reassurance, they set up some precautions in the form of a PR relationship with a Danish influencer and model Jannik had met at some event back in the spring – Laila. She was very nice and understanding and maybe would’ve been a natural interest for Jannik if, in another universe, he wouldn’t have been so into Carlos.

Jannik also decided to tell his family about Carlos after New York, hopefully with a fifth big trophy in his suitcase.

At that, he imagined Carlos' amused stare and the way he’d probably say, “You wish, cariño.”

Yeah, he was pretty done for.

But he loved it. Loved him.

—

The chants of “Carlos! Carlos!” were like a symphony to Jannik’s ears, even though he’d just lost the US Open Grand Slam final to this guy. Normally, it would annoy him immensely, but this time, he only wanted to sing along with them.

He just lost to Carlos Alcaraz who played a phenomenal match tonight. He also was deeply in love with him.

Realizing this concept wasn’t painful at all, actually, it was way more freeing than Jannik would’ve thought. In a sense, the appreciation for the amazing match they had played wasn’t only tennis-oriented but also directed at the person who momentarily lifted the silver trophy.

The modest silver plate in Jannik’s arms felt like a love declaration to their game and what they produced each time they stepped together on court. He additionally felt like declaring his real love for the champion out to the world because the way Carlos was glowing just this moment, receiving his trophy, was more important than anything Jannik could think of, actually.

The rest of the stadium blurred behind the toothy grin Carlos had produced as he stood on the podium, thanking the crowd and his team.

A quiet, personal smile hushed over Jannik’s face, his usually composed and media-trained face letting a deep emotion out into the open.

Then, Carlos turned to him, and the light in his eyes seemed to explode into an even brighter luminosity and portrayed the afternoon lights in the sky as a ludicrous comparison to what Carlos produced right this instant.

Just as Wimbledon, that feeling of kissing him here, right now, in front of everybody flashed past Jannik. Jannik wanted everyone to know that he was happy too that Carlos won because what more than this facial reaction on the Spaniard could he wish for?

Today, though, he figured he would have to wait until they were alone until he could press himself onto the newly crowned tennis king and kiss him senseless.

But someday, he would do it right here – that he was sure of.

Soon, hopefully.

​​​​​​_______

Fate was a funny thing, really.

Sometimes it was just as cruel as it was beautiful. Cruel in its rough, beautiful force with which it conquered each attempt to run away from what was written in the stars for you. And although some might not have believed in axioms such as fate, that was exactly where the truth laid behind it: you could run from it, ignore it, or even work against it, but if fated, was the aspect of an “escape” even realistic? After all, fate ties you, just like an inevitable string, to a specific destiny, a pre-chosen life that would be eternally engraved into your life story. Running away was deemed rather pointless then, no?

Jannik concluded that he had experienced both cruelty and beauty through fate.

And yeah, maybe, if he’d harshly closed his eyes and run, there wouldn’t have been the painful mess in his life surrounding Carlos at first. Maybe they would’ve never found one another, and something else would’ve come into his life, someone else. Maybe everything else would stand differently now: a greater success? Or a lesser success?

Though, you’d never really know, and there was really no way of knowing what choices would have led to what. There was no oracle to access this information, ultimately.

So who was Jannik to judge when it came down to believing in fate?

Hence, in these monstrous waves of a deep and dark sea that seemed to be the storm of Jannik’s life, Jannik came to understand what fate was really about.

It was merely the act of recognition that was called “fate”: instead of drowning in the depths of everything unsure and messy, the act of grabbing the golden shining light once you recognized it and holding onto it as hard as you could, served as the only way of meeting your destiny through fate.

Destiny has a lot of forms, for that instance. Most would try to find the right path for their true life story. Some search for their fated lover, a soulmate. But that’s not quite right, is it?

Because just as much as fate and destiny were intertwined into one another, people are intertwined into one’s life. Therefore, there is no “true” life story without the people in it that shaped it into what it would become.

That’s why when Jannik decided to embrace his own fate, he sensed that especially one person was a rather big part of it. Carlos, for Jannik, was the light in that thunderous storm he called his way to destiny, and even if he had yet to find out how to calm this inner turmoil, he would meet it with confidence.

The same confidence that would settle over his face when taking the first step onto court, serving first against a tough opponent,or playing a deciding tiebreaker.

Tennis was his true life story, in the end. And the one person who’d always been there, right since the very start of it, had been Carlos.

For Jannik, fate had tied tennis and Carlos together for eternity, and to be honest, even if it sometimes seemed like the contrary, it was the best fucking thing that could have ever happened to Jannik.