Chapter Text
Carlos might've loved him all along.
Maybe it started that very first time he saw Jannik, sitting apart from the crowd, a faint frown playing at the corners of his mouth, eyes broadcasting leave me alone louder than words ever could. He was hunched over a laptop, as if the screen itself was a barrier designed to keep the world - and Carlos - out.
Who brings a laptop to a block party, anyway?
Yet, Carlos couldn’t look away. Nor, did he really want to.
There was something magnetic in that quiet defiance, something in Jannik’s intentional isolation that didn’t feel like he wanted to be alone, but a challenge. Carlos relishes in a challenge.
He didn’t know what possessed him to walk over but he did. Maybe curiosity, maybe instinct. But he did it. With as much hesitance as he holds with his serve, he strolled right up to the man and sought his attention.
Jannik barely looked up. His tone was clipped, his answer simple: “I don’t know you.”
Fair enough. He didn’t owe Carlos anything. Not his time or his energy or his conversation. Really, that should've been the end-all to their relationship. Carlos could've walked away and left the man alone.
But, he didn’t tell him to leave.
He sighed, and rolled his eyes, and made it very clear he wasn’t looking for company; still, he didn’t walk away when Carlos remained next to him. Didn't give him the absolute rejection that Carlos was looking for before he threw in the towel and called it a day.
That meant something; it had to. Carlos felt it in his gut. Even if Jannik didn’t say it - even if he bristled at the smallest kindness - Carlos could sense it: this was someone who didn’t know how to ask for a friend, but maybe, deep down, wanted one anyway.
And Carlos had already decided he would be that friend.
His suspicions were only confirmed in the way Jannik stayed.
He walked beside Carlos quietly, but no awkwardly. His eyes didn't stray to the door, wishing for an early exit. Jannik made a decision and saw it through. Carlos appreciated that.
He stuck close during the party, never drifting too far, as if Carlos had somehow become the safest person in the room. And later, he fell asleep awkwardly on a makeshift bed of pillows and blankets on the floor of Carlos’ room.
In the morning, when Carlos rolled over and saw that messy mop of hair, he smiled. He felt like shit, hungover to hell, but Jannik stayed.
Jannik was already something special to Carlos, long before he ever really understood what it all meant.
And there was always a soft place in his heart reserved especially for Jannik.
It wasn't something so blatant or obvious. Carlos kept a good rein on things in that aspect. Truthfully, it was easier to handle because it didn't burn like molten fire and Carlos never really had to yearn for Jannik to be there.
Jannik was always already there. So what Carlos felt was warmer, and quiet, like Jannik can be. It was a restricted feeling, something not available for others to witness. Just for him. Only something he'd know. Not his parents or siblings, who had known him his whole life. Not Holger or Casper, some of his longest-standing friends. Not even Jannik himself would know that there is a place just for him.
But there were signs, of course.
Carlos told Jannik things that he did not tell anyone else. Initially, that was not the plan. The words just flowed. Sometimes, he shared embarrassing items, like his fears or dreams or the fact that the first time he lost his virginity, he came in his pants first. Things he'd never say in the locker rooms or at the dinner table.
Sometimes they had a little more depth, more pondering than it is retellings of the past. He sometimes said things that he hadn't fully thought through yet. No longer how much he'd scream if a spider crawled on his arm, but something more profound.. like who is Carlos Alcaraz. Is he a tennis player? Is he an artist? Is he some secret third option he had yet to unlock?
Carlos spends the silent moments wondering if he had things to offer this world.
Will his epitaph read: Carlos Alcaraz: tennis player?
Carlos liked tennis. No, he loved it. It was more than just a sport. It had order and structure, and who doesn't need that when you're a dumbass who is now starting to figure out who he is? When life was unpredictable, there was rules on the court. Lines to hit inside of.
And he had always been good at sports. It was one of the things he got a hold of naturally. Math frustrated him, Science had too much lingo - then math, history bored him. But when a ball was in his hand or at his feet, he had control.
He couldn't calculate spin, but he could make it. He only had to see how hard he hit the ball, not the torque it required.
Carlos' parents kept him in sports his whole life. They signed him up for league after league, driving him to every practice. When there was time, they were on the bleachers watching him. They supported that side of him. He did football, track, even basketball, though he didn't like that one.
But tennis is where he found his love. Tennis is what loved him back. It gave him a scholarship, an opportunity, and he took it without question. That's what you do when handed a golden ticket.
It didn't negate that Carlos was good at other things too. Other things loved him as much as the racket. A pencil, for example. Or a brush. Or a camera.
His hands knew how to take what was in his possession and do something with it, no matter what was there.
Carlos loved the way light can cast a shadow. He loved that he could immortalize a moment on a canvas, in a photo. He loved photography the best because unlike a sketch or painting, the moment is always real. The person, the landscape, all the way down to the scuff on his shoes.
No need to recreate a feeling. It was always there, somewhere in the pixels and hues.
So when he decided to use that scholarship, he thought fuck it, why not do something else that I love? He declared a double major. His parents were ecstatic, but not about the academics. They were happy he chose to continue to make something of himself with the racket in his hand.
Their dream was to see his son become something and move in the world with purpose, and they saw the light at the end of the tunnel with tennis.
He didn't have it in him to correct them then. He doesn't have it in him to correct them now.
Saying I want something else, too sounds too scary. Plus, tennis is the only reason he has a chance like this. it would sound like denying one thing for another, when in reality, he sort of wants both.
These are things only Jannik knows. Jannik is the one person who doesn't ask him to choose or pressure him to make a choice. He's like water; he flows with Carlos. Jannik didn't grow up with him - he's no muddled by their past history or expectation of who Carlos should be. Jannik was like a blank canvas.
To Jannik, he is not the "golden boy," or the "athlete and hope of the family."
He's just Carlos. He can be just.. Carlos.
Even when Jannik calls him stupid - which he does, often, with a roll of his eyes - it doesn't hurt. It doesn't sound like missed potential or fear of failure. It's the words of someone who sees Carlos as is. And that is stupid, sometimes.
"Stupid" sometimes sounds like something else. A gentler thing.
The point is that Jannik, without even trying, makes it easy for Carlos to exist without baggage. No armor of success and the small lies he's told himself that keeps building. Maybe that is why he is so tethered to the man, attached in a way he doesn't want detached.
Despite the fact Jannik sees Carlos as more than tennis, he wants Jannik at his matches. There's an odd comfort in Jannik being there. He's performing, of course he is, but he doesn't need to perform for Jannik. Jannik already knows who he is, and that's not always this overconfident, superfluous athlete.
He thinks he plays better when the man is there. Or, at least, he feels better when he plays.
Carlos doesn't directly ask for his presence, nor does he always take the time to force/convince the man to come. Still, he might look around to see if, by chance, Jannik showed up anyway.
He remembers dragging Jannik along to one of his matches - it was one of the first chances he got.
It was a Wednesday, the first one after Jannik had moved in. There were still boxed and totes not fully unpacked, textbooks stacked and scattered across the desk. Obviously, he had priority to his studies.
Carlos didn't knock. He almost never does. He simply walked in, collapsed dramatically onto Jannik's bed like it were his own, then stared at the ceiling. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jannik looking at him as though he had grown a second head.
"I've got plans for Saturday," he said casually, like he wasn't preparing something.
Jannik raised an eyebrow at him, barely looking up from his chemistry book. "Plans?"
Well, he responded at least.
Carlos turned his head with a grin. "My match. You're coming."
There was a pause, barely two full seconds, but Carlos could feel every bit of it. He saw the expression on Jannik's face drop for a moment, and the way his mouth opened. Carlos could feel the no coming.
He quickly cut it off before it could become real. "I'll buy you dinner after."
That changed things slightly. Jannik blinks, mouth still open, but it twinges on a smile. "Fine," Jannik mutters, flipping to another page in the textbook. "But I am not going to be your cheerleader if that's what you want."
Carlos is still smiling, trying to play it cool. No need to be that excited over this. But this meant more than he could explain, that yes. Again, he wanted Jannik there. He wanted Jannik tucked into the crevices of his life, even his tennis. They live together now, yeah - and Casper and Holger - but maybe he's a little greedy.
He had the pleasure of looking up in the stands and seeing Jannik. Jannik wouldn't know how much that meant to him.
And after the long match, with Carlos riding the high of the win and masking his sweat in his hoodie, they ended up at a burger joint two blocks from campus. It was nothing fancy - it was pretty loud, actually - and yet he could hear Jannik's inquiries clear as day:
"What is a top spin? You spin from the top?"
Carlos, with a mouth full of food, had to hold back his laugh. He chewed through his food and after some effort, responded, "Seriously?"
"I don't know this shit, man. Just tell me."
So he did. Carlos talked about footwork and grip and spin and rallies. He went as far as using the salt and pepper shaker, dumping part of the salt onto the table so he could draw a fake tennis court. Jannik leaned in, intrigued.
Listening.
It meant a lot that Jannik came. It meant more that Jannik cared.
That night stuck with Carlos. Even though the burgers are too greasy and the fries are slightly underdone, he goes there often. Sometimes he picks up the same order Jannik got on that day, handing it to the man in his usual study booth.
It's one of their things.
It's how Carlos remembers.
It settles Carlos to see Jannik there, watching him. Even when he's not really watching him - he's using the time to study with his textbook in one hand and a highlighter popped into his mouth - it's good. It's good because he's there. And when the tension rises and the game gets intense, Jannik stops what he's doing, leaning in. He's paying attention to everything Carlos is doing with a focus that makes Carlos feel like he might be able to do anything.
Carlos is a show-off; he knows that. He loves the risk, the flair of a point, and the way the crowd releases this simultaneous gasp. He enjoys the spotlight, the accolade, and proving to everyone why he earned that full ride.
There's a selfish pride that rises in his chest when Jannik reacts with the crowd. If he is on the ground after driving for a ball and Jannik is standing, trying to get a better look at him. His eyes are wide, mouth parted in a gasp that never completed.
Only when he stands again does Jannik sit back down with a frown.
He does thee same when Carlos pulls off something magnificent. Occasionally, he can get a fist pump or yell from Jannik.
Having Jannik there is like the first sip of water after a brutal set.
Sometimes, as Carlos walks to his bench and catches the man eyeing him - not like a fan, or even a friend, but something else - Carlos has a split moment where he thinks I want this.
That was probably where the downfall began.
If it hadn't already started the moment they met.
It took a couple of months - 2 - before Carlos began to recognize the pull he had to Jannik. Yes, he had practically leeched onto the man from the very beginning, but this -
This was different, and he knew it.
He had thoughts that didn't quite fit in the "friend" category. Things like Jannik looks good in my clothes, he should keep wearing them or I don't feel like being around anyone but Jannik.
Not as clean cut.
Those thoughts metamorphasized into feelings. A warm when Jannik brushes their arms together for too long or accidentally fell asleep on his bed. Again, they weren't loud or obvious. It wasn't sudden, either.
They seemed to creep in slowly until Carlos could no longer pretend they weren't there. That Jannik was more than his friend.
Carlos had plenty of friends - "friends." His social media had thousands of names and faces. His message inbox was full of DMs, invites, even lines. Carlos had built a reputation of a showman, and it bled into his social life. That included parties and late nights and group photos. He knew many of these friendships were temporary. The moment he walks across the stage, most of them won't remember his name. And vice versa.
But he was pretty good at remembering names and making people feel important, even if the relationship wouldn't last. Time will tell, but Carlos would wager once the parties stop and his name isn't listed as the star athlete for tennis, that the messages will stop rolling around. It's not personal.
Maybe that's the whole point. No one knows Carlos. Carlos doesn't know them. Neither are seeking that kind of authentic friendship, and they are content with the Carlos that he shows.
The vulnerability is saved for the private spaces. For flings and friends.. and Jannik.
Still, when they are at a party together, Carlos finds himself glancing sideways, checking. Is Jannik where he last saw him? Is he by the wall with his arms crossed? Is he too bored and want to go home?
At first, Carlos kept him close out of habit - and maybe some protectiveness. He'd nudge Jannik into conversations, introduce him to new people, but eventually Jannik tended to wander off on his own. It was never rude or blatant - like sand slipping through his fingers.
Carlos told himself it didn't matter. It was Jannik being Jannik. Still, he missed the spaces he occupied. Jannik didn't have to talk, he just needed to be there. He was steady, like an anchor.
He knew Jannik was there because he wanted to be, because he chose to be with him.
Maybe that was his strike one. The first real clue that something in himself had shifted.
Eventually, Jannik had drifted back to Carlos' side that night. He was stumbling a little - bad for his height. Carlos had reached out instinctively to him to steady the man. If his arm drifted to Jannik's sweaty back, then that was his secret alone.
Jannik leaned into his touch, swayed into it.
Carlos studied the easy smile on Jannik's lips, the way his cheeks are flushed pink. He was done for the night, for sure. He's not blackout drunk, but he'll definitely be taking care of him tonight. This kind of drunk means truth starts slipping when it should be contained.
"I want to go home," Jannik says, direct as always. It doesn't have as much slurring as he expected. But Jannik's heavy-lidded gaze gave him away, regardless of tone. Carlos almost laughed, not because this was funny, but because of how endearing Jannik looked.
Then, Jannik slung an arm around Carlos' shoulder and tugged him into a tight hug. It's a strength Carlos hadn't expected, nor has he really seen from him. He holds Jannik back, naturally, ignoring whoever was with him previously. It all tunnels out to Jannik.
Jannik. Jannik. Jannik.
"You talk to every," Jannik muttered in his ear, breath brushing his skin. Carlos almost shivers, despite the heat of two sweating bodies pressing to each other. "Everyone but me."
Record scratch. The world gets paused.
There's enough alcohol in his system that he almost confesses something he shouldn't, but sober enough to hold it back. Instead, he shakes his head, squeezing Jannik for a moment.
"Let's go home. I'll talk all you want."
It must've been a day for Jannik to let himself get this drunk. He mentioned something about being stressed over exams or some big exam. Jannik hasn't spent a lot of time in the dorm this week at all, holed up in the library more than his bed.
Jannik usually has a level of composure in everything he does. He's a perfectionist who likes to be in control, if he can. But here he is, letting himself go. There isn't stress high on his shoulders or that furrow of his brow.
Carlos hates himself a little for wondering how much control he'd be willing to give.
Jannik pulls back from the hug, but he still embraces Carlos. He draped an arm over Carlos like staking a silent claim. When Carlos hurries to say goodbye to the person he had been talking to - surprise they were still there - Jannik cuts in.
"He's-" He stops, then holds Carlos tighter. Almost possessive. Carlos thinks he might need another drink himself. "he's my friend. I'm taking him home."
That sounds.. off. That could be read wrong in certain circumstances. They only give Jannik a polite smile and waves bye to Carlos, walking off.
There's no telling if they saw one friend helping another or something else.
Carlos let Jannik guide them out, though it was really the other way around. Jannik kept his arm around Jannik, refusing to let go of him for a moment. They were Jannik and Carlos, Carlos and Jannik. Just friends.
The previous words only had meaning at face value, and Carlos knew it. Still -
The longer they walked, the more obvious it became that Jannik clung to him because he was barely walking. His steps drifted and crossed, and eventually Carlos grew tired of it.
He let go, stepped in front of him, and lowered his body.
"Get on," he said, glancing over his shoulder.
Jannik blinked, then, "I'm not getting on your back."
"Come on."
He expected more fight. Instead, there was more silence. Jannik's legs brushed his before there was a clumsy jump. Carlos managed to adjust quickly enough, wrapping his arms under thighs.
Jannik's arms wraps around his shoulders, his cheek brushing Carlos' neck as he settles in. The next breath Carlos takes is shaky, and it has nothing to do with exertion.
"You're strong," he mumbled. His voice is lower, may be sleepier. This time, a shiver does run down his spine. At least he can blame the wind.
"You're drunk," Carlos tells him. He jumps to adjust Jannik again, then starts the rest of the walk.
He doesn't mind the weight, or any of it. If he was honest - more honest than he should be - he liked carrying Jannik. He liked being the person Jannik found and leaned on in a room full of people.
Maybe that was strike two.
Carlos makes it back to the door, breath uneven from the effort of carrying the human giraffe back to campus. He braces himself to set Jannik on the bed.
His knees bend, preparing to ease the man down -
Jannik lets out a low, drawn-out moan.
Carlos fumbles.
His mind short-circuits as his muscles stiffen. It causes Jannik's leg to knock into the bed frame with a resounding thud.
"Shit-sorry!" Carlos blurts, half-panicked that he ruined the man somehow.
Jannik groans before it blends into a hurt whimper. Carlos can hear it rattling in his brain. He stands there, frozen, heart racing. And Jannik, unable to know the chaos happening in his mind, rolls over on the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes.
He can't look away.
"Water?" Jannik croaks out. That seems to snap Carlos out of his trance. He practically leaps into action, locating and placing a bottle into Jannik's hand - sure to unscrew the cap. Jannik drinks it greedily, messily, in one go before he throws it aside. Slumping back into the pillows, his eyes are already shut.
"Mmm'night. Thank you, Carlos."
Carlos swallows hard. The sound is still on repeat.
"Yeah. night." Barely audible.
Carlos rushes out of the room, accidentally slamming the door behind him as he high-tails it. He makes it to his own back and throws himself down, groaning into his pillow with a sound of frustration.
He can imagine what Jannik sounds like when -
Strike three.
To be precise, strike three was when he turns to the side and slides his hand under his pants. He keeps the noise on loop in his brain.
Carlos bites his fist as he cums embarrassingly fast.
There's quiet after.
Then, "Fuck!"
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!
Come the next morning, Carlos pretended it never happened.
He was good at that.
It wasn't really denying what had happened, but he isn't going to address it. Preserve the friendship and preserve himself. He woke up around eight, brushed his teeth of the night before, and he made their coffee.
As usual, he strolls into Jannik's room.
"You alive?"
Jannik grunts, barely lifting his head from the pillow to glare at him.
Carlos gestures to the coffee like a peace offering.
Finally, a hand stretches out for the drink and things go back to normal. Everything is normal because he makes it so.
He kept pretending for a long time after that.
Not because he was afraid of being bisexual. That was actually fairly low on the totem pole of concerns. Attraction was attraction, and he wasn't in the mood to fight over labels and feeling included or whatnot.
The problem wasn't attraction, but who he was attracted to.
Because all of his desires seemed to point to Jannik.
Carlos wasn't going to mess this up. He couldn't afford to.
Jannik had become something so steady in his life.He was the person Carlos could confide in, even about the weird shit. Carlos clung to him more than he should and more than he'd admit, but Jannik didn't tell him to stop.
Jannik was so good, and he never felt like he had to apologize for being who he is.
So if he had to squash this little crush, or maybe bury it, then fine. Whatever. He'll do it. He can push it down like he does other parts of himself, like the part of himself that knows he is only delaying joining professional tennis. That no matter how many pictures he makes, what's waiting for him is the racket.
It's fine.
He'd rather break his own heart than risk losing one of the best people to enter his life.
It was pretty easy to shove the thoughts into a naughty corner. It doesn't get punished aside from the fact is remains ignored. They couldn't consume him if they remained where all taboo things go.
Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't acknowledge it's there.
It was easy.. most of the time. There were moments.
The soft, innocent moments is where it gets to him the most. They creep in without any warning and split Carlos apart.
Like the time they were in the backseat of a rented car. Holger and Casper were arguing over who should have the aux cord (it is a bluetooth car).. The two were loud and dramatic as always.
Holger wanted to show some Danish rap song he heard, whereas Casper wanted something more mainstream since he is the one driving. Carlos was half-listening, scrolling through on his phone.
That's until he felt a weight on his shoulder. Jannik's head.
Jannik had pulled an all nighter so that he could come on this trip stress-free, and now he is fast asleep on him.
Carlos look down, and for a second, he couldn't hear the two guys up front yelling. Jannik's face was rid of the tension, relaxed. His jaw was slack. Carlos reached up, almost without thinking, and brushed a few of Jannik's curls from his face.
But then holger yelled something, and the bubble burst. He joined in on the chaos, declaring that he should have the aux since they couldn't make up their mind.
And if he looked down once more, ensuring the man was still sleeping, no one knows but him.
Then there was Jannik's birthday.
Carlos had shown up to his "house" - a.k.a. his study spot - tugging him away from another study session. He picked up a store-bought cake and got the candles at a discount store. It wasn't anything spectacular or nice, but it was something.
But Jannik looked at him with a light in his eyes. His expression was stressed before, certainly, but the moment Carlos uncovered the cake from behind his back, it seemed to go away. Jannik smiled at him with something so soft and unguarded that Carlos wish he did more. Bought balloons or maybe even sang a song.
It tore Carlos apart.
"Thank you," Jannik said quietly before blowing out the candles. Or trying to. It took the idiot four tries. Carlos laughed behind his hand, uncaring that he was in the quiet section of the library. After the third fail, Jannik frowned and pinched the flame out with his fingers before yelping.
Carlos teased him for it as he handed him a fork, but his chest ached. His chest ached an affection he could never share.
And then there was the time Jannik let him draw him.
Carlos asked, half-expected his instant no or some joke. Jannik isn't the kind of guy who liked being at the center of attention, and being his muse meant being nothing but Carlos' sole focus.
Except Jannik shrugged with a lazy "sure" and went back to his problem set.
Later, Carlos stared - admired - Jannik from across the room. His elbows were on his knees and his sketchbook was in hand. His eyes tried to trace every detail of him - the slope of his nose, the angle of his head tilt, the shadow across his face. At one point, Jannik bounced the eraser of his pencil on his bottom lip, completely unaware that he was perfect.
Carlos didn't show the drawing to anyone, not even Jannik.
It's hidden away in his personal collection, his little scrapbook of pages that was so close to his heart. The hardest things for him to share, even to Jannik.
especially not Jannik.
Moments like those reminded Carlos of the truth. Those seconds of time, those looks, shifted the thing in the dark corner into the light for long enough for Carlos to go oh.
Oh, Jannik is attractive.
Oh, I want to see Jannik every single day.
Oh, no single person has made me feel like this.
Carlos tells himself, like a mantra, that it has to stay in the corner. It's for his own good.
Whatever this is - the want, the warm burn, the thing that exist in the quiet moments - it needs to stay locked up. Just like his scrapbook, it needs to remain private and hidden. Carlos isn't in the closet; he just can't let it be known that he loves Jannik.
For once in his life, he doesn't want to show off everything. This doesn't need to be on display and in the spotlight. His feelings for Jannik isn't performance. It's not something everyone can see and judge - or for Jannik, get rejected for.
It would feel like building up a gallery, a showcase of everything he's never said, all the things he's felt. The walls are his soul bared. Pictures and drawings and paintings, half of them being the same silhouette.
And Jannik walking away.
Carlos would be left there, exposed and hollow, wondering why he ever thought he could share this side of him.
So this art - his love - can remain tucked away, safely untouched.
Hidden not because it is work, and not because he is weak, but because it is the only thing that is truly his.
It lasts a couple of years, this quiet thing inside of him.
He hoped it would die out, this softness in his heart for Jannik, but it never did. Maybe it grew. Oddly enough, never did it feel like breaking his own heart. Not in the gruesome, gory way, at least. Carlos didn't take a dagger and plunge it into his heart.
Carlos found it so difficult to be heartbroken over someone so present in his life. How could someone be heartbroken over someone like Jannik?
He was wonderful. Headstrong, smart, caring in a way that didn't feel like pity. He had laser-focus and determination. Jannik had a path in life, and he was going to walk down this path, no matter what. Carlos can improvise and figure things out as he goes along, but Jannik had plans.
Carlos was lucky to have the man in his life, even if time wasn't on his side. Even if, one day, Carlos wouldn't be able to squeeze in those plans.
There's an invisible clock that is winding down, and Carlos dreads it.
No more parties or late night fast-food runs. It's not really about the college experience, though that is nice, too. Fun, chaotic, and nice. But it's only a representation of the "before."
Before he goes on tour, which is where he probably would've been by now. he held off on chasing ranking points and living out of suitcases and living in a different country every week.
He said yes to the scholarship because he knew he wanted some more time to be young and dumb, before all eyes landed on him with scrutiny. He told himself that going pro would still be there when he was ready.
And it would. It still would be. Honestly, turning pro wasn’t going to be as soul-crushing as he sometimes made it out to be in his head. If he worked hard enough - if he made top 50, which was the goal - he could afford to make space for art. He wouldn’t have to choose between tennis and everything else he loved.
Unfortunately, it still feels like a choice.
It feels like leaving something behind.
Like Jannik, who won't be in the kitchen or in his bed or on the couch. He won't be within reach, steps away. The guy won't be there to yell at him about his assignments or to drink more water.
Holger and Casper, he's not worried about them. They're constants, all likely to go down some pro athlete path. But Jannik? Jannik has a different path. Med school. Years of studying, rotations, sleepless nights.
Years of becoming someone Carlos doesn’t get to witness day-to-day. He won’t have time for Carlos’ nonsense, or his late texts, or the way Carlos sometimes needs to be pulled back to earth and humbled.
Carlos can't squeeze into that world. He can't burst through that door like he does at home. He can't ask Jannik to stay with him, either.
So after denying himself so much, the real heartbreak isn't that he will never tell Jannik how he feels; no, it is the undeniable, unfightable truth that he has to start letting Jannik go.
Carlos hates that. Hate doesn't begin to cover how it feels. He can't make peace with the idea of Jannik blurring from his life like the faces in a party after after one too many drinks.
He doesn't want Jannik to be an "old friend from college." He wants -
Fuck, he doesn't want to lose him.
He doesn't want to lose him.