Chapter Text
The morning in Jannik’s house was the kind you wanted to hold onto — soft light streaming through the windows, the lingering scent of coffee still in the air, and a silence that wrapped around you like a warm blanket. But time didn’t wait, and soon the house filled with the light, lively chaos of preparations, as if before a big match where every movement is honed yet brimming with anticipation. Jannik moved through the kitchen with a grace that seemed innate: he packed a snack for the road, spreading out a handful of almonds, a couple of ripe apples, and sandwiches with thin slices of cheese, wrapped in wax paper that smelled of freshness. Jack, perched at the counter, watched him, lazily twirling a stray napkin between his fingers, and, unable to resist, reached for a piece of bread. Jannik’s spoon came down on his hand — a light, almost weightless tap, and a glance full of warm mockery caught his eyes.
— Hands off, thief. — Jannik said, a spark dancing in his voice, like sunlight glinting on water. — Want to eat? Help out.
Jack snorted, leaning back in his chair, but the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. He stayed put, watching Jannik deftly wrap the sandwiches, and for a moment felt like a kid again, pulled into an adventure by an older friend who already knew how to fit all the pieces together. Later, they had a quick breakfast — bowls of Greek yogurt topped with a spoonful of golden honey that dripped down the sides, leaving a sweet trail. Jack ate, barely noticing the taste, absorbed in their chatter — about the time Jannik nearly missed a match because of spilled juice, or how Jack, as a kid, tried to convince his brother to share dessert. The conversation flowed like a morning breeze, carrying something healing, as if each laugh washed away the remnants of fatigue that had clung to Jack since Miami.
When the yogurt was gone and the bowls were empty, Jannik went upstairs and soon came back down with two hefty bags stuffed with ski gear. Their weight made him sway slightly, but he only grinned, noticing Jack, who was sitting on the floor by the couch, surrounded by a pile of summer clothes — T-shirts, shorts, hastily packed back in sweltering Miami. Jannik leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and nodded at the mess around Jack.
— What’s this, your plan to conquer the Alps? — he said, a hint of irony in his voice, soft as the morning light. — It’s snow up there, Jack, not a beach party.
Jack huffed, setting aside a thin T-shirt and pulling out a warm fleece Jannik had suggested he bring.
— Not all of us grew up on the slopes like you. — he shot back, but his eyes were laughing. He folded the extra clothes into a neat stack, deciding to leave them on the couch, and felt a strange relief, as if this gesture — leaving something behind — was a promise to return. Jannik quietly took charge: earlier that morning, while Jack was still shaking off sleep, he’d bought train tickets, and during the packing, he’d advised what to bring — longer pants, a warm jacket — and now he simply led the way, as if the journey were an extension of their yogurt-fueled conversation. Jack felt a gratitude — not the kind that demands words, but quiet, like the whisper of waves — for this care, for not having to wrack his brain over details, argue with schedules, or guess what lay ahead. Jannik handled it all with ease, like breathing, and because of that, the trip felt like more than just a journey, as if Jack were entrusting him not just with the route but with a piece of himself.
The taxi pulled up to the house, and they grabbed their bags, stepping into the morning air of Monaco — warm, infused with the scent of the sea and blooming trees. The sun gilded the terracotta roofs and the foliage in the garden, and Jack, tossing his bag into the trunk, threw out with a light jab:
— I thought we’d be tearing out of here in your car. Or what, trains are more romantic?
Jannik, settling into the back seat, turned, and his lips curved into a smile — subtle but alive.
— A car means hours behind the wheel. — he replied, his voice steady but laced with warmth. — Trains… they’ve got something special. You’ll see.
Jack huffed, but inside, a flicker of anticipation stirred, as if Jannik’s words promised not just a journey but a moment he’d remember. The car started, carrying them toward the Nice train station, and outside the window, streets flashed by — vibrant facades, palm trees, glimpses of the azure coast shimmering under the sun. Jack watched it all, but his gaze kept catching on Jannik — his relaxed posture, the fingers lightly tapping his knee, as if keeping time to a melody he held in his head. It was strange and right — riding like this, without a clear answer to «why», but with the feeling that the person beside him made every step lighter, without even trying.
Nice’s train station — Gare de Nice-Ville — greeted them with a hum of voices, the rustle of footsteps, and the aroma of hot coffee wafting from kiosks. Passengers dragged suitcases, their wheels squeaking against the stone floor, while announcements in French floated above the crowd like fragments of a melody. Jack, with a bag slung over his shoulder, felt slightly adrift in this current — faces, sounds, and movement blending into a vibrant whirlpool, and he slowed his pace, glancing around. But Jannik strode ahead, his tall figure standing out in the crowd, moving with the same confidence he brought to the court: tickets in hand, gaze fixed on the platforms, as if he could see the path through the chaos. Jack followed, feeling the ease of this clarity, the way Jannik, without a word, carved a way forward for them both.
They wove through the crowd — past a woman tugging a child with a bright backpack, past an old man flipping through a newspaper on a bench, squinting in the sunlight. Jannik validated their tickets at a machine, his fingers gliding deftly across the screen, and nodded to Jack, pointing toward the platform where the train to Verona awaited — long, with silver carriages reflecting the morning rays. Their bags settled on the rack above the seats, and Jack, sinking into a window seat, exhaled, his body finally unwinding, sinking into the soft upholstery. Beyond the glass, Nice dissolved into a palette of colors — blue sky, green palms, distant glints of the sea sparkling like scattered glass. The train started, smoothly picking up speed, and the landscape shifted to hills cloaked in vineyards, where occasional houses with red roofs flashed by like frames from an old film reel.
Jannik settled beside him, stretching out his long legs and leaning back in his seat. His gaze drifted to the scenery outside, a pensive half-smile lingering on his face, as if he saw something beyond the hills and sea. Jack found himself glancing at him — at his profile, softened by the gentle light, at the fingers resting on the armrest, tapping lightly. It didn’t need words, but each glance left a warmth in his chest, as if Jack were collecting these moments, hesitant to name them. The train swayed on a curve, and a new scene unfolded outside — hills gave way to rocky cliffs, and the sea, now closer, burned with azure, reflecting clouds drifting across the horizon.
Half an hour passed, and the silence between them, soft as the rhythmic clack of the train’s wheels, came alive with a faint note. Jannik, who had been gazing thoughtfully out the window as the landscape shifted from vineyards to rocky cliffs, leaned slightly toward the glass, his elbow brushing Jack’s armrest. Beyond the window, the sea lazily lapped at the rocks, leaving lace-like foam, and Jannik, watching the shore, spoke.
— Where I grew up, there was a river. — he said, his quiet voice warmed by the glow of memory. — Not the sea, of course, but… it was ours. Cold water, clear, with stones on the bottom that shone like the sun had polished them. As a kid, I’d sneak off there when everything got to be too much. I’d lie on the grass, stare at the sky as the clouds stretched out, and listen to the river grumbling — like it was arguing with the wind. — He paused, and the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile, faint but so alive it felt like he was back on that riverbank. — I don’t know, it’s probably weird, but there, I could just lie there and… be. Without all the noise.
Jack, following his gaze, pictured the river — its icy shimmer, the stones catching the sun, and Jannik, lanky, with damp hair, sprawled on the grass. The image was so vivid that he felt a pang — not nostalgia, but something deeper, as if he suddenly longed to see that place, to breathe its air. He exhaled, almost unconsciously, and said, his voice softer than he’d expected:
— I’d like to see it.
Jannik turned, and their eyes met — his, light as the morning sky, caught the glow from the window, and something flickered in them, not loud but fragile, like the first snow. His smile was subtle, almost intimate, and it carried a warmth that Jack felt on his skin, like a breeze brushing his face. The moment hung there, light but full, and Jannik, tilting his head slightly, asked, his voice soft, as if afraid to disturb the quiet:
— Did you ever have a place like that? Somewhere everything… let go?
Jack blinked, and his gaze drifted to the window, where the sea gave way to olive groves, their leaves trembling in the wind like green sparks. The question wasn’t intrusive, but light, like a brush of a touch, yet it stirred something deep within. Jack could’ve brushed it off with a joke, but the train, its rhythm, and Jannik’s gaze — watching not with demand but with quiet expectation — drew the words out.
— Brighton. — he said, his voice slightly rough but alive. — Pebbles instead of sand, waves crashing like they’re arguing. I’d sit there with headphones, turn on music, and just… dissolve. — He faltered, feeling the words land too close to his heart, and added with a faint smirk: — Not as poetic as your river, but it did the trick for me.
Jannik nodded, his clear, warm gaze lingering on Jack. The light from the window grazed his face, illuminating the freckles scattered across his cheeks, and Jack suddenly noticed how they formed a pattern he wanted to sketch in his memory.
— Music. — Jannik said, a spark flickering in his tone, soft but vibrant. — What kind? What gets you?
Jack huffed, leaning back in his seat, and felt a warmth, light as a sea breeze, spread through his chest. Music was his refuge, a place to hide from courts, expectations, and the world’s noise, but talking about it with Jannik was easier than he’d expected — as if this conversation had always been waiting for its moment, like a ball landing perfectly in the corner.
— What gets me? — he echoed, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile, slightly awkward but genuine. — Anything that hits the heart. The Stone Roses when I want something alive, like their «I Wanna Be Adored». The Doors if I’m in a murky mood — «Riders on the Storm» cuts right to the bone. Sometimes Led Zeppelin, you know, «Whole Lotta Love» to shake things up. Or Guns N’ Roses, «Sweet Child O’ Mine», when everything’s too quiet. — He hesitated, sensing the words revealing something personal, and added with a light jab: — Don’t say it’s old stuff. My taste’s not that bad.
Jannik nodded, his gaze, attentive but unintrusive, rested on Jack, as if he’d caught something in those words that went beyond band names.
— Not that old. — he said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smirk. — There’s something… you in it. — He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms, and added, a trace of pensiveness in his voice: — So, which one’s closest to you? There’s got to be one you always go back to.
The question was simple, but it had a hook — as if Jannik wasn’t just asking but wanted to understand. Jack exhaled and said, a bit quieter:
— Probably The Doors. — His voice was calm but alive, as if he’d cracked open the door to his world a little wider. — «People Are Strange». You put it on, and everything swirling in your head finds a rhythm. Like they know what you’re thinking. — He chuckled, softening the rawness, and added:
— If you think it’s rubbish, give it a listen yourself. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Jannik huffed, his eyes narrowing slightly, but there was no doubt in them — only warmth, as if he’d heard more than Jack had said.
— Deal. — he replied, simply, but with such sincerity that the word landed in the silence like a pebble in water.
Jack froze, his brows twitching, and he snorted, disbelieving. People usually tossed out a «deal» with lazy ease, as if it was just words, and he was used to brushing it off, keeping things close, like a racket after a set. But Jannik’s look was different — an interest that wasn’t just curiosity but a step closer. Jack mumbled, buying time:
— Seriously? They’re just songs. Not sure they’ll be your thing. — He glanced out the window, where the sea still sparkled, but his fingers tightened on the armrest, betraying him.
Jannik leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but with a gentle insistence that brushed against Jack like the shadow of a cloud.
— I want to hear it, — he said, his words simple but gripping. — Show me what you’ve got.
Jack looked at him, and that moment — ordinary yet alive — settled into him like a pebble at the bottom of a stream. Even those closest to him rarely pushed to enter his world, his thoughts, the songs that were his shelter, and he didn’t blame them — to each their own. But here was Jannik, with a readiness not just to hear but to feel what made Jack himself. It was so simple and so rare that Jack, without quite noticing, smiled — quietly, almost to himself.
— Alright. — he said, his voice slightly hoarse but brimming with life. — Just don’t complain if it’s not your thing. — He pulled his phone from his pocket, and his earbuds, their slightly worn case resting in his palm, clicked open with a faint snap. He handed one to Jannik and put the other in his own ear.
Jannik took the earbud, his fingers briefly brushing Jack’s hand, and settled back, gazing out the window where the sea still sparkled under the sun, and distant hills dissolved into a faint haze. Jack tapped on «People Are Strange», and the opening chords, slow and almost ghostly, flowed into their ears. To his surprise, Jannik, still looking out the window, began to hum along softly — barely audible, his voice weaving into the melody like a light breeze through the sound of waves.
Jack turned to him, unable to hold back:
— You know this song? — he asked, his voice a mix of surprise and warm, teasing mockery, his brows lifting slightly as if expecting a catch.
Jannik, without turning, flashed a sly smile, the corner of his mouth curling up, and kept humming, his gaze fixed on the coastline where waves lazily grazed the rocks. The song rolled on, and Jack, still watching him, felt something stir in his chest — not loud, but light, like the shadow of a cloud. When the track ended, Jannik finally turned, his gaze, with a faint spark, meeting Jack’s.
— «People Are Strange», — he said, drawing out the words slightly. — Fits us, doesn’t it?
Jack snorted, leaning back in his seat, and shot back with a smirk:
— Definitely me. Flying halfway across the world to go skiing? I’m plenty strange.
Jannik huffed, his brows rising as if readying a counterstrike. — You’re not alone in that, — he said, a warm teasing note in his voice. — Driving to the airport in the middle of the night to pick you up? That’s just as strange. But drinking coffee in the shower — now that’s next-level strange.
Jack rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile.
— I say we put our picture on the cover of that song. — he tossed out, his tone blending humor and a hint of challenge. — Two weirdos, right in the spirit of it.
Jannik looked at him, his face lighting up with a faint, almost mischievous smile.
— Then do it. — he said, softly but with a nudge, as if egging Jack on in a game.
Jack huffed, shrugging.
— I don’t have anything good. — he replied, narrowing his eyes slightly. — Just tournament pics, you know, sweaty and serious. Not quite it.
Jannik suddenly leaned closer, snatching the phone from Jack’s hands in a swift motion.
— We’ll fix that. — he said, his voice carrying a light, playful edge. He extended his arm, flipping on the front camera, and before Jack could react, stuck out his tongue, pulling a ridiculous face. Jack, unable to hold back a laugh, played along — he scrunched his face, squinting one eye and poking out the corner of his tongue. The camera clicked, capturing them in that absurd, vibrant moment.
Jannik, still holding the phone, didn’t hand it back right away. He opened the media library, swiftly found «People Are Strange», and with a faint smirk, set their new photo as the track’s cover. Only then did he pass the phone back, tossing out:
— Done. Now we’re officially strange.
Jack took the phone, glanced at the screen, and couldn’t hold back a smile — a goofy one that spread across his face like sunlight. Their silly faces on the cover looked so absurd and so… right that he just shook his head, stifling a laugh. He looked at Jannik, who had turned back to the window, though the corner of his mouth still twitched with a restrained smile, and a warmth flared in Jack’s chest — inexplicable but alive, like someone had lit a lamp in a dark room.
The train rolled on, and they kept listening to Jack’s playlist, sharing the earbuds between them. Jannik occasionally hummed along — softly, almost offhandedly, when «Riders on the Storm» or «Sweet Child O’ Mine» played, his voice, light but warm, weaving into the melody as if he’d always known these tracks. Jack, watching him, felt that warmth in his chest grow, and when «Whole Lotta Love» came on, he couldn’t resist — he joined in on the chorus, mouth full because Jannik had just pulled out the sandwiches and handed him one. The bread and cheese, slightly salty, tasted so homely that Jack, chewing and singing, nearly choked when Jannik laughed — openly but gently, his laughter like a breeze rustling through leaves.
They rode on like that, sharing music and sandwiches, while outside the window the coastline stretched on — the sea glimmered, the hills glowed green, and the world seemed simpler than it was. Jack, with that silly smile still lingering on his face, looked at Jannik, at his profile lit by the sun, and felt that this moment — with their ridiculous photo, the tracks playing just for them, that laughter — was absolutely worth it. The train carried them onward, toward Alta Badia, toward snow and new days, but here, in this carriage, in this warmth growing between them, Jack knew the important part was already happening — and it promised more, like a song just beginning.