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He's a Grand Slam champion.
Jannik Sinner, just a kid from South Tyrol with a knack for sports, has won the Australian Open. He achieved everything he's ever dreamed of. He's on top of the world. Everyone's eyes are on him.
Everyone... everyone.
It turns out the gaze of the entire world is piercing.
Jannik thought he understood it. After Toronto, Beijing, Vienna, Turin. He thought he knew what it was like to bear the burden of high expectations. He's always understood how to take the pressure and transform it into motivation. Jannik is, mentally and physically, strong, and nothing can break him.
He thought he was ready for anything, but nothing could have prepared him for this.
How many Grand Slams is Jannik Sinner going to win?
Will we see a Sinner sweep this season?
Has the Alcaraz era ended and the Sinner era begun?
That last one is what hurts him the most, if he's being honest. Just a few months ago, the tennis media hailed Carlos as their new tennis god, but as soon as he didn't get the results they wanted, the results they expected, they dropped him like a child's toy. And Jannik is the one unwillingly being pushed into his place.
Hell, he doesn't even have to look globally to see the change in attitude, he can narrow his scope to just include home. All of Italy wants a piece of Jannik Sinner now, for him to make appearances and speeches and smile and wave. The same media that once called him a national disgrace now praise him, the same people who claimed he wasn't really Italian now show him off to the rest of the world. Jannik feels like he's the trophy, not the cup presented to him on that fateful night.
He doesn't want to let it get to him, but it just does. Winning a Grand Slam should be the best feeling in the world, but all Jannik feels is the walls closing in on him as he's shut into a box.
There's only one other person who can truly understand how he feels.
Maybe that's why he decides to make a stop in Alicante.
"He said I was always welcome back," Jannik insists to his coaches, thinking of the practice session in December.
"I don't think Carlos is going to have a problem with seeing you," Darren sighs, folding his arms. "This is surprising coming from you."
"Usually he has to beg you to do anything with him," Simone adds.
His two coaches exchange a knowing, amused look. He decides to ignore it - the implications will only serve to stress him out even more.
"I need this," Jannik says plainly.
He doesn't need to do anymore convincing. Of course, they were never going to refuse him, not after the feat of excellence he just pulled off in Melbourne.
Jannik needs to think about it like that, he knows. He can't let this mess of pressure and expectations and bias take away from the fact that he won a Grand Slam. He didn't drop a set on the way to the semifinals. He beat Djokovic at the Australian Open. He came back from two sets down in the final. That's incredible, it really is, and the moments he's had with his friends, his family, have all been some of the best of his life. Jannik is proud of himself, and he won't let anyone ruin that.
But the path ahead of him is twisted, and he needs to sort it out.
Strangely enough, he isn't nervous in the slightest bit when he knocks on Carlos' door. If there's anyone who will be nothing but purely happy for him, it's Carlos Alcaraz.
He opens the door, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, clearly taking the day off. He stands there for a moment, in shocked silence, and only then does the slightest hint of doubt creep into Jannik's mind. Maybe surprising him like this wasn't the best idea.
"Hi," Jannik blurts out. "I know this is last-minute-"
However, he doesn't get to finish the sentence, since Carlos practically tackles him in a hug, his strong arms pulling Jannik close. It was an embrace he didn't know he needed but now is aware that it's his lifeline, the tether pulling him back from the bring, a ray of sunshine amongst dark clouds. Carlos, like always, manages to drive away any negativity Jannik may have by simply being himself.
"Campione!" Carlos exclaims once he pulls away, putting his hands on Jannik's shoulders and looking him up and now. "Jannik... you did it. I knew you could. I'm so proud of you."
"Thank you," Jannik says. "And uh, thanks for the post. I heard you were fast."
Carlos grins. "I wanted to be first. Before the fans, before the tournaments."
What did Jannik do to deserve Carlos Alcaraz?
"Why are you here?" He asks. "Not that I don't want you to be, but... don't you have things in Italy?"
"I..." You're the only person I want to be with right now. I would give up the entire country's love, thin as it may be, for you. But Jannik can't just say that. "I want to talk to you."
"Well, come in!" Carlos says, throwing the door wide open. He's practically giddy with excitement, bouncing on his toes. Certainly not the look of someone who just lost in a Grand Slam quarterfinal match that he absolutely could have won.
If the sudden pressure on Jannik is relieving Carlos, then maybe it's worth it.
They sit down on a couch that looks like it's seen better days. It sags a bit when Jannik sits down, and the color has worn down into a simple beige. Still, he can't help but love it, this little piece of Carlos' home. Despite its flaws, it's soft and comforting and makes Jannik feel like he's sitting by a warm fire in the midst of a snowstorm.
"What's up?" Carlos asks, sinking into the couch like two puzzle pieces clicking together.
Jannik figures he'll just get right to the point. "How did you do it? After the US Open, after Wimbledon. How did you manage it?" Help me, I'm going to drown, I need you. My lifeboat.
For a few minutes, Carlos doesn't say anything. He just sits still in his spot in the couch, cast back into the spotlight, the championship point, the collapse onto the court knowing I did it. Jannik knows now, what that feels like. Just once had been enough to transform him into a supernova, bright and bursting, filled to the brim with every emotion he was capable of feeling. He can't quite imagine doing it twice.
"You know," Carlos says eventually. He's uncharacteristically quiet. "I don't think I did manage it."
Jannik doesn't really believe that. "You backed up a Grand Slam with two Masters 1000s and... another Grand Slam."
"That was different," he murmurs. "I was hurt, I was coming back. Only way to go was up. But after Wimbledon... after being at the top... the only way was down."
That's where I am right now.
Either they have the same thought process or Carlos can read Jannik's mind, because he pales and says: "But that doesn't mean it will be like that for you."
"No," Jannik says. "You're right. Everyone's saying now that I'm going to win more, but what if I don't? What if I let everyone down?"
He wants Carlos to say you won't or it'll be okay. But for him to assure Jannik like that would be a lie.
"I felt that way too," he sighs. "And I haven't won anything since. But I thought about it more, in the offseason. I didn't have a bad season after Wimbledon. Masters final, US Open semis. I just let everyone's insane standards be my standards. I believed in the 'Alcaraz era.' It was dumb. So no, I didn't manage it. I made everything worse. I don't know how to give you tips. I'm sorry. I can't help you because I couldn't help myself."
On an impulse, Jannik places his hand over Carlos' intertwining their fingers. The touch is nothing short of electric, but instead of shocking them apart it only connects them more. He and Carlos have been reaching towards each other for so long, but this is the first time it feels like they truly see each other
"I understand now," Jannik says. "I understand how you felt. You didn't know what to do? That's fine. I don't know either. We can be lost together. No fixing it, no advice. Let's just talk."
Carlos smiles softly. "Let's talk."