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Carlos is perfectly aware that he can be kind of intense. When he likes something, his vision narrows. He gets drawn into a single-minded focus, brandishing his heart on his sleeve, and everybody knows it.
Still, he thinks he’s been doing pretty well managing his whole thing for Jannik, all things considered.
Sure, he might post a little too often about him on social media. Maybe he talks about the guy too much in interviews. And yeah, okay, the whole inviting his greatest rival over to his place during the off-season might have been a smidge over the top. But aside from that, Carlos thinks he’s doing alright. He and Jannik have a good friendship going—this close, awkward, lovely thing that’s even better than he’d hoped for, back when he was still a lovesick teenager.
And because Carlos is a good friend and also very much a seasoned professional at this point, he doesn’t get jealous. No, seriously. He knows himself, knows how much space that kind of thinking would occupy in his mind. He’s perfected the art of not letting his teeny tiny obsession with Jannik’s… everything… get in the way of either their friendship or their jobs.
It’s very mature of him, really. Juanki would be proud.
(Juanki had actually looked at him with a rather pinched expression, that one time Carlos said this all out loud, but that probably didn’t mean anything.)
So it’s not that he’s jealous right now, alright? He’s just concerned, as any man would be when someone close to him seems to be making rash decisions. After all, Jannik’s usually so composed, keeping his private life on a tight leash even through the media storm that they live in. He also very resolutely does not mess around during competitions, doesn’t go out partying or adventuring like a lot of the other guys on their nights off.
Which makes it all the more incomprehensible to Carlos that Jannik somehow managed to bring a whole boyfriend back from Australia.
Who the fuck is Norman, anyway?
–
Like any good friend, Carlos congratulates Jannik when he wins the Australian Open. Unlike most other good friends, he goes a little bit overboard with it.
Less than a minute after championship point and he’s on Instagram, pulling up the post he’s had drafted for a while now. It’s one of his favorite photos; Carlos looks at it and remembers the feeling of Jannik’s body against his own, both of them struggling to stand after the exertion but holding each other up regardless. The memory pulls a smile out of him, unbidden.
Then he navigates to his messages, pulling up one of his more recent contacts. It’s become something of a habit lately, these little chats with Jannik. What started out as stilted conversation has turned into something more genuine, a real companionship blossoming even as they travel across the world, their paths only marginally intersecting.
Carlos knows it’s a precious thing he’s been given. Jannik doesn’t spend a lot of time on his phone, so for him to make the effort to keep in contact with Carlos of all people makes him feel special. Like he matters.
So his fingers fly over the keys, tapping some more excited congratulations. It’s important for him that he says it here, in their private texts. Without the world watching, he knows Jannik would see it as more tangible.
‘I’m so happy for you!!!!!!!!!!! 🙌🥳✨’ he sends, and then adds, ‘You absolutely deserve it! ❤️’
It takes a few hours for a reply to come in, not that that’s much of a surprise. He knows from experience that the new champion’s being pulled in every which way right now, unable to have even a handful of minutes to himself. Still, when the new message notification finally chimes in, Carlos all but leaps to his phone in his haste.
‘Thanks,’ reads the text from Jannik. ‘It means a lot coming from you.’
Carlos grins, heart fluttering as he types out a response. ‘Finally you finished all the interviews? 😂’
‘And the cooldowns and the celebrations and everything,’ replies Jannik. ‘It lasted forever. I’m so hungry.’
Trust Jannik to be thinking of food right after the biggest win of his life. Carlos finds it unbearably endearing.
‘Then get food and keep enjoying it!!!! You only win your first slam once! 🏆🎉’
‘Yeah at least I had Norman with me the whole time.’
The words bring Carlos’ thoughts to a sudden halt. He wracks his brain, trying to remember the various figures in Jannik’s team, but nothing comes to mind. He’s never heard that name before.
The unease makes him hesitate, but he’s curious enough that he just has to ask. ‘Norman?’
‘My new friend.’
It’s not much of an explanation at all.
–
He thinks, at first, that it was just a one time thing. For a few days, he’s able to push the name Norman away, bury it somewhere in the recesses of his mind. And then Jannik arrives home from Australia.
‘How was the flight? ✈️✈️’ texts Carlos, eager now that they’re finally back in the same time zone. He’d made do, of course, since he’d gone back to Spain while Jannik was still playing, but his sleep rhythm has definitely been suffering for all the late night conversations.
‘Long,’ is the immediate reply. ‘My legs are killing me.’
Carlos snickers. Even with the extra legroom they pay for, Jannik’s ridiculously long legs just don’t seem to be meant for these extended flights.
‘Aw poor you 🤕’
‘Norman was fine though.’
This Norman again. And, assuming he understood this right, the guy came with Jannik all the way to Europe. Who does that with someone they just met?
‘He was with you??’
‘Yeah obviously,’ says Jannik, as if any of this could be obvious at all. ‘I’m never letting him out of my sight now 🤣’
At once, it feels like someone’s thrown a bucket of ice down Carlos’ back. He has a sudden vision of Jannik and this mystery man leaning against each other in the plane, of Jannik clinging onto him during takeoff and landing, laying his head on the man’s shoulder as he drifts off to sleep.
God, he kind of wants to cry. Or shout. Maybe both, actually.
The thing is, Carlos had thought, stupidly, that maybe Jannik could feel the same for him, eventually. The way Jannik looked at him in Turin, so free and less guarded; or their time together in Alicante, away from the tour and prying eyes—after these last few months, he’d thought they were getting somewhere. That he had a chance of having Jannik the way he wanted, someday, somehow.
But then the world decided to throw some random Australian hunk right into Jannik’s arms, and Norman managed to achieve in a few days what Carlos has been trying to do for years now.
Carlos’ stomach drops down to his feet and stays there.
–
The worst part is that nothing changes between the two of them. Carlos still sends Jannik multiple texts a day, wondering all the while whether that makes him some sort of masochist. Jannik replies whenever he can, which is surprisingly often.
In fact, Carlos would even say they talk more now compared to before, which would have made him giddy with hope, except for one small, terrible detail: Every other word out of Jannik’s mouth is about him, and Carlos’ sanity is starting to fray at the edges.
“I was with Norman at the Colosseum,” Jannik confesses over FaceTime one day. His camera shows that he’s lying on his bed, red hair splayed out on the pillow and glasses on—a heart-wrenchingly casual, almost domestic sight.
“Yeah?” says Carlos, fighting to keep his voice even. “How, uh— how was it?”
He’s not sure what’s worse; the way Jannik looks so effortlessly gorgeous even through the tiny screen, or the fact that he’s still talking about Norman even as he treats Carlos to this spectacle of a view.
Jannik grins, which doesn’t help anything. “Amazing. But, ah, it was a little hard to drag him around everywhere.”
Drag him around?
Carlos’ jaw twitches. He cannot believe the nerve of this Norman dude. If he were the one on a date with Jannik, Carlos would follow him anywhere he wanted, no complaints, no questions asked.
“But it was great, really,” continues Jannik, oblivious to the way Carlos is gnashing his teeth. “I’ve been here before, lots of times, but it’s special now, you know?”
Carlos nearly scoffs. “…Because you have him now?”
But Jannik just laughs, and the sound pierces right through his heart. “Yeah, I guess so.”
–
Carlos starts spending a lot more time in the gym.
Juanki assumes it’s because of Jannik, that Carlos watching his self-proclaimed greatest rival win a major in such a dominant fashion has sparked the competitive spirit in him. Carlos is content to let his coach assume whatever the fuck he wants
Anyway, technically, Juanki isn’t wrong. He is motivated because of Jannik.
For the last few days, Carlos has been bouncing on his heels and pacing a hole through his apartment floor. Whenever he closes his eyes, he pictures Jannik and his boytoy, like they’re the stars of some shitty romcom flashing behind his eyelids. He doesn’t even know what Norman looks like, but that doesn’t stop his mind from conjuring all sorts of increasingly disgusting lovey-dovey scenarios for the two of them.
So, frustrated, heartbroken, and more than a little bit hysterical, Carlos turns to the one place he knows will ease some of his tension: the gym.
His mum scolds him for it, but he’s practically glued to his phone, and here is no exception. He places it on top of the treadmill, so he can watch a steady stream of YouTube while he’s running. It’s an ideal system—he keeps a decent enough pace that his mind clears up with every hard exhale, and he gets to catch up with some of his favorite channels.
Except today, when his last video ends and the next starts up on autoplay, he’s greeted by a clip from some tournament’s hallway cameras. There’s a very familiar head of curls bent over in stretches, with one of his coaches and his physio.
(In retrospect, maybe Carlos has been watching too much Jannik-related content, for this to have been recommended by the app’s algorithm. He makes a mental note to clear his YouTube history.)
Onscreen, Darren laughs at something unintelligible, leaning back against the wall beside Jannik.
“It’s true!” says Giacomo, laughing along with him. “I’m surprised he didn’t bring Norman here too!”
“Shut up,” grouses Jannik as he pulls up from his stretch. “I’m not that bad.”
Darren pats him on the back. “Kid, it’s perfectly understandable.”
Then Giacomo snorts, elbowing Jannik with a leery kind of grin. “Don’t even try to hide it. I know you slept with him that first night!”
Carlos trips and slides off the treadmill.
–
One impulsive (and non Juanki-approved) flight ticket later, it all boils over into this:
“Why him, huh? What does he have that I don’t?”
Carlos’ voice gets louder and louder the more he talks, and he knows he’s started slurring all his words together, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’d spent enough time in those few hours between Murcia and Monte Carlo wondering whether he’d gone mad, whether this was a good idea, whether Jannik would just slam the door in his face. And yet, here he is.
By this point, he figures he’s about a thousand kilometers past shame.
“What…?”
Jannik just looks at him with a twinge of alarm, one hand still on his doorknob. To his credit, though, he pushes past his confusion to usher Carlos inside. What a grateful host. A gentleman.
(Or, more likely, a guy who really just doesn’t want to broadcast drama to his entire apartment block. Still, the action sets Carlos’ traitorous heart aflutter.)
Once he’s properly shuffled inside, Carlos gets back to the point. “You!”
“Me?”
Carlos huffs. “You’re so—!”
Jannik fidgets, one hand scratching at the side of his face. “What are you— why are you here?”
“You know!”
“I really don’t.”
“I thought we had something!” cries Carlos. “After Alicante, I thought— ‘cause you came for me, right? But then you met him and— and— I don’t know! I don’t know anymore, Jannik! I can’t—”
“Hey,” Jannik places a hand on his shoulder, and the soft pressure burns. “Calm down. What are you talking about?”
“What else! Your new boyfriend, of course!”
Jannik freezes. “My what?”
Carlos sighs. “You don’t need to pretend with me. I can tell, yeah? How much you like him.”
“I don’t…” Jannik’s forehead creases, creating fine lines that Carlos wishes he could massage out with his own fingers. Then he shakes himself out of the thought.
“Don’t worry, I won’t say it to anyone,” he rushes to add, “but at least tell me. Is he good to you? Are you happy?”
“Happy,” says Jannik, rolling the word on his tongue. “Uh, happy with…?”
Carlos huffs. “With Norman, of course.”
“Wait, Norman?”
Jannik gives him a look, as though Carlos is the one talking nonsense here. Carlos thinks that’s a little bit unfair.
“Who else?” He chuckles without mirth, ruefully. “You talk about him every day. I see it, you know? You sound— you sound like you really like him.”
“How did you even…?” Jannik shakes his head, pressing his lips into a tight line. “No, wait, come here.”
Abruptly, he turns and heads further into his apartment. Carlos has no choice but to follow him.
“What are you—”
“Shh, just come.”
In no time at all, they reach a modest living space, simple and without much ostentation. Except, of course, for the gleaming trophy sitting atop Jannik’s coffee table, commanding all the attention in the room.
Jannik bends down, hefts it up with both hands, and turns back to face Carlos. His face is blank, devoid of any emotion.
Carlos has no idea what’s going on.
“Uh…” he says, eloquently.
“Do you know,” says Jannik, enunciating the words one by one, “who this trophy is named for?”
“No?”
“Ah.”
And then Jannik reaches out, towards Carlos, who extends his own arms on instinct as the trophy gets transferred onto his hands. He looks down; it’s heavier than he expected it to be.
“Carlos, meet Norman.”
His head snaps up so fast he’s surprised his neck doesn’t crack. “What?”
“The Norman Brookes Challenge Cup. My trophy.”
“Your… trophy,” repeats Carlos dumbly. “Norman. The trophy.”
“Yes, the trophy.” Jannik’s lips are already quirking up at the edges. It would be cute if Carlos weren’t so horribly mortified right now.
“Oh my god.”
There’s no coming back from this. He hopes his family will live comfortably on his money when he’s gone.
Jannik takes a look at his face—which is probably as cherry-red as he thinks it is—and cracks.
“Shut up!” whines Carlos. It’s a plea that falls on uncaring ears.
“So, since Australia you thought—” says Jannik through braying laughter. “You thought I was talking about a person?”
“What else am I supposed to think?” cries Carlos. He sets the trophy back down to make a loose, half-hearted swat that Jannik deftly avoids.
“Anything. But not that!”
“It’s not my fault you talked like— like— gah! You know!”
Jannik, who has been trying to catch his breath, just doubles over again. Carlos groans and resigns himself to his fate.
–
“So,” Carlos says, much later, when Jannik’s laughter has waned and the both of them have stumbled their way onto the couch.
“Yeah?”
“No Australian boyfriend then?”
He’s trying for casual. He’s pretty sure he fails miserably.
Jannik just grins. “No Australian boyfriend. No boyfriend at all.”
Carlos huffs a tiny laugh of his own, willing his stomach to stop doing gymnastics inside of him. “Well, good.”
“Good?” repeats Jannik, raising an eyebrow. “Huh. I don’t think so.”
“Really?”
“Would be nice, no? Having a boyfriend.” Jannik looks at him, eyes soft. Carlos bites his lip.
“Yeah, maybe. Depends on the person.”
“Well, I know this really great guy named Norman—”
Carlos hooks a fist at Jannik’s collar and shuts him up the only way he knows. It’s awkward, a harsh clash of lips, but when he pulls away, Jannik leans in as if chasing the feeling.
“Still thinking about Norman?” Carlos says, though it comes out less teasing than he wants on account of his breathlessness.
“No,” Jannik murmurs, bringing up a hand to brush at Carlos’ jaw. “I think you know, there’s only one boyfriend I want to have.”
And when Carlos meets his eyes, he thinks they shine far brighter than any trophy ever could.