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There are a lot of things that Carlos associates with Jannik.
The “anti-cramps” playlist Jannik made for him, filled with weird German songs Carlos always makes fun of – songs that sound nothing like Bad Bunny. They started listening to it while training together. And then, during his recovery from an abductor injury, Carlos had started bobbing his head to those strange rhythms.
Now, it all sounds like hotel rooms, late-night FIFA games and Jannik’s slow breath as he scrolls through his phone next to Carlos, half-asleep on the bed, mumbling “skip this one, it sucks” even though he’s the one who put it in the playlist in the first place.
The book that Jannik left on his bedtable once. The pages are cornered, the margins covered in scribbles and doodles and it looks nothing like the neat, tidy and put-together version of Jannik that people usually see. Carlos tried to read it once but his German is broken and he couldn’t understand a word.
The book has been rotting at the bottom of each one of Carlos’ suitcase for about a year now and everytime he mentions it, Jannik brushes it off, says he’ll get it another day. “Now I have a reason to come back to your room” he says, and Carlos always pretends to be offended. Jannik never takes the book when he leaves.
The sound of Jannik’s voice, practicing his speeches in the bathroom when he thinks Carlos is still asleep. He prepares a version for each possible outcome, drafts it first in Italian. Carlos picks up words from this language he didn’t really speak before hearing Jannik on the phone with his team. He repeats the words silently, like a kid trying to impress his teacher at the end of the year.
“When did you learn Italian ?” Jannik asks him after Rome, when Carlos tells him he understands every word he said on stage. “You’ve picked up the Tyrolean accent. I like it.” he says after Carlos’ explanation.
There are a lot of things Carlos associates with Jannik but Roland Garros was never one of them. Not until today.
The Philippe Chatrier Court has always been his, earning the Clay Prince title. It practically feels like home. He hopes maybe one day, his footprint will lay next to Rafa’s. When in Paris, Jannik was never part of the picture. Not until today.
Roland Garros now means the look on Jannik’s face as he sat on his bench. It wasn’t disappointment, or frustration, or anger at himself (how could it be when he played his best tennis ?). He just looked sad and Carlos had wanted to do anything – whether it be hugging him or renouncing his title for him just so that Jannik could lift the cup – to rub this expression off of his face. Even Blank-Jannik was better than this. But Carlos did nothing. He just looked away during Jannik’s speech to not start crying.
[…]
Jannik isn’t supposed to be in Barcelona. He’s not even playing. Carlos watches him in the bed they’ve been sharing for two days and wonders if people imagine that this is what Jannik does during his ban. He doesn’t really ask why he came though, he’s not sure he wants to know.
They’ve never really talked about it, about how it feels for Jannik to be kept away from the place where he feels best for so long. It scares Carlos sometimes, the hunger in Jannik’s eyes when he talks about tennis. It’s like he becomes a new man, completely different from the boy looking at him with sleepy eyes and disappearing under the blanket.
“You’re already leaving?” Jannik asks and his voice is so soft something twitches in Carlos’ stomach.
“Sí. I’m playing Arthur this afternoon. Juanki is waiting for me downstairs.”
“Does he know I’m here ?” Carlos shakes his head. There are things that Juan Carlos wouldn’t understand. Jannik smiles. “Go off then. I’ll watch you on TV. You better win.”
Carlos resists the urge to kiss his temple before leaving the room. It’s one of those days where he craves Jannik’s presence, where the simple thought of him softens him to a point where he wonders if he’s still a human being or if he’s just become a messy collection of the feelings Jannik stirs in him.
He wins the match, more easily than he thought he would and with every game won, he imagines Jannik watching his every move and screaming “vamos” whenever he hits a good shot.
“Are you going to give it your everything tomorrow? Even though Holger’s your friend ?”
It’s late and Carlos should be sleeping. Instead, he’s laying in bed with Jannik whose head is resting in his lap, Carlos’ fingers tangled in the red curls. It feels natural, like they’ve been doing this forever — like they will keep on doing it forever.
“What do you mean ? I want to win. Of course, I’ll do my best.”
“I know. I’m not questioning your grit. It’s just that I know you, you’re not like others. Most of us become a new person once we’re on court, more brutal. You’re softer. I feel like you don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“And you think this is a bad thing ?”
Jannik gets up, looks at Carlos like he’s digging up everything there is to know about him. For a millisecond, Carlos thinks Jannik is going to kiss him. He doesn’t.
“No. You’re not ruthless, and that is a good thing.”
There’s a silence. Carlos takes in the way Jannik perceives him. He likes it. Especially the fact that he said he wasn’t like the others.
“I wonder how you would be if we were to play each other in a Grand Slam final.”
Carlos chooses his words carefully.
“I’d never let you win. But if I have to beat you, I want it to be hard. I want people to remember why they love tennis in the first place when they watch us play.”
“You’re so cocky thinking you’ll win, che stronzo che sei. I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. It’s going to happen, sooner or later.” Jannik’s hand lingers on Carlos’ lap. “I agree with you. If I ever have to lose a Grand Slam final, I’d rather it be to you.”
Jannik’s words hang heavy around his tongue. Carlos feels like a weight has been dropped on his shoulders — probably because it’s one of the rare times when Jannik is opening up to him.
“Can I sleep here tonight ?”
Carlos frowns, almost lets out a laugh.
“Ay, qué te pasa ? You never ask before usually.”
Jannik shrugs. “I don’t know, I figured you might have gotten bored of me.”
Carlos doesn’t answer anything. It’d be too honest.
[…]
Carlos is alone in his room. It feels emptier than it is, the bed bigger. There’s no one to steal away the whole blanket, no one to prepare a second cup of coffee for.
Jannik’s ban is over. They’re playing each other tomorrow if he wins his semis — something that Carlos doesn’t doubt. He should be watching Tommy trying to survive but the sight of Jannik’s black set makes him weak. He almost choked the first time he saw it.
Carlos gets it. It’s not very professional or competitive to be sleeping in the same bed as your opponent, who’s also the guy people always associate you with when they try to predict the biggest rivalry the sport has ever seen, who’s also the guy you might accidentally be falling in love with. He just really wishes Jannik were here tonight.
“wtf dude is in total combat mode. hope u beat his ass tomorrow”
Holger’s message comes in late. Carlos shouldn’t open it but then there’s a video of Jannik attached and Carlos thinks he might as well gather some intel before facing him tomorrow. He tries to convince himself that Juanki would approve.
“Jannik, welcome back to the circuit ! We’re really happy to see you, especially here in Roma” the interviewer says. Carlos recognizes the post-match press setup. “You seem in great shape this week. Do you think that your three months away may have taken a toll on your mindset? Will you keep it up against Carlos tomorrow, knowing the history you two share and the bond you seem to have?”
“I think I’ve already proved where my mindset is this week. As to Carlos, I know we’ve played each other quite a lot but off-court, we’re not that close. I wouldn’t even say we’re friends to be honest.”
Someone asks a new question and Jannik moves on like he hasn’t just crashed Carlos’ heart effortlessly.
The video stops and rewinds again and again and again. Carlos doesn’t know how many times he watches it but he dreams about Jannik’s neutral expression as he says “I wouldn’t even say we’re friends to be honest”. As if it doesn’t cost him anything to lie so blatantly, to pretend that mere weeks ago he wasn’t staying in El Palmar with Carlos, sharing his childhood bedroom even though his parents offered him to have his own.
The thought that Jannik might not be lying, that Carlos has just been a distraction to get his head off of his ban, later crosses Carlos’ mind as he’s warming up. He is a rational guy, he knows Jannik probably said that because it feeds the “greatest rivals” narrative. Ait didn’t have to be so harsh, so humiliating though. The idea that he’s been played, that he’s the biggest fool creeps in and soon enough, Carlos can’t think about anything else.
This time, he plays ruthlessly, hitting the ball harsher than he ever did. It’s the best tennis he’s played in weeks. With each winning shot, he pictures Jannik falling asleep on his chest, Carlos meddling with his hair to wake him up gently in the morning. And then, he hears him telling the journalist “I wouldn’t even say we’re friends to be honest”.
He beats Jannik. 7-6/6-1. Payback for the humiliation.
Later, when Jannik knocks on his door, Carlos lets him in anyway.
[...]
The corridor is silent. Carlos knows he shouldn’t be here, yet he’s standing in front of Jannik’s door anyway. He’s drunk, more than he’d like to admit, which is maybe why this didn’t feel like a terrible idea when he left the party people threw to celebrate his title.
He isn’t used to being the one knocking on the door. Jannik is always the one deciding when they should be together. Carlos just waits, hopes that it is one of these days where the Italian will grant him the attention he craves, that it is one of these days where he gets to see the Jannik no one else sees.
They haven’t talked since Rome, since Jannik broke his heart on national TV and then superglued it by kissing him late at night in his room. “I have been wanting to kiss you all day long” he simply said when Carlos asked him why he’d come. They didn’t share the same bed that night though.
Carlos is drunk, very drunk, so he knocks on Jannik’s door before realizing that he doesn’t even know why he’s here. The door is about to open and Carlos has nothing to say that won’t make him look like a desperate man, begging for the crumbles of affection Jannik sometimes agrees to give him.
Too late. Jannik’s head appears in the frame, eyes small and tired and puffy like he’s been crying ever since Carlos last saw him. His expression is cryptic – as always – and Carlos wonders how easy it would be if he could understand Jannik with a simple look.
“Why are you here?” Jannik says and it sounds rude, like Carlos is the last person on Earth he wants to see right now. He clears his throat. “‘m sorry, it wasn’t supposed to come out so rough. Aren’t you supposed to be celebrating your victory?”
“Well, you said you wouldn’t sleep very well tonight so I figured I’d keep you company.”
Jannik raises an eyebrow, visibly not convinced by Carlos’ alibi. He doesn’t even have to say anything to get the truth to come out.
“Okay, fine, I wanted to see you. I needed to be with you. It felt fucking stupind to be out there partying like I wasn’t missing someone.” Carlos says and he knows the tequila shots are affecting his mental sanity for there is no other reason he would be honest with Jannik. “And now, I feel fucking stupid for being here. I mean we’re not that close off-court, I wouldn’t even say we’re friends, you know.”
Jannik twitches and Carlos thinks he sees regret in his eyes – but then again he is very drunk. They both know what he is referring to but neither of them has had the courage to bring it up ever since it happened.
“You know I didn’t mean that way.”
“No, Jannik, I don’t know anything. You’re so guarded, you never let me in. You say you don’t even like me on live TV and then come to my room to kiss me. Who does that? And the worst – qué gilipollas – is that I always open the door when you come, every time. I am here tonight when there’s plenty of people I could be spending time with to celebrate my Grand Slam title. But no, here I am while you don’t even care.”
“You think I don’t care?”Jannik’s voice snaps. “I thought you knew me better than that.” he says and he looks hurt, like Carlos has finally found the spot where he might break.
“That’s the thing. I don’t. I never know what it is with you. You could hate me and I wouldn’t even get it because I’m too caught up in my own feelings to see anything and because you give nothing to work with. I might as well be in love with a wall and it would practically be the same.”
Carlos bites his lip when he hears himself speak. His words escaped him and now he’s just layed down his whole heart, allowing Jannik to do whatever he wants with it. It makes him sick, like he’s about to throw up. The silence is unbearable. Carlos takes a step back, tries to act as if what he said doesn’t change everything between them.
“Forget it.” His voice is softer, quieter, now. “I think I’ll go back to the party now.”
“Don’t.”
Jannik’s hand is cold on his wrist, fingers lacing around him like handcuffs. His grip is strong, stronger than Carlos thought it’d be. They look at each other for an instant, neither of them knowing what to say next. Jannik looks like he might faint.
“I didn’t mean to mess with you, Carlos. For real. I meant everything I told you. I lied in Rome, don’t know why, just thought it might make things easier. It was all very confusing, you know. I didn’t know how to manage being back on the tour and what I started feeling whenever you were around.”
Carlos thinks to himself that this might be the longest Jannik has ever spoken about his feelings.
“The truth is I started panicking because you were my main failure. Not only because you’re the one guy I feel like I can’t beat, but also because I completely failed at trying not to fall in love with you. I thought if I gave in one time in Rome, it’d be easier to get over you. Sono un fottuto idiota.”
For the first time, Carlos stops waiting. He kisses Jannik like his life depends on it, like he is the air he needs to breathe.
“Please, don’t ever get over me.”
[...]
There are a lot of things Carlos associates with Jannik.
The “anti-cramps” playlist. The book that Jannik never gets back. Waking up to Italian speeches. Roland-Garros.
Getting drunk after one of them wins a title. Stolen blankets and making coffee for two in the morning. Telling journalists that they’re not that close off-court and coming home to kiss him.