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Over the past few weeks, Jannik heard the question so many times that he has learned to recognize when it's coming. It always comes with the same look in the journalist's eyes, the one that hopes that Jannik will give them just a tiny bit more than the time before.
But it never matters that he sees it coming. It makes his skin crawl with powerlessness every single time.
"Can you tell us how Alcaraz is doing?" "Is Carlos recovering well?" "Is he ok?" "Has he talked to you at all?"
Of course, Jannik did try to tell them. They are not friends. Friendly when they cross paths and always professional. But never quite friends. Something about the tension between them has always prevented them from ever being that.
When they are in a room together, or even across the net from each other, Jannik is sure it's tennis-related. After all, it would be hard to remain sharp and competitive, considering how often they end up playing against each other, if they stopped seeing each other as rivals. And no matter how often they say otherwise, losing sucks, especially when it's to each other.
But when they aren't together, when the miles expand between them and the stretching distance allows the competitiveness to dull, Jannik always manages to miss him. And that makes no sense. Not when Carlos is his only threat, and winning becomes as easy as breathing without Carlos's shadow looming over him.
Jannik was on a generational run before Roland Garros, the highest point of his career, reaching heights he might never see again. He swept the first half of the season despite his rocky start, completed the golden masters at a ridiculously young age, and felt completely invincible.
But as soon as he steps onto the grounds of the French Open, when he is ushered onto Philippe Chatrier, when he sits on that bench… The rush of memories rushes past the careful shell he spent the past year building around himself and slowly erodes his confidence over the span of less than a week. The locker rooms, the dining hall, even the Parisian streets – they're all as haunted as he is.
And then, he loses. The year-old loss is etched so deep in the walls that it reaches across time and steals the Career Slam from him.
Well, that, a three-month uninterrupted run, and a heat wave.
But as he laments his loss and the burgeoning tragedy of his life – he can already imagine himself retiring in ten years with a single missing trophy and a forgettable, incomplete career – it feels so much easier to blame it on him instead.
It takes a few weeks to make the decision. And even then, Jannik is not entirely sure he actually makes the decision consciously. He goes through every stage of grief several times, oscillating between depression and anger and optimistic acceptance, only to land right back to flipping through the rule book to find a heat rule the umpire missed or a challenge he could make about a line call during his match.
It's ugly, and unsportsmanlike, and it robs him of his breath every time he looks at himself in a mirror and realizes he has become incapable of dealing with losing.
But it's not quite losing that hurts this much. It's how certain he was that he wouldn't lose. It's the quiet and unshakeable confidence he had allowed to build, deep in his bones, that with Carlos gone, he would be unstoppable. It's the unforgivable mistake of reaching for the trophy with no care for the obstacles in his way.
Really, it's the realization that Jannik has allowed Carlos to monopolize his attention, to appropriate his fears and doubts, and focus them all on himself, leaving Jannik blinded and unsuspecting.
And then, it's the slowly building but simple truth that even with all of that, even with all that this rivalry has taken from him, and all that it will take still, Jannik cannot help but miss Carlos.
The cruelty of it, the stupid ease with which the ghost of Carlos's absence has pulled Jannik halfway across a continent and right to his Murcian front door, is almost comical.
But here he stands. In plain blue jeans and a grey jacket held tightly around himself with the collar flipped up to hide his face – the most inconspicuous outfit he could muster up, knowing very well that the shock of red curls on his head is probably a dead giveaway. His fist is lifted, hovering over the front door, and he hesitates. There are inches between him and what he came here for, whatever that is, but after the thousands of miles he already traveled, this is the distance he cannot bridge.
Not until the door is nearly ripped open, a wide smile and a mess of unkempt, overgrown brown hair filling the doorway, a laugh echoing from somewhere deeper in the house, does Jannik have to snap out of his frozen trance. The smile falls with recognition.
"Jannik! What are you…?" Carlos looks around, trying to see if anyone is with him, but his surprised eyes find Jannik's very quickly again. "What are you doing here?"
"Carlos…" Jannik says unhelpfully.
"Jannik," Carlos repeats, amused.
Why is he merely surprised, and not shocked, or scared, or offended at Jannik's being here? Why is he already stepping back, gesturing for him to come in, as though this were the most regular occurrence, as if Jannik has been on his doorstep a million times before and his parents aren't inside?
And why can Jannik not find his breath? Why is he here?
"You should come in, you know?" Carlos gently suggests when Jannik doesn't move. "It's a fairly private street, but you could still be seen, and it's probably best if you weren't."
"Right," Jannik mumbles, quickly stepping in and allowing Carlos to close the door behind them. "Should I?" he asks, looking at his own shoes.
"Um, yeah, if you don't mind."
Under Carlos's amused gaze, Jannik toes off his sneakers and shoves his hands in his pockets, suddenly feeling unbearably out of place. He is in Carlos Alcaraz's family home, in his socks, and he doesn't have a clue why.
"Um, we should probably go to my room. My parents will have questions if we stay here, and you don't seem…"
"Yeah, no, let's do that," Jannik nods quietly.
Carlos leads him through a narrow corridor, then another, Spanish conversation reaching them from a distant room. It sounds lively, homey, like Jannik has stepped into a space in which he does not belong, but could.
And then, there it is. Carlos's famous childhood bedroom. It's as small as it looked on TV, with his ridiculous shoe collection taking up far too much space, and his twin-sized bed with plain blue sheets. It's all so domestic, like a time-capsule of a happy childhood and fulfilled dreams.
And Carlos stands in the middle of it, without an ounce of judgment on his face, but a healthy dose of curiosity and expectation. And, well, Jannik probably should start talking.
"How's your wrist?" he asks first, cringing. He's no better than those journalists.
Carlos blinks, but he simply pulls back his sweater sleeve, revealing a black brace encasing half of his forearm and hand. It looks… wrong. Jannik steps closer and carefully takes Carlos's forearm in his hand, cradling it and feeling the pain in his own limbs. "It's healing," Carlos simply says. "I should be getting back to training soon. It's been a lot of one-handed backhands in the meantime."
"How are those?" Janniks asks.
"Well, it's the wrong hand," Carlos laughs. "I will not be using that shot any longer than I absolutely have to, that's for sure."
"I'm glad you're still playing."
"Are you?" Carlos asks, tilting his head.
Jannik lets go of his arm and takes a step back. "I'm sorry I showed up so… unannounced. I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing here, if I'm honest."
Carlos nods. He gives a jerk of his head to invite Jannik to sit, and easily slides up to the head of his bed, settling against the wall and leaving Jannik as much room as he can. Jannik leaves about two feet of space between them, a distance that feels safe enough without being awkward.
His gaze lands on the shoes, running over every pair, and a snort builds in the back of his throat. "You have a bit of a problem, don't you?"
"It drives my mom insane," Carlos shrugs, an unapologetically proud smile on his lips. "I like them."
"Yeah, I can see that. Is that the whole collection?"
"Not at all," Carlos laughs. "The rest is in storage. Some is in the garage."
"Right," Jannik nods. He supposes his own car collection would raise more than one brow, but this feels excessive in a different way.
After a pause, Carlos clears his throat. "I saw your match."
"Did you?" Jannik sighs.
"How are you feeling?" he asks, careful.
"About losing?"
"Sure," Carlos nods. Then he shakes his head. "I guess I meant more… You looked pretty sick, Jannik."
"I'm fine. It was over like an hour after I got out of the heat." His own weakness makes his stomach coil with shame.
"Right. I'm glad to hear it."
"Yeah." His nod is delayed, insincere.
"So, um, what brings you here?" Carlos finally asks, and Jannik can't help but sigh. "I know you said you weren't sure, but you must have some idea."
Jannik fidgets with his watch, turning the dial and messing up the time. He had meant to adjust to the Parisian timezone, but he had forgotten, and now he wasn't exactly sure what time it was here.
But here feels like a surreal bubble of time and space anyway, where he can show up to his rival's house, unannounced and uninvited, and end up sitting on his bed instead of having the cops called on him. He sighs again and makes himself find the words. "I was sitting in the plane on the way here," he starts, staring at the hands of his watch as he turns them back, "and I was trying to think back to the last time I played so long without seeing you."
"You were gone for a while last year."
"Did it feel like this?" Jannik asks, refusing to look at Carlos. "Was it this fucking lonely?"
It's Carlos's turn to sigh. "I'm sure it would have been, if I had managed to get it together long enough to win as much as you did." He seems to hesitate for a moment, and then, "Or if we had been as close as we felt this year."
Jannik thinks back to a year ago, and he nods. "Right. We weren't, uh. We weren't us yet."
"I'm sorry I fucked that up. We had a good thing going," Carlos jokes.
"You left me alone with Sascha, you jerk. Those are boring finals."
"Oh, shut up. I see you two together, you have fun," Carlos waves him off. There's a slight bitterness to his tone that Jannik does not miss.
"It's not the same," he whispers, suddenly hyper aware that there are other people in this house. "It's not real with him. He doesn't know me as you do."
"Not good enough to get your attention, is he?" Carlos sighs. "I didn't think you liked being challenged. You hate losing."
"So do you," Jannik counters, letting Carlos pretend this is what they're talking about. Or maybe he really doesn't know what Jannik was hinting at, and that's safer still.
"I do," Carlos nods. "But in a way, I'm grateful I do lose sometimes. It keeps me honest." Jannik snorts. "And losing against you is different. It doesn't feel like failing."
Jannik nods, understanding that all too well. "It's not the same with you gone. None of it is," he confesses, the impulse for reciprocated honesty too strong to resist.
"It's only been a couple of months," Carlos says, as though he hasn't felt his own absence as sharply as anyone. As though he didn't miss it all enough to resort to playing awkward tennis with his left hand. "I'll be back."
"How have you been?" Jannik asks. He glances at Carlos, sees him rubbing his brace mindlessly, and looks away. It's unfair to see it as a weakness, and yet seeing Carlos as he is now, broken and diminished, is unbearable. No matter how temporary the hurt, Jannik wishes he could take it away.
"Pretty fucking lonely, too," Carlos answers, the laughing lilt in his tone empty. "I didn't expect that, if I'm honest. Cause I'm not alone, I know that. I have my family and my team, and I can open Instagram if I need to, but…"
"What do you miss the most?" Jannik asks.
"About not having a broken wrist?" Carlos says, waiting for Jannik's nod to continue. "Um, lots of things. Forehands, probably." It sounds like a lie, but Jannik allows it. "Hitting that ball just right, knowing where it will land even as it's still touching your strings… Yeah, a good forehand is a pretty sweet feeling. "
"Mhmm."
"Um, I keep trying to run my hand through my hair. But it feels weird with the cast, and anyway, I'm really not supposed to be doing that." Still a lie.
"Right."
"I can't really eat normally either, you know? Holding utensils is awkward, and I can't cut stuff on my own cause I can't put pressure on it. So that's pretty annoying." Nope.
"What else?"
"Normal showers. Not having to be careful when I'm washing my hair."
"Ok."
"I miss… Uh… I miss people." Ah.
"People?" Jannik asks, trying to pretend like he doesn't know this is something of a secret. Something Carlos has never spoken about.
"Yeah," Carlos nods. "I miss people on tour." Jannik holds his sigh, allowing Carlos his momentary retreat into half-truths. "I miss Flavio, and Reilly, and Novak. Um…" he hesitates for a moment. "I miss you, actually."
Jannik holds his breath. This wasn't quite the revelation he had expected, but when he finds Carlos's eyes on him, he sees the truth of it. "I miss you, too," he whispers. The distance between them feels like a needed shield now, like the wisest decision he has ever made.
"And I miss sex," Carlos says after a moment, his exaggerated sigh and the genuine laugh that follows breaking through the tension.
"Ah," Jannik nods. That's closer to what he had expected, and somehow, so much safer. "I'm sure you can have sex with only one hand. If someone can figure that out, I bet it would be you."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Carlos chuckles.
"Nothing," Jannik laughs even as he blushes. "Just, you're a very, um, talented person." When Carlos laughs harder, Jannik feels his cheek aching from his smile. "With your body, I mean. You're very, uh… Just, all around. Yeah." He hides in the collar of his jacket, shaking his head.
When Carlos calms down, he grabs a pillow. "Idiot," he snorts, hitting Jannik with it.
"So, why don't you?" Jannik asks after a moment, holding the pillow between his hands.
"Why don't I what?"
"Figure it out."
"Sex with one hand?" Carlos jokes. When Jannik nods a little awkwardly, he hums. "I have figured it out, actually."
"Have you?" Jannik asks, feeling his blush intensify.
"Mastered it, really."
"Alright," Jannik rolls his eyes, laughing again. "Why do you miss it, then? Why aren't you having sex?"
"I don't think I miss that part, exactly."
"What part?"
"The sex part, Jannik. Keep up," Carlos sighs dramatically. "I don't miss that. I could do that on my own."
"They do say your left hand can feel like it's a different person doing it."
"They say that about my left hand?"
"No, not your…" When Jannik sees Carlos looking at him, amused, he sighs. "You're annoying." He shakes his head, a little frustrated with himself, and unsure why. "Seriously, what's the problem?"
Carlos only considers him for a moment, but it takes everything in Jannik not to squirm. "I guess… It's not as easy to trust someone with, you know, my body, when it feels so fragile. When it doesn't quite feel like it's mine anymore."
"You could never be fragile, Carlos," Jannik breathes out.
"It's a temporary fragility, hopefully," Carlos nods. "But it's… vulnerable, right now. More than usual. More than I knew I could be. And that's what I miss the most about being with someone. The trust of it. Feeling like, for a moment, I could be held and touched and seen. Known."
Jannik swallows thickly, his throat fluttering around the understanding between them. "That's what I miss about you," he whispers carefully. "That's what you make me feel, that the others can't."
"Seen?" Carlos asks, all trace of humor gone.
"Known," Jannik nods. "No one knows me the way you can. I don't think anyone ever will."
Carlos looks at him, really looks at him, and Jannik feels it in his bones. "How scary is that?"
"Terrifying," Jannik says, a breathy laugh punctuating the admission. "I wouldn't trade it for the world." And then, when the silence has stretched beyond recognition, "That's why you have to come back."
"I was planning on it."
"I need you to," Jannik nods. "I…"
The words die on his tongue when Carlos starts moving.
It's a slow thing, careful of so many things – the value of the space between them, the safety he's trading for proximity, his wrist, hovering above the mattress – until he's sitting close enough that his folded knee brushes against Jannik's thigh, his other leg extended between the wall and Jannik's back.
And even now, as the words hang heavy in the air between them and Jannik can see the moment, thick and distorted, happening as though he were floating above his own body, all he can see is how they fit. Two puzzle pieces made of broken, jagged edges, and a magnetic pull to bring them back to each other no matter how, even in places they seemed destined not to quite fit.
"I'm here now," Carlos whispers.
Jannik's gaze drops to Carlos's lips. He licks his own, his mouth uncomfortable dry. "Tell me what you miss the most."
Carlos rests his injured wrist on his own knee, his fingers nearly touching Jannik's thigh. "I miss what I've never had," Carlos murmurs. "What I've dreamed about every night since I last held you in my arms."
The memories of Monte Carlo deepen the heat in Jannik's cheeks. "You felt it too."
"Of course, I did," Carlos sighs. His fingers trace a pattern on Jannik's thigh, abandoning the shyness that has never been necessary between them.
"Tell me," Jannik urges, growing desperate.
"I miss kissing you."
The relief his words grant him is worth a million missed kisses. Jannik looks down, wraps careful fingers around Carlos's right hand, and considers how he will remember this when it has happened. What he wants to take from this moment and keep with him until the end.
Carlos's forehead presses to his shoulder, and he gives a shy laugh. "I shouldn't trust you like this."
"But you do." They watch their fingers wrap together, guided without words or need for them. The drag of skin on skin is heavenly, echoing through Jannik's body as he knows it travels along Carlos's skin. "I would never hurt you," Jannik promises, running his fingers over the curve of the brace where it covers Carlos's wrist.
"Who would know you then?" Carlos asks, his lips brushing against Jannik's arm. The jacket feels unbearably thick.
"You would," Jannik whispers. "You would know me if you could never see me again." Carlos nods. His eyes are closed, his breath heavy, and his hand trembles where it rests on Jannik's thigh. "Do I know you?" Jannik asks, watching emotions he has never seen run along Carlos's face.
"God, I hope so," Carlos sighs, slowly moving closer. His face presses against Jannik's chest, his hair tickling his nose. He smells of shampoo and laundry detergent from lying on his pillow. He smells of a home Jannik has never known, yet knew how to find. "When I opened the door, and I saw you standing there… I felt myself come back to life."
Jannik chokes on words he cannot speak. Instead, he cups Carlos's cheek and brings him up to meet his gaze. There is a redness in his eyes that does not surprise him or break his heart. It's the same tightness he feels in his chest.
The words, it turns out, are not needed. Carlos sighs, the mint of his toothpaste washing over Jannik's cheek, and then he kisses him. It's as simple as breathing, and as heartbreaking, too. His hand covers Jannik's cheek, his thumb running along his cheekbone, as soft as his lips.
Jannik sighs, turning to face him better, and he kisses him back. The distance is an obstacle, but Carlos feels that too, so he moves to straddle him, resting his injured arm across Jannik's shoulders and pressing his left hand to Jannik's beating heart. His tongue runs along Jannik's bottom lip, not demanding more, only enjoying the slowness of them. Perhaps all these years have built to this, or perhaps they could have gone a lifetime without tasting each other. It doesn't matter anymore.
Jannik wraps himself around Carlos, pressing his hands into his back to pull him closer. He finds his skin, warm under his sweater. He laces his fingers through Carlos's hair, running through the untouched strands with the simple pleasure of now knowing how soft it really is.
"My parents are home," Carlos chuckles when Jannik's hand settles on his throat, spanning the fluttering skin, greedy for his heartbeat.
"Do they know I'm here?" Jannik asks, distracted by the taste of Carlos's lips.
"Probably," Carlos nods, sighing when Jannik licks into his mouth. "They wouldn't mind, but…"
"Do you want me to meet them?" Jannik wonders, pausing. His eyes latch onto Carlos's collarbone, peaking out of his collar.
"Hmm, later," Carlos says. He runs his uninjured hand through Jannik's curls before brushing his thumb over one of his eyebrows. "Maybe we could, um…" he hesitates, his fingers softly moving over Jannik's cheekbone to graze the fragile skin under his eye. "You look exhausted."
Jannik nods, feeling the weight of his own body for the first time, as if he can no longer hide what Carlos has already seen. "I am," he admits.
"We could sleep," Carlos offers.
"Here?" Jannik asks, considering the narrow bed.
"Fifteen-year-old me would freak out," Carlos chuckles. "I used to think you were so cool."
"I see. We're fulfilling your teenage fantasy, then?" Jannik says, amused. "I would have expected it to be significantly less domestic."
"Nothing turns me on more than the idea of sleeping in your arms," Carlos laughs, clearly only half joking. "I hope you snore," he whispers before biting Jannik's nose.
"I don't think I do," Jannik shakes his head. "Sorry to disappoint."
"It's ok," Carlos sighs. He presses a kiss to Jannik's lips, then a slower one. "I'll find a flaw eventually."
"You know them all already," Jannik says.
The truth of that sits warmly in his chest. Carlos moves off of him, and Jannik gets to his feet, watching Carlos lie down on his bed. He slips under the cover, closest to the wall, and holds it up to invite Jannik in.
They should not fit. Jannik is sure of it. None of this should work as well or feel as right as it does. But he settles easily next to Carlos, scooping his body into his arms carefully, and finds his lips again. Their kisses are deliciously slow, tongues carefully running along lips and teeth, and Jannik tightens his hold on Carlos's warm body, and it feels, almost absurdly, like this is the exact reason he came all this way.
"I'm so happy you're here," Carlos whispers, reading his mind and cutting through the doubts before they can form. "I can't believe you are."
"I am," Jannik hums. "As long as you'll have me." It's the easiest promise he will ever get to keep.