#carlos alcaraz

[channelslam]

🎾 Carlos Alcaraz for Financial Times’ HTSI (August 2025 Issue)

[barcaism]

reader is also a tennis player and jannik is jealous of carlos and insecure because he thinks that carlos might be a better match for you but you obvi want jannik

Optimal Proximity | J.Sinner

synopsis: in which jannik is oblivious to the fact that you’re pinning for him

pairing: jannik sinner x f!tennisplayer!reader

author’s note: i love this ask!!! thank uuu this was really cute and as an socially awkward person it was super fun to write jannik like this. i think i got carried away but i hope you like it! please enjoy!

words: 2,136

Jannik was not staring.

At least, that’s what he told himself as he leaned against the edge of the balcony, sipping on a lukewarm sparkling water like it was a life preserver in a sea of summer chaos.

You were down by the pool with Carlos again, laughing so hard you nearly doubled over. He said something in rapid Spanish, and you reached out, smacked his shoulder, and collapsed onto the sunbed next to him, giggling like you couldn’t breathe.

Jannik didn’t understand a word of what Carlos had said. He could barely focus on standing upright at this point. All he knew was that your laugh made something flutter violently in his chest. Like a sparrow. Or a heart attack.

“Dude,” Holger Rune said, passing him with a plate of sliders, “just jump in the pool with them or something. You look like a Victorian widow.”

“I’m fine,” Jannik mumbled, gripping his drink tighter. “I’m just—hydrating.”

Holger snorted. “Yeah, well, hydrate a little faster before you die of longing.”

Jannik didn’t reply. He watched as you tossed your sunglasses onto the deck and reached for Carlos’s phone, squinting at something on the screen. You nudged him with your shoulder, your legs swinging freely off the edge of the chair, a small smirk tugging at your mouth.

You were always like this with Carlos—so casual. So unbothered. You didn’t overthink how close you sat to him. Or how loudly you laughed. You just existed around him, and Jannik…

Jannik turned into a malfunctioning Roomba every time you so much as looked at him.

One time you bumped into him outside the locker rooms and apologized with a little grin, and he said “thank you” instead of “no worries.” You laughed and teased him for it, and he nearly had to sit down in the hallway and reevaluate his entire existence.

Another time, you offered him your last protein bar after practice, and he stood there with it in his hand for so long, you thought he didn’t want it.

He did. He just couldn’t figure out if it was a friendship gesture or a coded love confession.

Everything you did sent his brain into interpretive overdrive. The time you asked to borrow his hoodie? He spent the rest of the day analyzing the exact tone of your voice. The moment you brought him back a coffee from your hotel run without being asked? He wrote down the date in his phone notes like it was a national holiday.

And when Carlos leaned over earlier, grinning, and said something that made you laugh so hard you nearly dropped your drink—Jannik almost short-circuited.

Because that was the kind of easy joy he wanted to share with you. But when he got close, his throat locked up. His hands forgot what to do. His mouth spat out words he didn’t remember choosing.

He once told you your backhand was “very optimal.” Optimal. Who even says that?

“Jannik.”

He blinked. Spoke too fast. “What?”

You were standing in front of him now, still damp from the pool, cheeks glowing from the sun, looking at him with that same friendly, breezy expression you gave everyone.

But he swore it meant something more. Or maybe he just wanted it to.

“I asked if you wanted to play doubles,” you said, grabbing a towel from the balcony railing and patting your arms dry. “Carlos and I versus you and whoever you trust with your life.”

He hesitated. “I—I don’t think I brought rackets.”

“You’re literally a tennis player,” you deadpanned, lips twitching.

“Yeah, I mean—of course. I just—left them in my—uh…”

Your smile grew as he flailed for words. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he said quickly, ears flaming. “I’m great. Good. Let’s play.”

Carlos, standing a few feet behind you, caught Jannik’s eye. Gave him a lazy thumbs-up and a look that very clearly read: Get it together, man.

Jannik didn’t. Not even a little bit.

The whole match was a blur of wild shots and distracted footwork on his part. He barely registered the score, just the sound of your voice every time you laughed or called his name across the net. His hands were clammy. His serve nearly hit Carlos once. His shirt clung to him with sweat that had nothing to do with heat.

And when the game ended (you and Carlos absolutely destroyed them), you tossed him a water bottle and said, “We’ve gotta be teammates again next time.”

He nearly dropped it. “Yeah. I mean—okay. That’d be optimal. I mean… good.”

Carlos snorted so hard he choked.

The music was winding down, the backyard quieter now as more players and friends filtered out or crashed wherever they could. Someone had killed the playlist and swapped it for a mellow acoustic set from someone’s Bluetooth speaker. The pool lights glowed a low blue. You were wrapped in a hoodie you thought belonged to Carlos but smelled faintly of citrus and mint—definitely not Carlos.

Jannik hadn’t seen you put it on, and now he was watching from across the patio like someone had yanked the floor out from under him.

You were talking to a mutual friend, face lit up in the glow of your phone screen, and Jannik thought—she looks happy. She’s always happy around everyone else.

Which was kind of the problem.

He knew he couldn’t compete with the easy confidence of guys like Carlos. Knew he’d never be the center of the room. But when it came to you, he found himself wishing he could be someone like that—if only for a night.

“Hey, Jannik,” Carlos’s voice broke into his spiraling thoughts. “You staying here tonight?”

“Yeah,” he said automatically, barely looking away.

Carlos followed his gaze and smirked. “You’re gonna have to share. Every room’s taken. I tried sleeping on the couch but someone brought a cat. Allergies. I’m out.”

Jannik blinked. “Wait—share? With who?”

Carlos just raised a brow and nodded toward you. “Who do you think?”

•

And just like that, Jannik forgot how to breathe.

The room was dim, lit only by the moon spilling in through the blinds. You were on the far side of the bed, under the covers, lying on your back with your hands folded over your stomach like you were trying to hold in a thousand thoughts at once.

You weren’t asleep.

Not even close.

Jannik was on the other side—rigid, shirtless, breathing like he was about to undergo open-heart surgery. The air between you was charged, and he hadn’t said a single word since the two of you laid down.

But you? You’d started talking.

Not in a confident, teasing, “look how chill I am” kind of way. No—you were rambling, bouncing from topic to topic like a ping-pong ball in a wind tunnel.

“Isn’t it weird how olives are either the worst or the best thing depending on the day?”

“No one talks about how weird it is to sleep near people you’ve never slept near.”

“Do you think if I’d gone into volleyball I’d be taller? Like, emotionally?”

“I swear Carlos has a sixth sense when it comes to finding party snacks.”

“…Do you think I talk too much?”

Jannik didn’t answer right away, too afraid to interrupt the rhythm of your voice. Every word from you was another heartbeat. Another reason not to speak, because he was certain that if he tried, it’d come out all wrong.

You turned your head slightly in the dark, and even though he couldn’t see your expression, he could feel it—the shift, the vulnerability. Like maybe you weren’t rambling because you were carefree.

Maybe it was because you were nervous.

That thought alone made something unspool inside his chest.

“You don’t talk too much,” he whispered finally. “I like it. Hearing you.”

There was a pause. A breath. The faintest shift of sheets.

Then you sighed, more relaxed now. “Good. Because I don’t think I could stop right now if I tried. I talk a lot when I’m—well. You know. Nervous.”

Jannik’s heart did a somersault.

You were nervous. Around him.

That revelation alone was enough to short-circuit him, but then you groaned softly and muttered, “God, it’s so cold in here.”

And before he could think twice, before his brain could catch up and slap duct tape over his mouth, he blurted—

“I can come closer.”

It was a whisper. A reflex. A mistake.

The second it left his lips, Jannik stared at the ceiling, wide-eyed, soul already exiting his body.

What did I just say. What did I just say. Why did I say that.

But you didn’t say anything. You just moved.

Shifted across the bed with sleepy shuffling, dragging your blanket with you, until you were just inches away from him, your arm barely brushing his under the covers.

And then… nothing.

You were asleep in seconds. Gone. Breathing slow and deep, cheek pressed to the pillow like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Jannik?

Was having a meltdown.

His eyes were wide open. His limbs locked. His heart pounding so hard it felt like a warning siren.

He could feel your warmth soaking into his side, your foot lightly touching his ankle under the covers. And as if that weren’t enough to melt his nervous system—your hand moved in your sleep. Wrapped around his waist.

She’s cuddling me. She’s asleep and she’s cuddling me. What do I do. What do people do in this situation.

He didn’t know where to put his hands. He didn’t know if he was allowed to breathe.

But eventually, the sheer exhaustion of the day wore him down. Your body was soft and warm against his. Your breath tickled his collarbone. Your grip was loose but sure, like you trusted him—like being this close to him felt safe.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Jannik felt like he was doing something right.

So he closed his eyes.

And let himself fall asleep in your arms.

•

The morning after you fell asleep curled into Jannik, you didn’t speak about it.

Neither of you did.

You both woke slowly, blinking against the quiet light filtering through the blinds, your limbs no longer tangled—but the echo of that closeness lingered. It hovered in the silence between your good mornings. In the small glance Jannik gave you while you stretched and yawned like nothing had happened.

It should’ve felt awkward. Maybe it was awkward.

But it also wasn’t.

It felt like something new had quietly bloomed overnight. Something not yet named, but very much alive.

You started spending more time together—at first, because Carlos invited you both to everything. Then, simply because you started showing up in the same places without needing a reason.

Jannik was different now. Still quiet, still awkward, still more elbow and anxiety than confidence—but now he was paying attention. Really watching you.

He noticed you sniffed every candle in a store like it was instinct. That you always tapped the corners of pages when you read, like a tiny rhythm only you could hear. That you preferred the ends of french fries over the middles, and that you always tilted your head when you were thinking about something too much.

He memorized you in small, quiet ways.

And you? You started associating the most random things with him.

Linen napkins in earth tones? Jannik.

That one sleepy sloth plushie in the gift shop? Jannik.

The smell of mint lip balm? Somehow… Jannik.

Grumpy cats on mugs? Him. Absolutely him.

You didn’t tell him that, of course. Not directly.

But maybe he figured it out anyway, from the way your eyes softened when you saw those things. Or from the way your hugs started lasting a little longer each time.

You hugged everyone. That wasn’t new.

But the way you hugged him—slow, certain, like you didn’t want to let go—it made something in Jannik tighten and swell all at once. He never pulled away first.

And Carlos, saint that he was, didn’t say a word. Just gave Jannik the occasional look: pointed, patient, and maddeningly knowing.

Once, after practice, Jannik offered you his water bottle without thinking. You drank from it like it was the most normal thing in the world. And when you handed it back, fingers brushing his for just a second too long, Carlos walked by, clapped him on the shoulder, and whispered, “You’re welcome.”

Jannik didn’t respond.

But later, in the quiet of his room, he pulled that hoodie you’d borrowed from the laundry pile and held it for a long moment. It still smelled like your shampoo.

He smiled to himself, small and helpless, heart fluttering like it had no idea how to be still anymore.

Something was shifting. Slowly. Tenderly.

But it was shifting all the same.

[cocosgauffs]

the only man ever

[romanticrivalries]

Carlos Alcaraz and "beautiful" whenever Jannik is concerned

[mmmngoc]

this post is dedicated to carlos alcaraz’s big wet brown eyes

[pinkcaraz]

he's so beautiful i need to walk into the ocean

[star-s-631]

-The only thing that can make ice melt is the fire.

Sincaraz:Super power au. Jannik couldn’t control his power when he’s young. He was scared to get someone hurt because of his power so he always kept distance from people. But Carlos came and took his hand. Like this? Yep. Idea post is here

[dailysincaraz]

Umago 2022, Jan on the stands to support his boyfriend 😭😭❤️❤️

We have always been there and we’re not going anywhere.

[channelslam]

📸 Clive Brunskill

[barcaism]

Game, Set, Panic | J.Sinner

synopsis: after sharing a bed and very oblivious mutual pinning, you and jannik are driven by carlos to face your blossoming relationship head-on.

pairing: jannik sinner x f!tennisplayer!reader

author’s note: hello my loves! this is part two of optimal proximity, after the overwhelming love and demands for a part two, here it is! more jannik and reader being the cutest idiots in love, carlos being the greatest wingman of all time + a bonus scene with holger (justice for him honestly) please enjoy!

words: 1,977

It was ridiculous how obvious it had become.

Everyone knew.

Carlos knew, of course—he had known for ages, operating in the background like a subtle matchmaking puppet master. Holger knew, though he pretended to be annoyed by it. Even random staffers and ball kids had started whispering about it. You and Jannik weren’t exactly subtle anymore.

And still, somehow, Jannik couldn’t quite believe it.

He was walking next to you after a match when you reached for his hand without thinking—laced your fingers through his like it had always been yours to hold—and he still had to mentally walk himself through the fact that this was real. That you liked him. That this wasn’t some dream conjured up by his anxious brain.

You had already fallen asleep on him once. You’d already wrapped yourself around him in your sleep, called a cactus "Jannik-coded,” and worn his hoodie for three days in a row. But he still looked at you like you might vanish if he breathed wrong.

It was endearing, really. Painfully so.

And you? You weren’t exactly composed either.

Every time he looked at you—really looked at you, with that soft, intent gaze like you were the only person in the room—you started smiling so hard your face hurt. You bumped into a doorframe once because he called you by a nickname he didn’t even realize he was using.

You knew he liked you. He knew you liked him. But neither of you had said it yet.

And that left Carlos Alcaraz, permanent member of the “Push These Idiots Together” committee, teetering between fond amusement and emotional exhaustion.

It all nearly came to a head one afternoon at a training event, when you were chatting casually with another player—a guy around your age, friendly, a little too confident. He wasn’t flirting outright, but Carlos saw the signs: the extra laughs, the subtle shoulder touches, the way the guy kept leaning in toward you like you didn’t already belong to someone else.

Carlos saw it. So did Jannik—who stood frozen by the lockers, holding a protein shake like it had personally offended him.

Before Jannik could spiral into the void, Carlos was already crossing the room, sliding an arm around your shoulders and flashing a disarmingly charming smile at the other player.

“She’s spoken for, hermano,” Carlos said with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Try someone who’s not dating a six-foot-two ginger with a deadly backhand.”

Your head whipped toward him. “I’m what?”

When you realized what Carlos was trying to do, you quickly agreed—which left Jannik short-circuiting near the bench.

“Say it back,” Carlos mouthed before disappearing.

You found Jannik outside near the practice courts, sitting on the grass with his knees pulled up, staring out at nothing.

You sat beside him, close enough to touch. He didn’t flinch this time.

“Carlos said I’m yours,” you said softly.

Jannik swallowed. “He says things.”

“He says true things.”

He looked over at you then, and the expression on his face nearly broke you—like he wanted to believe it, but couldn’t trust himself with the possibility.

“I just don’t get it,” he admitted, voice barely a whisper. “I’ve never been the guy people fall for. I don’t say the right things. I don’t know how to—”

You leaned in before he could finish, pressing your forehead to his.

“Jannik,” you said, smiling, “you don’t have to know how to do it. You’re just… already doing it.”

He let out a breath, soft and stunned.

“So… you like me?”

“Since Monte Carlo,” you confessed, laughing a little. “And I really thought you didn’t notice.”

Jannik blinked. “I literally forgot how to hold a fork around you. I think I dropped my racquet five times in one match because you were watching.”

You laughed and kissed him. Just a quick press of lips, but it still made him freeze like his brain had blue-screened.

“Was that okay?” you asked, teasing.

“I—I think I’m dying, but in a nice way,” he replied, eyes wide.

•

The team was back together for a charity exhibition: doubles matches, photo ops, sponsors watching. Carlos had, unsurprisingly, talked someone into letting you and Jannik play together. He claimed it was “for fun” and that “everyone wanted to see it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. He didn’t even pretend to look innocent.

From the moment you two stepped onto the court together, it was a disaster—in the most adorable, syrupy, heart-eyes way possible. The draw had you and Jannik up against Carlos himself and some talented, flirty, French player.

You couldn’t stop smiling at each other. Couldn’t make eye contact without bursting into laughter. Every time one of you scored a point, the high fives turned into hand-holding, then back to blushing apologies, then giggling into towels during breaks.

At one point, you dove for a drop shot and landed a little too close to Jannik, your chest nearly colliding with his arm. He reached to help you up, but instead of grabbing your hand, he grabbed your wrist, missed his footing, and nearly fell on top of you.

You both hit the ground, tangled and flustered.

Carlos, on the other side of the net, covered his face. “Ay, Dios mío…”

Holger, watching from the stands with a Gatorade in hand, groaned out loud. “Do they even know we can see them? This is disgusting. And also… kind of cute. Ugh.”

When you finally won the match—by some miracle—you jumped into Jannik’s arms without thinking, legs wrapping around his waist. He caught you, staggered a little, and held on tight like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The crowd cheered. Carlos mock-bowed. Holger looked like he needed a moment of silence.

•

Later, you and Jannik sat on the edge of the court, sweaty and still catching your breath. You leaned into his shoulder, letting your head rest there, and he let out a soft, stunned breath like he was still figuring out how to hold this—how to hold you.

“I really like you,” you said quietly.

He looked down at you, lips parting like he didn’t expect to hear it out loud. “Even when I panic over serving?”

You grinned. “Especially then.”

He smiled, the kind that made his whole face soften. “Okay. Good. Because I’ve liked you for a long time. Even when you ramble for ten minutes about the most random things.”

You shoved him gently. He laughed, then caught your hand before it dropped, lacing your fingers together.

And maybe the timing had been messy, and maybe you both had fumbled every step of the way—but right there, with the sun sinking behind the stands and your hands intertwined, it didn’t feel late.

It felt right.

And Carlos, watching from a distance with his arms crossed, nodded to himself.

“Finally,” he muttered, then turned to Holger, who was pretending to gag. “Bet you ten bucks they’re married by the next tournament.”

Holger rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

Because for once, everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.

Two idiots, hopelessly in love—blushing their way through every step of it.

And finally, finally, on the same page.

•

Holger had no idea what he was walking into.

He thought it would be casual. Chill. A simple post-practice hangout. You had messaged him earlier that day:

"We’re getting food and watching something dumb later. Join us!”

So he said yes.

Because food? Excellent.

Dumb movie? Even better.

Low-effort socializing? Sign him up.

But this—this was not what he signed up for.

He walked into the apartment and immediately regretted every decision that had led him there.

Jannik was on the couch. You were curled up beside him, legs thrown over his lap like that was just your default position now. You were sharing a bowl of popcorn—sharing, meaning you were both picking at the same time and occasionally bumping fingers and pretending not to giggle about it.

Holger stood in the doorway, frozen.

“Hey!” you greeted cheerfully, like you weren’t in the middle of living out a soft indie love story. “We already started the movie but we can rewind!”

“No, it’s fine,” Holger said stiffly, slowly lowering himself into the armchair like it was a trap. “I’ll catch up.”

Jannik looked over. “There’s pizza too, if you’re hungry.”

“Where?” Holger asked.

Jannik pointed. “Kitchen counter.”

He got up to grab some—mainly to escape the couple’s radiating vibes—and returned to find you had now shifted, blanket wrapped around both you and Jannik like a human burrito of shared affection.

Holger sat with the slice in his hand, unmoving, watching as you turned to Jannik mid-movie and whispered something that made him blush and laugh under his breath.

He blinked.

Then slowly pulled out his phone.

Holger [7:14 PM]:

Carlos. I am in hell.

Carlos [7:14 PM]:

With our favorite couple?

Holger [7:14 PM]:

YES. You didn’t warn me it was this bad.

Carlos [7:15 PM]:

LMAO

I warned you for WEEKS. You ignored me.

Holger [7:15 PM]:

They’re SHARING A BLANKET. I haven’t known peace since I walked in.

She just fed him a bite of her pizza.

Carlos [7:15 PM]:

That’s love, bro. Embrace it.

Holger [7:16 PM]:

I’m going to throw myself into the sea.

Or better, throw them into the sea. They’d probably snuggle through that too.

Meanwhile, you and Jannik were fully ignoring him.

You were halfway through a terrible movie—something with talking animals and questionable CGI—and you were fully invested, head resting on Jannik’s shoulder while your fingers traced absentminded circles on his knee.

Jannik didn’t even seem to be paying attention to the movie. His focus was on you—soft smile, hand lightly brushing over your leg, cheeks a little pink anytime you looked at him for more than two seconds.

At one point, you started laughing at a dumb joke on screen, and Jannik smiled so wide it looked like his heart might actually combust.

Holger glanced up from his phone and groaned out loud.

“Do you two need a minute?” he asked, voice dry. “Or a separate room? Or a wedding license?”

You blinked at him, then looked at Jannik.

“Are we being that obvious?” you asked, amused.

“Yes,” Holger said flatly. “You’re blushing in sync. This is unbelievable.”

You and Jannik both started laughing, only making it worse.

Holger turned his phone back on.

Holger [7:18 PM]:

They’re BLUSHING. IN SYNC.

Carlos I’m BEGGING you. Come get me.

Carlos [7:18 PM]:

Nah, you’re good. You need this. Builds character.

Holger [7:19 PM]:

You’re dead to me.

By the end of the night, Holger had resigned himself to his fate. You and Jannik were tucked into your corner of the couch like you’d grown roots there. He’d stopped watching the movie entirely and was instead playing solitaire on his phone, narrating each dramatic cuddle escalation to Carlos in real time.

But when he looked up and saw the way Jannik gently brushed your hair away from your face, and the way you looked at him like he hung the stars—Holger sighed.

Because, yeah. It was kind of cute.

Disgustingly so.

But real.

Still, as he stood up to leave, grabbing his jacket, he made sure to grumble under his breath: “Next time I’m third-wheeling, I’m bringing noise-canceling headphones. Or a blindfold. Or maybe a taser.”

You and Jannik just waved sweetly from the couch.

“Love you too, Holger,” you said with a wink.

He flipped you off without looking back, already texting Carlos:

Holger [9:52 PM]:

They’re going to name their kids after types of pasta. I feel it in my bones.

Carlos [9:52 PM]:

You’re the real MVP for surviving that.

Also, yeah. Their first kid’s definitely a Penne.

[noralia20]

Finally rewrote that one. ❤️

your fics are poetry, soooo romantic and dreamy!!! hoping for jannik angst 👉👈 maybe exes who were in a secret relationship but im trusting your vision hehe thank you🙏🙏🙏

My most beautiful tragedy...

sum up : When secrets and expectations are too heavy, decisions are taken. But can you ever take it back ?

Ahhhh I loved that idea. Still French!reader au, I really like that one. She’s in med school because I just finished my first year (hardest one in France) so small tribute. Have fun ! (there is second part a more focused on Carlos though)

You met when the heat of a spanish summer could fill your lungs, a warth that stuck to your skin just thinking about it and felt like a fever dream. And like many love stories : you weren't where you were supposed to be, and he wasn't supposed to notice your existence.

Your father was one of the elected physician that were invited to a training camp in Valencia. It was his job, he was always all around the world, following future sports stars and helping their body keep up with their rising dreams. That summer you had tagged along, just because Lille had become a little too suffocating for your teenage mind. The promise of the spanish summer and its freedom was much more enticing than staying in the north of France. Though you weren't allowed to wander the grounds, especially at night. A strict rule your father had put up for you to respect the tennis camp's rules and schedules. But like any rules at that age, you made sure to not respect them, obviously. .That is how you found yourself slipping away barefoot frome the guest quarters during a hot summer night as you trailed into the shadows of the clay courts.

That’s when you saw him.

He was tall, a shadow in the darkness as he moved with precision. He had his hood on, letting only a few curls escape as he bounced the tennis ball against the court wall. The ryhtmic thum of the tennis ball meeting your heartbeat. You recognized his figure, who wouldn't. The rising Italian star. Jannik Sinner. La volpe. Even back then, people whispered about him like he was more comet than boy. Rising star. Future number one. Or that's what they all said. He was the incarnation of humility and class.

You almost tripped against a rock, making him turn around. He looked surprise to find someone there. “You’re not supposed to be here,” he said, voice soft, in accented English.

You felt your ears going red. His beautiful eyes were on you, and you felt like the whole world was watching. Maybe your future whole world ? You smiled timidly, balancing your weight on your feet. “Neither are you.”

And at simple as it looked, that's was the beginning fo everything. At first it was all teenage innocence : shared glances over protein bars and taped ankles, secret midnight walks under the orange trees behind the courts. He showed you his world in the deep ways you never saw from your seat. He taught you how to serve while the stars were the only spectators. And you taught him how to curse in French. And the thrill of staying quiet and avoiding any suspicions made it all better. It was a secret nobody knew existed and was only for the two of you to keep sacred.

Of course nobody could know. Not your friends, his team and especially not your father. It began as a funny little flirt. A summer fling that would fade. But destiny has a way to keep you twisted in the ropes of your love. You kept goign after that summer. And months bled into years, and the secret only grew deeper, heavier. Like something precious you'd buried in the crest of your ribs.

And soon, 3 summers had passed and spring of 2022 made its entrance. You were now both adults, not the teens who met on that court. But that pure and simple love never faded, but could never escape the shadows of your secret.

When you would go to the same destination, you would handle the airport alone, never by his side. You wished you could board with him, sind sole silly and overpriced things in the dutyfree. But it would mess up all those year of secret where you were trapped in.

So you had to stand back, like a spectator of your own secret. And you watched. Watched his matches in silence, heart clenched every time his name was shouted into stadiums full of strangers. When you passed him in the corridors of the court between his two interviews, you finger twisted to just reach for him. But you did nothing, he kept walking, his gaze striaght ahead. And you stayed in the dark, just as you'd agreed. Because you thought your love was like that.

And when the night fell, when all the eyes weren't on him, he allowed himsemf to call you, to hold you. All of it trapped in the privacu of the walls of his hotel room as he whispered his love in corner of your ears. His words melting into a mix of Italian and English. "You’re my world, even if no one knows it," he used to say. And you believed him.

That was until 2023.

That week was silent. You knew silence, it part of the act. But this time it was bone deep, like a rythm miising in the back ground. He didn’t call that week. Not even a text. You knew something was wrong, but you waited. You always waited.

And when he finally came around, it wasn’t to see you. It was to end it.

The quiet hotel room in Monte Carlo was suffocating, at least that's hw you remember it now. He was a few hours from one of his big matches, one you would attend in silence like always. You remeber the look he had in his eyes. How hee didn’t look like yours anymore. He had cut his hair shorter, his smile was dimmer. He spoke in short, clean sentences. Clinical. Controlled. As if you were the media and not his girlfriend.

“I can’t do this anymore.” It was simple. Just five words that resumed the end of 5 years of relationship. It was almost too simple that it made you laugh. Not because it was funny, but because it felt impossible. “Do what exactly?”

“This,” he said, gesturing between the two of you. “Us.” Your world cracked like a frozen lake that was too fragile to step on. “Why?”

He didn’t answer at first, and it didn't look like he was trying to find the right words either. He just looked down at his hands, his broad hands that knew your body by the heart. Those hands you used to kiss after every match, where he would light up the court like firework. “Because it’s too complicated,” he said finally. “Because people wouldn’t understand. My family wouldn’t. The public wouldn’t.”

Your voice was hollow, the life was living your body. Your heart was ripping apart. “I thought that’s why we kept it secret. To protect it.” You tried to keep your voice steady but your facial expression said otherwise. He didn’t meet your eyes and you craved to see the green in them. “I need to focus on my career. I have a shot now. A real one. And I can’t… I can’t afford distractions.”

“Is that what I was to you?” you asked, heart breaking open. “A distraction?” He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no. You left before you started crying. And he didn't try to stop you.

And tha's how it all ended. In silence just like it begun. No one ever knew you'd loved each other. Not even your father. And to the world he was a comet, a rising star that shone like fire with no holding back, not even love. And you remained a ghost of his past, a girl who loved in silence but so hidden she was no better than a fan. And those memories you shared, so secret that if both forgotten them, they would never exist.

But you remembered.

You remembered the way he kissed your fingers when you were cooking together in your small apartment. The way he once whispered, "Vorrei l'eternità, ma non so se me lo merito." (“I want forever, but I don’t know if I deserve it.”) You remembered being his secret, and how beautiful and lonely that made you feel.

You didn’t break in the way anyone would expect. Not even yourself. You didn't break like a plate shattering on a kitchen's floor during a fight that was taken too far. No, it was slower, more like an ice cream melting on your fingers, making it more and more uncomfortable.

Yes, there were nights where the silence screamed louder than it ever did before. Where you sat on your bedroom floor in Lyon, clutching a dark red hoodie that still smelled faintly of clay and mint and heartbreak. What were you doing... He didn't even like playing on clay...

But you didn’t fall apart. You rebuilt. piece by piece you stuck back your broken heart. And you never told anyone. Not even your roommate in Lyon, the one who knew how you liked you favourite drink and when you needed space. Not the girls in your study group, or the boy who tried to flirt with you in anatomy class. Not your father, especially not him.

Because now you were used to the silence that followed Jannik and you. You carried him like a scar righ on the suraface of your heart, but deep anough to still burn at night. Piece by slow, stubborn piece, you found yourself again. Med school in Lyon was grueling, sometimes you couldn't recognize yourself. So you focused on the textbooks, the only thing grounding you to the world that kept on turning. After a while, your hands stopped trembling. Your gaze no longer searched the crowd for a tuff of red heard and sparkling green eyes, for someone who had erased you.

You also stopped watching tennis. Unfollowing every platform that would keep you upp on how he was doing out there. And so when people talked about a certain Jannik Sinner, the new golden boy, all you did was nod vaguely. As if you barely knew who they meant.

You told yourself that maybe if you forgot the curve of his jaw in candlelight of a Monte Carlo rooftop. Or if you blanked out the way he whispered your name in between two languages, the memories would finally dissolve. Because if no one else knew… then none of it had ever existed.

But again, destiny and life had planned out other things for you, with what they would call an almost comic timing. Six months passed like that. You didn’t speak his name, even in your head. You finally forgot how his voice sounded like.

Until a storm came around your now perfectly rebuilt world. And that storm was called Carlos.

Carlos Alcaraz was an absolute hurricane in human form. he washed everything and you didn't know if the chaos that awful or peaceful. Even through the screen you could feel the contagious joy. You had known him from the sidelines of Jannik’s world. The loud one. The rival. The one who made crowds chant and girls scream. The one your ex always eyed with a kind of quiet, respectful wariness.

You hadn’t expected him. It always starts like that afterall. Not in a sun-soaked café in Nice. Not with that kind of smile, the kind that came with heat and history. He was visitting and looking around the city and he looked like a tourist. The kind french people could trace down ust by looking at them for less than 30 seconds. It was easy, tourists were always looking up.

But now, Carlos looked at you like you were the sun and he was done orbiting anyone else. He recognized you instantly. You weren’t sure whether that surprised you or not.

“Eres la hija del médico, ¿verdad?” ("You're the doctor's daughter, right?") he said, with a crooked grin and far too much mischief for one afternoon. He must have met your father and see you from afar to some trainings. "You’re the girl who disappeares." And you knew he was right. You rolled your eyes, trying to not reflect his smile and keep your french brooding act. “And you’re the boy who never learned to stop flirting without noticing himself.”

He laughed, it was loud, warm, unashamed. The kind of laugh Jannik never allowed himself to have much in public. A laugh that crinckled the eyes and made people forget why they were upset.

You expectedhim to flirt that day, but he didn't, he stayed and listened. He talked truthfully. About his life, his hometown, his family. About how hard it was to find friends who didn’t want something. About how he hated suits and ties and events where people spoke only to be heard. He opened up and didn't ask you to open up in return.

You were cautious around him, like a tango where you kept your distance. You had every right to start such a dance. And in someway he understood without even knowing the reason. Carlos kept showing up, never pushed. And the spaniard was persistent.

Not in a way that overwhelmed, but in a way that made you laugh when you hadn’t meant to. He texted you memes at 2 a.m., sent you pastries after your night shifts, even memorized your class schedule just to call while you walked home in the busy streets.

He didn't wander in places that were risky, he stayed on the ground and built something solid and let you wander if you wanted to. He didn't touch the still fresh wound of your heart and just contributed to help you rebuild around it.

Carlos was loud — in his affections, in his joy. Where Jannik had whispered, Carlos shouted. Where Jannik hid you like a secret, Carlos made you his muse. He gave you the world just for you to look at him. It was like the air he breathed became less necessary compared to your smile in his eyes.

He didn't find the key to your heart. He let you open the door yourself. And slowly, painfully, you invited him in.

He was everything Jannik wasn’t. Not better. You couldn't compare such different men. Just… different.

Carlos was loud in every way. Laughed with his whole chest. Took pictures of you at the worst moments and made them his phone background. He posted you after a few months. Because he communicated, because he trusted you and this relationship. And when the press caught on, expecting some gossip and maybe a scandal from tennis’s golden playboy, they got something else instead.

They got a man whose smile softened when he looked at you. Who would visibly look for you in any crowds and smile like a kid spotting his parents at a recital. Because showing up for Carlos was your way of loving him, and for him it was perfect.

He became another man to the media. A man who took you to Ibiza, yes, but who never once left you behind. Never even giving the chance to doubt his love for you. A man who would openly describe you and tell anyone how much he loved you. A man who even started to learn your language when he still had trouble with English sometimes. Who never made you feel like a secret. More like a grand painting that only him was allowed to touch in the museum of his life.

He held your hand in airports.

He called you hermosa in interviews like it was your new name.

And maybe, just maybe, you were beginning to believe that love didn’t have to be hidden to be real.

Before you even noticed, life went along, the earthkept spinning and your love tangle with Carlos. The day you passed your sixth-year med exams, Lyon was bursting with early summer heat. You stood on your balcony, tired and proud, champagne glass in hand, the city pulsing softly around you. The horns of cars in the distance, the light june air against your skin as you watched the sky turn pink.

And that was also the day Jannik became number one.

You saw the headline by accident, scrolling through your phone to find a song to your story about your successful exam.

Jannik Sinner, the New World No. 1 #S1NNER

And for a moment, your breath caught. Not in the way it used to catch when you saw him on the screen years ago. He changed, not in a bad way.

You stared at the screen, at his name. His photo. His triumph. You imagined the joy of tonight and what relief it held that he had accomplished his dream. Just like you did. But apart.

He did it.

Without you.

And for once you stared at the screen and felt...nothing. Like a news flash that went by and that soon you would forget. He was nothing to you now, erased by everything you built without him. And in that way, you were successful too. You raised your glass to the sky, the bubbles fizzling up,as if to toast the past, to that quiet, hidden boy who once kissed you behind tennis courts and told you you were everything, even when he was too afraid to say it out loud.

“Félicitations,” (“Congratulations,”) you whispered, to no one really. And then you turned your phone face-down, walked back inside, and into Carlos's arms, where you belonged now.

He had everything.

He had the number one title in ranking. More and more trophies. The legacy. Everything he’d ever told himself he wanted. Everything everyone expected him to get.

And yet.

Sometimes when he was finally alone in the silence of hotel rooms that smelled of fresh and clean sheets, he would lie awake and feel like he’d forgotten how to breathe. The cameras had becomed his shadows, like a constant surveillance of his every move. Because that's the thing when people don't know much about you, it furstrates them and they try to find signs in your moves and words. Like a paranoia.

He was the golden boy, the pride of Italy. And still, some days, he woke up and felt... hollow.

The dream was real, it was right there in the palm of his hand. Theis dream he had traced from the moment he took back a racket of tennis at 13. He had climbed the mountain, conquered the court, made history, but he had lost the only thing that made it all feel worth it.

He had lost you.

Originally, he told himself it had been necessary. It was strategic and calculated. Anyone made sacrifices to achieve some things, right? He couldn't not loose a few feathers while reaching the top. That’s what everyone said.

He had to embody focus, discipline, control.

But you... You had been everything but that. You were the laughter that sounded like bells chiming in the middel of a spring night, you were the warmth of a fire after an afternoon skiing, you were the voice that haunted him when he lost a match. When he was with you it was like he had discovered new colors he could onlly reach when he saw your smile. But he blamed those pretty colors to be distracting and pulling his mind away from the real goal. He was addicted t the colors and he thought it made him weak, that needing someone made him weak.

But you had never been his weakness. You had been his home. And when he let you go, the colors of the world seemed dimmer but he told himself you'd wait. Or maybe you'd fade like the colors. Either way, he’d be fine.

But then came Carlos. A hurricane without any rainbows after.

At first it was rumors and pictures, the ones from Madrid, Ibiza, Roland-Garros. The internet couldn’t get enough of it: Carlos Alcaraz and the mystery girl who tamed him. The one who made the golden boy of Spain settle down.

Jannik scrolled through them, thinking he would feel nothing out of it. Well that was before he saw the look in your eyes, the warmth he recognized and had once belonged to him. The sparkle that erupted out of your irises like a june 2nd when you looked at him.

You looked happy. Radiant. The secret that had held you in a tint bird box was no longer holding you back. And you had found a poet ready to make you his muse. You didn’t need to hide anymore. You weren't in the shadows, waiting for phone calls at midnight. You were front-row now, your smile splashed across timelines and headlines. Carlos held your hand like he couldn’t bear to let go. Like he never would.

It made Jannik sick in the pit of his stomach. He was physically torn, and his breath caught just seeing the proofs his eyes had refused to see. It was not out of bitterness, but out of guilt. Out of grief.

Because when he saw those images, he close his eyes and behind his eyelids were engraved the moment he broke your heart. He remembered your silence after he ended it. How you didn’t fight, didn’t beg. You just... left. And he had convinced himself that meant you didn’t care as much. That letting go of someone because you loved them was some poetry bullshit.

Anna came after. She was blonde as anyone would expect, elegant, and photogenic. And more importantly, she was your opposite in personnality.

The media called them a "match". Publicly perfect. She balanced his awkwardness, and he balanced her fire.

But Jannik always felt like he was wearing someone else’s suit. Something too tight, too glossy. Like he was holding the wrong role in a scene he didn't know the scenario of. So he resorted to pretending. He smiled on red carpets, posed for campaigns, stood beside someone who looked like a partner but never felt like one. Anna loved the spotlight. She thrived in it.

And him? He just wanted to escape it some days. He liked the quiet dinners. He wasn't really romantic in what Anna would expect. And he craved a connection only the right person and the right amount of time would bring. A person like you. His person.

He tried to drown in work as a coping mechanism. Everyday became a blend in a routine : the gym, practice, tournament after tournament. Until tennis was the only voice in his life. The only path he could walk towards because he had made his choice.

But the quiet always came back. And in that quiet that axphyxiated his soul, he missed you.

The news came like a thunderbolt in the middle of summer. So loud yet you didn't see it coming. Though it was presented as a card in his mailbox in early January, 2025.

He missed it, the letter absentmindly burried under a ton of papers in his living room, unopened.

But the whispers in locker rooms became louder and soon it morphed into headlines on social media: a diamond ring on your hand, shining under the Spanish sky.

At first, he called it fake news, people could do anything with AI these days.

But then came the official post. A photo of your hand, the same hand he once kissed at dawn, now enveloped Carlos’s, ring glittering like a promise. And it clicked

That night he rushed back to his apartment, goign through the papers on the coffee table. I wasn't real, it couldn't be. He finally found the pristine but simple letter. And his hand shook as he opened, and soon the whole world crashed on his head as he read the beautiful letter in your handwriting.

Engagement party of Y/N M/N L/N and Carlos Alcaraz Garfia

Set for June 2025, between Grand Slam commitments

A calligraphy he would recognize everywhere, that he used to find in the small notes you left hidden in his locker the summer you met. The words blurred for a moment. He set the card down. Picked it up again. Read it twice more, just to be sure. A photo fell out of the envelope. And there you were, not a blurry photo taken by some paparazzi this time, not a passing rumor. No, you were smiling. Laughing. It was in France, he recongized the architecture. It was taken in a cold afternoon while you were huddled in a coat. He was holding you in front of a cafe, his smile brighter than the sun.

And bellow the photo was written : in Nice, where it all began, where it will begin again. He guessed it was the place you first met, and where he had proposed. Fuck, he was romantic in such simple and deep ways...

And then it hit him like a truck. He thought it would pass. That you and Carlos were a phase. A fling. He thought the fire between them would die out, the way so many short-lived romances do. The way yours did.

But it didn’t.

It bloomed.

And now, you were marrying him.

You were going to marry Carlos, the boy Jannik used to beat on the court, and now the man who had everything Jannik had thrown away carelessly. And even worse : he had to watch it happen.

Late May, Paris

You didn't notice how six months had passed until you could heard the birds singing. These past months were joyful, exhausting, sun-drenched and stormy in the ways only a life on the move can be.

It was the first season where you followed Carlos through this whirlwind, hopping from one city to the next, his hand always finding yours in airports, press rooms, hotel elevators. He held on like a man would hold on to his most precious gear in a fight. You were his lucky charm this season and he didn't have any intention to let you go. And that for the rest of his life, like he had promissed you back in december in Nice. And you never asked for more.

And together, between wins and loss, you planned a wedding. Your wedding. The plan was for it to be simple, small. Spanish countryside during december, during his off season. Olive trees. White linen. A family meal under the stars. You didn’t want extravagance — just honesty, and the beginning of a forever.

And his family helped. His mother helped with the venue. His father insisted on the music. His cousins would all be there, loud and dancing before the sun even set. Because you were family too now. It was going to be perfect.

But first you had the engagement party to deal with. And it was trickier too. Being in Paris made the organisation easier, since you had a few friends who could help.

And Carlos, bless his heart, was like a knight in shining armor. He made eveything possible for it to be perfect in an imperfect way. He would help you dring long nights on the hotel rooms floor as you choose some canapes together, not that his stomach minded. And truly, watching him with a mouth full and crumbs on the corner of his lips was making you go insane. To be honest, nights like this often ended up fervently tangled in bed.

One of those nights, he mentioned inviting a few tennis friends. "Not too many," he promised, scrolling through names on his phone. "Just the ones who matter."

You hadn’t thought about it. Hadn’t realized the possibility until it was too late.

Because of course Jannik would be on that list. Carlos liked him, respected him. Called him “mi rival favorito.” Jannik had congratulated him publicly when you got engaged. Of course Carlos wouldn’t see any reason not to invite him.

Because he didn’t know. And still no one did.

Not about the summer nights hidden behind a court in Spain. Not about the quietness of a secret that burned in your ribcage before consuming you frome inside. Not about being a ghost in a story that rewrote itself with your stolen pen. He only saw the part where you stiched yourself back up ater an injury you never told him about. You never told Carlos, not because you were hiding, but because it didn’t belong in your now. It was part of another life. One you buried gently, and hoped would stay quiet.

But the earth was moving underneath the grave and the ghost of it still breathed sometimes.

The night had fallen on the capital, a chill ran through the open window, soft with spring. Roland-Garros roared in the background of the city. Carlos had just come back from another win. You had watched and let him enjoy while you went to a small apartment your friend lended you during the tournament and preparations of the party.

He entered the living room, smeling of citrus soap and victory. He sat behin you on the wooden floor, encastering between his legs and arms from behind. He let his hand resting loosely over your stomach. You relaxed against him, flicking through the last few details, like the flower arrangement.

He looked at you like he always did, full of unshakable belief. And then he asked, voice low in the quiet dark: “Estás segura?” (“Are you sure?”)

You turned toward him, his chin resting against your shoulder. “About what?” He hesitated, then tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “About us. About the wedding. About everything. You’ve been quiet lately.”

Some people would mistake it as insecurity, as suspicion. But it was love, laced with concern. He knew himself, he was sure of it, and he was ready to go through. Carlos never needed reassurances for himself, he needed to know you felt safe. That this path was a choice, and you were ready to step in it with him.

You inhaled deeply, then nodded, forehead pressing to his. “Yes. I’m sure.” And you were.

Because if Jannik had once loved you in secret, hidden so far you forgot you even existed. Carlos had loved you out loud.

And while Jannik left to chase gold on a trophy. Carlos stayed and built a home. And because even now, with the past rising like fog in the corners of your thoughts, you knew one thing clearly:

This was where you were supposed to be.

“I don’t doubt you,” you whispered. “I just… want to do this right. It matters to me. You matter.”

Carlos smiled, slow and certain. He squeezed your middle gently. “Then we’ll do it right. Together.” He looked so cute, trying to contain his joy and not really knowing how to express it out loud. So you did the first thought that came through because you could. And you kissed him, long and deep, anchoring yourself to the truth you’d chosen. Even if ghosts walked the aisle too.

Even if one pair of green eyes watched from the crowd, wondering what might have been.

Roland-Garros Final, June 2025

Those days felt like a fire burning the moment the sun was up. They felt tingly, like history was already scribbling on a paper for a new scenario, a new event. And today it was about the final.

Rolland Garros was fizzling like some Rémois Champagne. The sun was already high, the crowd arriving with a tense anticipation and it felt like the whole city was counting their next breath. It was a final everyone was hoping to watch : Jannik Sinner versus Carlos Alcaraz. Two rivals and two of the best players in the world. And one was trying to keep his crown on the clay while the other was trying to steal it.

And you, you were in the stands, trying not to crumble.

Your sunglasses became a shield from more than the sun, but from two stars that were about to collide. Two part of your words. They were your armor, a barrier between you and a world that didn’t know. That just knew you as the girl who transformed the Spanish beast into a lover boy under your eyes. But they didn’t know you had kissed both men. That you had themThat had loved one and lost him. Had built a life with the other.

You sat next to his family and friends. You were fiddling nervously with your hands. You knew he could do it. He had done it before, just last year. You felt his mother’s hand squeeze yours, her hand warm and light. And she whispered in rapid Spanish which you now understood after years of spending his off season around them. His father clenched his fists beside you like he was trying to will the ball across the net.

You clapped. You cheered. You smiled. You could only do that, the dice were currently being rolled.

But from behind the shade of your sunglasses, you couldn’t help your eyes from trailing a little longer on a figure that used to be so familiar. On a vibrant tuff of red hair tousled with sweat. His green eyes sharp as he stared down his opponent’s moves.

Regardless. Jannik looked… empty.

At first, he had the upper hand. The first two sets had been his. He owned them, ready to win against the king of clay’s heir. He stayed distant and cold blooded under the pressure. As always he was efficient, almost cruel in his precision. Carlos fought, with all his will and heart. He knew that if he had to crawl by the end of this match : he would. But Jannik had been on another level.

Until he wasn’t. Until something cracked and Carlos went through that tiny weakness of the Italian player.

You felt it before it happened. It was like the air shifted, like gravity reversed but this time back around Carlos.

And Carlos rose.

Set three. Set four. The crowd was screaming both with disbelief and incredulity. Carlos grinned through the chaos, wild and radiant. You were standing up and down, your heart was pounding so loud it blocked out tthe crowd and empire. Jannik's serve wavered, his unbreakable facade crumbling in real time like dry clay.

Set five was war and the two soldiers faced each other fiercly. The air didn't seem like a necessity to your lungs anymore.

And finally, after a fight that lasted 5 hours and 29 minutes, where you went through too many emotions: Carlos won.

You saw the way the last ball landed on the ground. Thae way he let himself slip on the clay, falling on his back, his hands to his face. You watched his chest rises up and down animated with something between a laugh or a cry of relief.

He collapsed to his back, hands to his face. And then he was up, congratulating his opponent and shaking the umpire's hand before he took off running.

You wondered how he still had energy in his body, but everyone knew why. It was because he was running back to you breathless and laughing. You stood in front of the steps, smiling so wide your cheek hurt, tears already on the corners of your eyes.

He jumped through the steps guiding him to the stands. And just launched at you and embracing you so tight you thought the world had disappeared. He lifted vou off vour feet, spinning you around as you laughed. This very moment would be forever in your mind, and story to tell to the future you woul build. Because right night your love was infinite. He had truly won everything, including your heart, through loss and win.

On the opposite side of victory, the loser had to swallow his downfall. Jannik was sitting at his bennch, processing what just happened and how he lost so much during this match.

He had lost before. But this ? This was shattering. Because in between his points and serves, he realized something that terrified him. For once he wasn't playing for himself, for once this wasn't just a game. This was a fight, and it was not against Carlos. He was trying to beat himself because all ha wanted to win was a woman in the stands, cheering and crying for you. That woudl synchronize your heartbeats with you and understand when to speak or stay silent.

He was fighting for you. And he has lost it all.

He dared to look just one moment. And he saw you in his embrace, sobbing in relief as you traced his smiling face. He turned away immidiately. Because your brain recognized home in your arms. But you were no longer his. He felt his mouth twisting into a pained expression he tried to suppress.

Carlos had truly won everything. The title and the girl. And Jannik came to the realization that he gave it all up. A part of his privacy, love and happiness. And for what ? To lose it all in one go like gambling ?

And for the first time, when Jannik had to make a speech, he couldn't find the words in English. Not because he was tired, but because he was grieving the life he could have had and that was laying out in front of him. And he wasn't the main character this time.

When the sun dipped on this historical day, you stepped out in the corridor to leave Carlos to wrap it up with the interviews before going to celebrate. Your heart couldn't stop buzzing in your chest. Well it stopped when you spotted him. Jannik was walking towards the exit and it seems like his green eyes were already looking for yours. You nodded politely towards him and it took him a moment to return the gesture. And when he walked past you, you couldn't help but whisper : "You played well today."

That made him visibly stop mid step for just a half second before he resumed to walking, eyes up front. "So did he." And he disappeared like that.

June 11th, 2025 — Paris

Engagement Party

The room was everything Paris promised at night. It was like time had stop frome the moment it was built and gold replaced the dust in the air.

It was the top of an Haussmannian building, The room effortlessly elegant in a french way but still warm from the people filling it. You thanked yourslef for choosing such a honey-colored lightening. You smiled as real laughter, not rehearsed, illed the room. People were truly happy because this wasn't a show for appearences. It was a reunion with two family that will melt into on, with your world and his. There was no hesitation in the love floating in the air.

You stood by Carlos, hand resting lightly on his arm as people drifted past — family, old friends, a few faces from the tour. Everyone had something to say, a compliment to offer, a toast to give. You passed around canapés with a smile so effortless it seemed carved from light, your cream dress dancing gently around your legs as you moved.

Carlos couldn’t stop looking at you, it was very obvious, not that he ever tried to hide it. In between your words, as you were launched into somehting passionate, he would reach for your hand, pressing soft kisses along your knuckles to linger against your engagement ring. He would sometime steal you away or whisper something in your ear that made you throw your head back in laughter

You didn’t notice the pair of eyes watching you from across the room.

And that it belonged to a certain Italian.

He leaned againt a white wall, out of the crowd and its rythm. He was like a ghost hanging for something he will never have and stuck to this place for eternity.

You still hadn't noticed his presence. You were in a deep conversation with your grandmother, clinging to your fiancé's arm. You looked like the happiest woman in the world, glowing from the inside out like the Eiffel tower when the sun was gone.

He noticed the way each of you were proud to flaunt the other to different family member. How your fingers brushed his back when you passed him a flute of champagne. Every gesture subtle, intimate, natural, like you’d been doing it your whole life. Or the life before.

And for a moment, and for maybe the rest of his life, Jannik hated himself. Because he had known that version of you first. Far before Carlos even knew you breathed the same oxygen.

He had known it all : the quiet intimacy, the soft glances, the words invented by a mix of three languages meeting. He had built a love language with you. He had known every crevice of your soul — your fears, your dreams. He had noticed every crunch of your nose when you were loosing at some game. Or the way you used to close your eyes when the Spanish sun set too fast. He had held you in secret like a treasure he wasn’t brave enough to claim.

And now here you were. Shining. Loved. Belonging.

To someone else.

To him.

Jannik's hand clenched around the stem of the champagne coupe he hadn’t touched. He only snapped out of it when a head of blond hair appeared beside him in a flash of red, the shimmer of her gown catching the light like a mirror. She offered the glass with a flirtatious tilt of her head. She didn’t seem to notice how the dress was catching more attention than it should. Or she simply didn’t care, basking in the attention it gave her. Like a drop of blood on a piece of paper.

“You’re brooding again,” she teased lightly, her voice dripping with effortless glamour. “Smile. People are watching.” Her tone had meant to be soft, but it ended up being tight. Like a mother correcting her child.

He took the glass without meeting her gaze, pasting on a half-smile that felt like glass in his mouth. He was too shy and too polite to reflect on her tone. And he didn’t have the energy for yet another fight. “Ovviamente.” ("Of course")

But she didn’t listen, she never did. It was like he was the spectator to their own relationship. She was already turning away, laughing at something someone said about her dress, soaking in the attention like it was a drug. She didn’t notice he wasn’t drinking. She never asked if he was okay.

He didn’t care. Not really.

Because from across the room, he could hear your contagious laugh. He didn’t have to look, he could already imagine the way you would throw your head back and hold your chest. He turned just as you let Carlos pull you closer with his hand at your waist, again, always.

And Jannik couldn’t help but stare at the perfect bridal picture that was painting itself without him in the back.

At you.

The future Mrs. Alcaraz.

After all the smiles, the kisses on cheeks, the congratulations that blurred into one, you slipped away quietly.

Your fingers pushed past the linen curtain, revealing a stone balcony bathed in moonlight. It was like a secret place, not really hidden but you’d have to have the courage to go behind the curtains. You felt the summer air brushing between your limbs as you finally emptied your lungs for the first time this evening. The only sound was the capital never going to sleep and your heels against the aged stone. You stepped closer, leaning against the railing. You took in the beautiful scenery. You had seen it before but tonight it looked different. The balcony was narrow and elegant, stone railing carved with age and care. The night stretched beyond you, the rooftops of Paris lit in a haze of golden windows and blue twilight. From here, the city hummed like a living thing.

Paris looked like it was holding its breath, waiting for an event to happen. Cars passed slowly beneath, lights flickered from distant windows, and the air buzzed with quiet life. And beside all those lights, something else gleamed.

You glanced down at your hand.

The diamond shimmered, catching the light. Carlos had chose the perfect model, preserving a family ring for later. It held a promise, a future, a life you chose and that chose you back. It should have felt heavy but it was lighter than a feather. You smiled. And then-

“Congratulazioni.” ("Congratulations.")

His voice sliced through the silence. It felt too unfamiliar to keep you relaxed now. Your spine straightened and the air felt freezing. Slowly, you turned your head just enough to see him standing there, only steps away. In his tux, he used to not be comfortable in those, but now it suited him more than you cared to admit. Jannik.

He looked at ease, his hands in his pocket but his face said something else. Jannik stepped up beside you, but kept his distance, almost two meters away, like the space between you had been measured in guilt. His tie was slightly loose like he’d been tugging at it all night. Maybe he lacked oxygen like you did.

But your heart didn’t flutter. This time it clenched. “Thanks,” you said curtly, your voice steady despite the pounding in your ears.

He shifted awkwardly, hands in the pockets of his slacks, gaze flicking between the skyline and the back of your head. “It’s… really nice out here.”

You didn’t answer. It’s not like there was anything to say. He tried again.

"You look…" he began, but the words fumbled, vanishing from his brain when he needed them most. "Happy. You look happy." Really Jan ? Of all the thoughts you had, those are the one you chose ?

You stayed silent, eyes locked on the skyline. Maybe Paris would give you the answers?

"I didn’t expect… I mean, I didn’t know you'd-"

"Get engaged?" you cut in flatly. It slipped out that way. "That tends to happen when people fall in love."

The silence between you was taut. Painful. The noise from inside became muffled behind the glass. Out here, there were no photographers. No spectators. Just ghosts of a love that seized to exist, ghosts in the city of love.

You sighed and turned, you were about to leave. No, he had to keep there just for a moment more or he would regret it forever. So he didn’t think before talking. “Have you been back to Spain lately?”

You stopped in your track, turning to look at him like he had a third eye in the, the middle of his forehead. Still you stayed silent. He exhaled a short, bitter laugh. “God, I sound stupid.” You closed your eyes. “Then stop talking.” That quieted him. For a moment. Then something inside him cracked.

“I can’t believe it.” Your jaw tightened at his next words. He couldn’t get more stupid could he ? “What is ‘it’.”

“I mean- this... all of this. You. Him. The ring. I-It can’t be real. I didn’t think- I didn’t know.” You turned to face him now, your back no longer a shield. “What didn’t you know, Jannik?” His nqme felt butter and raw on your tongue. It was pronouncing a language you had forgotten or tried to.

His eyes were frantic, chest rising fast. “That you were it, the one. That leaving you was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. I thought it was for the best. That you’d hold me back. That we’d outgrow each other. That it wouldn’t last. But I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong—”

“Jannik—”

“Please.” His voice cracked. “Please don’t marry him. Don’t do this. Not yet. Not to me.”

Your hands gripped the stone railing until your knuckles paled. You couldn’t recognize him anymore. He took a step closer, voice breaking with every syllable. “I’ll end things with Anna. I’ll go public. I’ll tell the world everything. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I don’t care if you hate me for the rest of our lives- just let me be in it. You can hold what I did against me for the rest of our lives, I don't care, just be mine. Just… let it be me.”

You stared at him. Eyes wide. Mouth parted. And then— You laughed. Not because it was funny. Because it was unbelievable.

“Let you be in it?” Your voice sharpened. “Where were you when I cried myself to sleep for months, Jannik?” He blinked, stunned. “You disappeared without a fight. Without a word. Just walked away like we had been nothing. Like I was a mistake you couldn’t afford.” He tried to speak, but you stepped forward. “I gave you everything. And you left me alone to pretend it never happened. You made me erase you.” Tears welled in your eyes, hot and fast, but they didn’t fall.

“I rebuilt my life from ashes. I swallowed every sob, every memory, every ‘what if,’ and turned it into silence. Because you made sure no one would ever know what we had. And now? Now you think you can beg for it back like it’s yours to take?”

“I—” he rasped. “I didn’t know it would feel like this. I didn’t know I’d—”

“That’s the thing,” you snapped. “You never knew. You just left.”

His voice cracked, you had never seen the Fox crack. At least not in such a messy way. He was always so good under pressure while you weren’t. But the roles had changed. He looked at the city of love for a moment, then deep into your eyes, the lights reflecting into his welled up tears. "Why him ?" You could only shalke your head. "I could never fall so low and make a guy fall for me to spite you... It happened, that's it. I fell in love, hard. Because he was there to catch me. And I see everyday that it was never a choice, he wasn't the option, he is the one. In the way he loves me, in the way he shows it, in the way he respects me and my family, in the way I hear him butcher up some French but get it right when he thinks I'm not watching. Because he fought for it, where you left."

He looked at you then. Really looked. And for the first time in years, you let it show. Everything. And he saw it. The lack of love in your eyes. The emptiness where his reflection used to live. He remembered that night he had first met you in Spain. Your eyes were sparkling like a galaxy just looking at him and back then he felt like the sun himself. But you had burned your wings and he watched as you fell, and now the light was gone because you had seen the sun for what it had always been : dangerous and unapproachable. “Per favore, non sposarlo…” ("Please don’t marry him…") Your eyes burned. But your heart didn’t move.

It didn’t ache. It didn’t crack. It just… stood still. The music box had made its time.

“I’m not walking away from anything, Jannik,” you said gently. “You did. And now I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.”

He looked at you, your wings were burning, you had stopped falling because another star had caught you. “I don’t hate you,” truth resided in your eyes. “But I also don’t love you anymore.” It hit him like a gut punch.

And before he could speak again, you whispered, low and cutting: “If you have even an ounce of respect for what we once shared… don’t come to the wedding.”

The silence between you stretched, cold and final.

Then, just like that-

“Ah, voilà!”

Carlos’s voice rang out as he stepped onto the balcony, beaming. He held a glass of champagne in one hand, the other slipping naturally around your waist.

“There you are, mi amor. I thought you had vanished.”

His eyes found Jannik and lit up. “Hey! Good to see you, man. Am I interrupting something?” He saw in your eyes that you had something to tell but you were caging it inside. Jannik forced a tight smile. “Yeah… you too. No, nothing.” But Carlos hesitated. “Do you guys know each other ?” Jannik glanced at you and you took it where he ended. "We met long ago, in Spain, my father was the responsible physio of the camps." Your fiancé nodded, surprised but satisfied with the answer. "Oh, ok. Well I appologize for interrupting the reunion but I have to steal her."

Carlos turned to you, dropping to French as he kissed your temple. “Viens, chérie, je viens te chercher pour les toasts. Tout le monde t'attend, mon amour.” (“Come on, darling, I'll get you for toast. Everyone's waiting for you, my love.”), he said slowly with that spanish accent that made it all warmer. He had learned your language, the way to love you. Everything Jannik had known but better.

You nodded, lips twitching into something that resembled a smile. You looked back at Jannik one last time. Your eyes softened, not with pity, not with love but with goodbye.

“Have a good night,” you said simply.

And with that, you slipped back into the warmth of the party, Carlos guiding you gently, the future pulling you forward.

And Jannik? He stood alone on that balcony. The city lights didn’t feel romantic anymore. Just distant.

Game. Set. Match.

And this time, he knew it was truly over. You would always be the one that slipped through his fingers like the sand of a sandcastle that didn't resist the sun. Beautiful and tragic. His most beautiful tragedy.

[mezzinow]

"Jannik and I see each other a lot "

You see? How can you criticize us for Sincaraz, when our president is Carlos Alcaraz? Uh? 😭😅

[cocosgauffs]

ready for hard court season

[cancmbyn]

Sky sports full of not-so- secret sincaraz fans.

insane that this is an ad btw. sky sports i have a love hate relationship with you but this was a banger

[vadergf]

I think im gonna be sick