Work Text:
Carlos takes a deep breath as he drags himself into the lobby of his hotel. He's glad the lobby is sparse of people, maybe, it's the benefit of booking a room in this insanely expensive hotel. With mask on and oversized hoodie covering his face, the last thing he wants in his current state is to face people. He doesn't need pitiful stares, or even worse, anger from people who's disappointed that their home hero just lost in the quarter finals.
It's his fault. His team has told him that he's not one hundred percent ready to play again. It's his stubbornness to blame. He skipped Barcelona, he cannot skip Madrid. His home tournament. His title to defend.
Manage your expectations, Carlitos. Your health is the priority. That is what his coach told him.
Round one, he won. Two straight sets, no noticable pain on his arm. Great boost for his confidence and faith. Maybe, the injury is no longer bugging him. Maybe, he really can win it all.
Then, came Round of 16, ironically, a rematch of last year's final. He knew the victory wouldn't be easy. His opponent was tough, and very much in form. The match was simply crazy. He almost lost. He gave it his everything, and it drained him. He felt it, how it took a toll on his body. He was through to quarter final, at least.
But, Andrey. He knew very well about his power serves and killer forehands, but he also heard about the Russian's recent slump, and he couldn't predict what kind of Andrey he'd face in quarter final.
The Andrey he faced ended up to be the one who managed to beat him, after Carlos won the first set. The Russian stayed calm and composed, and evolved on the second set. Carlos was left powerless against Andrey's relentless hittings, with discomfort growing on his arm, and it gets too painful to bear.
He had to swallow the bitter taste of loss in front of his home crowd. Carlos Alcaraz was no longer invincible on Madrid soil. After media obligations, he just wanted to run away and sleep the pain away.
Expectation hurts. It kills.
He walks briskly towards the elevator, then, he hears voices speaking in a foreign language he doesn't understand, yet it sounds familiar.
Oh. He knows that voice. He knows it too well. He turns his head, and his gaze falls on those ginger curls.
It's Jannik. With his team.
“Oh, Carlos!” Jannik greets him with a warm smile, “Hola.”
How does he recognize him with half of his face covered? Carlos nods politely and smiles as he unmasks himself, “Hello, Jannik."
“Have you eaten? Dinner?” Jannik asks.
He shakes his head, “Not yet.”
Jannik looks at him for a moment, fidgeting. He seems unsure. “Uh, do you want to eat? Dinner? Together?”
Huh. All he wants is to lock himself in his hotel room and sleep like a baby. But Jannik. And food. But, Jannik and food.
He's a weak man. He can't resist.
Jannik, in comfortable jacket and glasses, is sitting across him, with scrumptious delicacies served on their table. The restaurant is not crowded besides some other patrons, but they manage to get a table in private room, away from curious eyes. The waiter gives them odd glance, probably she never saw two rivals eating together after one of them just lost a match badly.
Well, this is definitely not how Carlos expects his post-loss evening will end. On non-post-defeat evenings, he'd never thought that Jannik would invite him to a dinner, with only the two of them. They're close, good pals, but dinner just feels odd.
Too intimate. Like a date. Not that Carlos does not want it.
Carlos takes a spoonful of the meat, and it melts in his mouth. Wow, damn, this hotel really has great food.
“It's so delicious, no?” Carlos remarks, "Or maybe I'm just hungry.”
Jannik chuckles, “You just had three setters. Of course, you're hungry.”
Carlos looks up from his food. “You... Watched my match?”
The Italian nods. “I didn't watch the full match, but I tuned to the live stream from around the second set.”
Around second set. It means, Jannik watched him losing terribly to Andrey, unable to fight more against the enormous hitting. Mortified, Carlos' gaze falls down to the floor, avoiding more eye contact with the ginger.
They continue eating in comfortable silence, before Jannik breaks it.
“Is it the arm? The injury?” Jannik asks with gentle voice.
Carlos gets caught offguard by the question. He nods and smiles bitterly.
“Ah, that's why.”
“Huh? What?”
“It's obvious that you're not playing on your usual level. I mean, Rublev was great. Super calm, super strong. And.... You were like seventy percent of your level?”
Carlos can't help but laugh, ironically. A rival practically just said that he played badly. The rival who would probably get the Madrid title with him out of the championship . He's said it many times, but Jannik is really the best player currently. A strong contender for his first Masters on clay.
“Why are you laughing?” Jannik tilts his head, furrowing his eyebrow. “You fought well, you know. With the limit you have. Must be painful, no?”
Then, Carlos' breath is hitched at his throat when he feels Jannik's thumb brushing on his arm. He stops laughing, and stills.
“Where does it hurt?” Jannik asks, eyes filled with concern.
Carlos bites his lips, and points at the painful part of his arm. Jannik's thumb continues to rub over the injured muscle gently, and Carlos just stares in silence.
With every touch, it feels like Carlos is slowly dying inside.
Then, the unthinkable happens. Jannik kisses his own fingers, then puts his fingers on Carlos' injured arm.
An indirect kiss. He short-circuits. Carlos Alcaraz is no longer functioning.
“Get better soon, yeah?” Jannik says innocently, as if he just didn't do that.
Carlos blinks, then stammers. "Yeah, uh, yes, sure.”
He can't even form coherent sentences. This is bad.
“Don't beat yourself up too much for your loss and your injury. Be healthy, Carlos. Then you can win again. Like you always do,” Jannik continues.
Carlos nods vigorously, hoping it conceals his inner panic. “Yeah, yeah. Sure."
Jannik looks at him with a warm smile. A very lovely smile that makes butterflies fill his stomach uncontrollably, and he feels dizzy.
All this time, Carlos has always been loud about his adoration for Jannik. He always praises Jannik to the media when he's given the chance, and on his social media as well, like when Jannik won his first Slam. It's a silly crush, maybe, but he truly respects Jannik as the best player of this generation. Jannik is a wonder, and he truly deserves all the wins he has.
But this time, Carlos is completely at loss for words. Jannik, who seems like he doesn't give a fuck about Carlos, just did the craziest thing ever.
Jannik Sinner is crazy. Jannik Sinner is driving him crazy.
“Good luck for your quarter finals tomorrow. Felix, right? You can do it,” Carlos says, trying to change the topic.
Jannik blinks. “Oh. You don't know yet?”
Carlos tilts his head in confusion. “What?”
“I'm withdrawing from the tournament.”
Carlos gapes in disbelief. “No way.”
“My hip,” Jannik says calmly, “Injury. It's so painful in the match yesterday.”
“I saw your match. I guessed your arm must be acting up. And this is strange, but I am relieved when I'm not the only one suffering in pain like this,” Jannik continues.
Carlos chuckles, “So, you're happy that I'm injured like you?”
Jannik's eyes widen and he frantically shakes his head, “No, no, not happy! I feel sorry for you... I want you to be healthy, really.”
“Nah, it's okay, I know. Joke, joke,” Carlos giggles at Jannik's apparent panic.
Jannik's tense shoulder falls, relieved. The lines on his forehead is also gone. “Yeah... It's just nice. I feel like I'm not alone."
“You're not alone. You got me.” Carlos's face softens, “Does it hurt a lot? The hip?” Carlos asks.
Jannik grimaces. “Yeah, painful. I don't know if I can do Rome.”
“Have you gone to the hospital?”
“Tomorrow. Will check up,” Jannik replies, pursing his lips.
“Maybe I will meet you there, you know. In the hospital. Rivals on court, patients together on hospital,” Carlos teases, and Jannik erupts into giggles.
“I hope it's nothing serious. Skipping home tournament is... awful,” Carlos pauses, and Jannik nods, understanding. “But, like you said. Be healthy. Take care of yourself first. Rest a lot.”
Jannik nods, a gentle smile appearing on his face, “It's why you play Madrid, eh?"
“Yeah. But at this point, I might skip Rome too,” Carlos adds, “Well, I don't know. The pain is bad.”
“Both Sinner and Alcaraz out of Rome, then? Damn injuries,” Jannik chuckles.
Carlos stares at Jannik for a moment, and notices the hint of sadness on his eyes. Injuries are the worst thing for players in peak of their careers. It tears you apart, and makes you feel helpless.
“Let's be healthy, yeah? And may we meet again on the court. Roland Garros?” Carlos says, extending his hand.
“Sure. Roland Garros. I'll see you there,” Jannik shakes his hand excitedly, “Promise me you'll be healthy. Slam final meeting after injury, let's go. Vamos?"
Carlos smiles wryly. "I promise. I'll try. Let's go. Forza!"
Jannik's phone chimes. New notifications from his team group chat.
Jannik you're crazy. You already ate dinner with us, and you eat again with Carlos???????
Let the loverboy be, cmon! Be gentle with your hip, Jan
Jannik sends a shrugging man emoji, puts his phone back into his pocket, and grins widely as he walks to his hotel room.