Theu Dont Understand

26.03.2025

Her Track

Jannik Sinner x Reader As we all know, Jannik's been partaking in some extracurriculars lately. What better time to meet somebody you like then when doing something you like... Karting is fun and so is reader, in a sophisticated, poised, mysterious type of way... she gets wild on that track though, ayy

---

The new, spring sun beat down on the circuit, glinting off the rows of polished helmets and sleek, ready karts. You stood near the pit lane, clipboard in hand, watching the staff complete the final checks before the day’s round of high-profile guests arrived. 

Over the years of working there, your role had progressed to the point where you typically tackled behind-the-scenes administrative tasks as the track’s facilities manager, but exclusive group bookings like the one coming in later meant even all the supervising staff came out and showed face to represent the company. You hadn’t had time to really check just who it was that was paying the track a visit, but—with the way your Italian boss and employees were acting—it might as well have been a reservation from the Pope. It seemed the stakes and energy were high, which meant all the more reason for everything had to run like clockwork today.

You lined up with your colleagues at the front lobby to greet the incoming group just as a silver SUV pulled into the parking lot. You tucked your clipboard under your arm, sighing when you caught your boss’s gesture to smoothen your hair, but patted down some of the stray hairs anyways. The doors chimed when they opened, laughter from the guests entering along with them. 

Your brows rose in surprise at the sight of a familiar face in the group. It wasn’t often you personally recognized anyone from one of these VIP bookings. You’d expect some reckless, near-adolescent pack of philanthropist’s sons, not an old friend—much less someone from your own racing past.

As soon as the group slowed to a stop in front of you and your team, their conversation subsided so that they could kindly greet you all, Antonio spotted you and his face immediately lit up in recognition.

"Ma dai," he said, pointing with a grin. "You're kidding me."

You chuckled, stepping forward to clap your hand in his before leaning into a friendly hug. "Giovinazzi. How long has it been?"

"Too long," Antonio said, gesturing wide with his hands in disbelief. “Wow, I had no idea you worked here.” 

“Been here for a couple years now, yeah.” You said with a small smile, before nodding behind him in acknowledgement of the rest of his group. 

The introductions had halted in light of yours and Antonio’s mini-reunion, but now you looked back and registered the rest of the group—namely Jannik Sinner. A quiet, but tall presence, his red curls still standing out despite his unassuming, casual and dark outfit. His eyes were on you, taking in the friendly interaction with a corner of his mouth pulled up into a soft, crooked smile.

“No wonder this track has such high ratings.” Antonio grinned, turning back to his friends to explain the connection. “Non avete idea, questa qui è una leggenda—We used to kart together back in the day.” 

“Way, way back in the day. And I think you and I only had a few races of overlap like over—like what? 10 years ago now?” You minimized, shifting on your feet at his easy praise in Italian. You have no idea, this girl’s a legend, he’d said.

“No, don’t let her fool you. You always were so controlled and humble.” He clapped a hand on your shoulder, before addressing Jannik and the others. “But she used to smoke all of us in her trail on track, I bet she still could.”

You shook your head, allowing a small smile as you stepped back in line with your colleagues. Your boss beamed in pride, always the first to boast about you and happy to hear the Ferrari driver do the same. You let him step in and take the lead to bring things back on track. “Yes, she is a real asset to our team. We have many retired pilots working here, and she is by far one of the best.” 

Jannik stepped forward after that, when your boss beckoned to him and his group for proper introductions, with quiet words of hello and thank you. He went down the line shaking hands with the staff, and offered you the same, polite nod when he shook yours. You matched his composure with a parallel, professional coolness, but he seemed to break first—he smiled at the tail end of nodding towards you, and it lingered when he moved to the next person.

After the rounds of greeting, your boss spoke again to formally welcome them all to the business. “Benvenuti e grazie per essere qui. Siamo felici di farvi provare la nostra pista—sarà un’esperienza da ricordare.”

Your boss, Tony, stressed the excitement the staff held for having them as guests, before rattling off in more Italian about the origins and mission of the karting business. You tilted your head towards him as he spoke, but your eyes strayed to the listening guests. Your scan of the group ended with Jannik, and you found he was already looking over at you. He sent a slight smile your way when he caught your eyes, but quickly darted his attention back to Tony and his speech. 

“And now I send you off into the very capable hands of one of our track directors.” Your boss finished off with, switching back to English, passing the torch to you with a beaming smile and a soft pat on your shoulder.

"Alright," you said in your tone of voice reserved for these professional scripts, rising to your role, clipboard in hand. "Again, welcome to the circuit. We’ve got you set up for a full kart session—tour, briefing, then laps.”

You took a few paces towards the lobby exit, signalling them to fall instep with you before continuing. “I’ll be walking you through the track protocol, but first we'll start with a quick walkthrough of the facilities—pit lane, recovery area, and where the marshals are stationed—just so you know your bearings if anything happens mid-session. After that, we’ll get you into your race suits and helmets, then head to the garage to go over the kart mechanics—how to operate the throttle, brakes, steering dynamics, and how the weight balance shifts in corners. Nothing too technical, just enough to keep you safe and get you driving."

You led the group away from the reception area and down the sunlit corridor that opened into the garage side of the facility. The smell of engine oil and fresh rubber hung in the air, familiar and grounding. Overhead, the rafters hummed faintly with activity—track techs running diagnostics, a few mechanics prepping karts for some of your racing team.

"Okay, so," you said over your shoulder, checking to see if they were keeping up alright as you weaved through the setup with expert ease, "This is the recovery zone. If for any reason your kart gives you trouble, or if you end up off-track, a marshal will flag you and guide you here. You wait until you get the all-clear before exiting. Pretty straightforward."

They followed in loose formation as you continued the tour, Antonio sticking close, chatting with one of the others when he wasn’t catching up with you. Jannik hung back just a little, quieter than the rest, but his gaze never wandered far from you. He watched the way you moved through the space—efficient, relaxed, fully in control. There was something about the way you spoke, even and poised, and how you didn’t pause to second-guess anything. His eyes drifted down the curve of your shoulder, the confident sway of your stride, before pulling back up just as you turned slightly to answer another question. 

“Last I heard, you were in America for school?” Antonio asked from a few paces behind you, after you finished pointing out some of the company’s kart options. “You went into engineering, no?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Mechanical engineering and business, actually.” You replied, as you gestured for the group to go ahead of you and step onto the paved track area. “I finished two years ago—I want to start my own competitive karting group eventually… Tony’s helping me get experience here, first.”

“Ah, you will be great with that!” Antonio exclaimed and Jannik, who seemed to be listening after your answer even closer than Antonio was, subtly nodded in agreement from beside him. When you only smiled and nodded at the enthusiastic support, sincere but simple, Antonio laughed. “​​Sempre impassibile, anche quando la esalti.”

Always unfazed, even when you hype her up. And, true to his description, you chose to move on with your tour instead of spending more time speaking about you and your ambitions.

"Up here is the pit lane," you continued. "You’ll come through here between heats if we need to refuel or adjust anything. Watch the marshal signals—blue flag means someone faster is approaching, yellow means slow down and be alert. Red means stop immediately."

A few of them nodded, Jannik the most focused among them, brow furrowed in sharp attention. You caught his eye, only holding it for a beat before looking ahead again.

You ushered them into an adjacent room room, where a rack of green and white suits lined the wall in bright rows. You motioned toward the bins of gloves and helmets, already sanitized and sorted by size.

"Now it’s time to suit up. Sizes are labeled—go a little larger than your normal fit, and grab gloves and a helmet on your way out."

They filtered through, joking and half-competing over who would look more ridiculous in full gear. Jannik found a suit and helmet in his size and walked past you on his way to the changing bays. He let his fingers brush briefly along the edge of the suit rack beside you, slowing like he might say something. He didn’t, though, and just gave you a glance and a smile as he side-stepped around you, choosing to question Antonio about you in Italian when he was far enough away, instead.

You could vaguely hear the exchange from the distance, behind the loosely hinged locker room doors. Answering Jannik’s inquiry with a grandiose explanation, Antonio spoke of how you were an 11 year old karting with, and beating, some drivers nearing adult age. Antonio was on his way to single-seaters soon after your beginnings in the karting world as a kid, but was around long enough to witness the beginnings of your acclaim and reputation. "Da piccola era tipo precisissima, una macchina. Non sbagliava niente. Poi col tempo è diventata una pazza in pista—ma fuori? Sempre seria, tutta testa, mai una parola fuori posto."

When she was young she was super precise, like a machine. Never messed up. Eventually, her racing style turned wild on track — but off it? Always serious, all brains, never out of line. You rolled your eyes a little at his depiction of you, but smiled a little at the familiar sentiment. On the outside, you always were this enigmatic picture of composure—equal parts collected and elusive.

You lightly banged on the locker room door, intentionally choosing to hurry them up right in time and in alignment with Antonio’s description—and you could practically imagine Antonio’s silent gesture in response, throwing up a hand to Jannik as if to say: you see, all business.

Everyone emerged soon after that, zipped up and helmet in the crux of their elbows. You gathered them by the garage doors where the karts sat gleaming in rows, afternoon sun painting sharp shadows across the pavement.

You crouched by one of them, running a hand along the side panel. "These are 390cc four-strokes. Responsive, but don’t be fooled—they’ll punish you if you overcook a turn or get too confident too early."

You stood, gesturing to the seat and wheel. "Brakes on the left, throttle on the right. No gears—single-speed. Steering’s tight, but just keep your hands at 10 and 2 and don’t death-grip it. Smooth input gets you farther than muscling through."

Jannik stepped closer, crouching slightly as you explained. His eyes scanned every detail you pointed out, but more than once they flicked to your face instead of the chassis. He watched the way your fingers moved along the kart, how your expression shifted with each explanation. You paused mid-sentence, catching his gaze squarely fixed on you rather than the kart.

"Are you following, Sinner?" you asked, interrupting yourself, eyebrow raised and the teasing in your tone just barely perceptible.

A few of the others snorted behind him. Jannik blinked, shooting you a sheepish smile that grew when you smirked at him. “Yes, I’m with you. Sorry.”

“If you say so...” You shook your head with a sigh, but the remnants of your smile still sat on the corner of your lips. "But let’s try to channel some of that on-court focus here, too, okay?” 

He grinned at you, and offered a solid nod so earnest that you had to chuckle at that.

"Acceleration out of the corners is where most people lose time," you added, turning away a bit and pointing off to the circuit. "Ease out, don’t slam the pedal down. And lean with the kart—let it carry your weight through the corners. If you fight it, you’ll lose grip."

You punctuated the end of your instruction with a firm hand on your hip, scanning the group for questions or confused expressions. “Everyone got it? … Sinner?”

"Yes, got it," Jannik said, looking at you with a crooked smile as his friends snickered when you called him out. "But maybe later I might need some… live coaching."

“Live coaching, huh?” You scoffed, your eyes glinting. "Let’s see how you do on the track first. Then I’ll decide if you’re worth the extra effort."

The others laughed, but Jannik actually nodded, smiling at you for a moment longer before dipping to fold into his assigned kart.

You handed out the final gloves, checked the marshal radios, and gave the all-clear to open the paddock gate.

"Okay," you said, stepping back with a flourish. "Let’s see what you’ve got."

---

From the edge of the pit wall, arms folded across your chest, you watched as the group tore off into the first lap—tires screeching, engines growling, the sun casting quicksilver streaks across the asphalt.

Jannik didn’t start off especially fast. In fact, he stalled once right out of the gate, jolting the kart forward awkwardly and nearly causing a pile-up behind him. Another lap in, he clipped the edge of turn three, bounced off the curb, and cursed loud enough that you heard it over the engines.

But you noticed that, no matter how clunky he might have started off, he recovered every time. Quickly and consistently. You could see his understanding of the circuit and the kart grow with each round—tight lines, measured braking, slight shifts in weight. Lap by lap, he adjusted. Smoothed things out. Stalled less times, missed less corners. Still not the cleanest out on the track, but improved to a pace that even nearly pushed Antonio’s—the grit of a pro-athlete working in real time.

There was one moment, maybe halfway through the session, when his kart slowed again near the finish line, sputtering awkward and unexpected. You saw him glance toward the marshal, unsure. The rest of the karts had just safely passed, leaving Jannik behind, so you handed your headset to a nearby staffer and casually jogged out onto the track to check in with the issue yourself.

He lifted his visor as you approached, brow furrowed.

"Sounds like the throttle," you said, crouching by the frame. The space was tight between the steering and his long legs, and you had to lean in close, your hand brushing the edge of his knee as you reached down for the footrest. 

"Seems to be fine," you said, looking up to find his head tilted with his eyes already on you. "I think you’re feathering it too much coming out of the corners into the straights. Be firmer. Don’t second-guess it."

He didn’t reply for a moment, and just kept looking at you with a vague nod—your lips twitched, faintly amused, and you raised an eyebrow to prompt some sort of response. 

"Right," he said finally, but it sounded far away and generic.

“... Right.” You chuckled a bit to yourself, adjusting the pedal by his foot. "Are you sure you’re all good? You were looking smooth out there before, but I can’t have a distracted driver on my track—it’s a liability, you know.”

He blinked, before letting out a short laugh, nodding more to himself than you. “No, I’m good. I’m good… Promise.”

You stepped back, letting your fingers graze the edge of his glove when you reset his steering wheel, holding contact just a half-second longer than necessary. You gave the kart a quick tap and stood when you heard the other karts in the near distance coming back to lap him, smirking when his neck craned to look at you even as you backed away.

"Okay then," you said, straightening and biting back a knowing smile. “Try again.”

And he did—and it was his smoothest lap yet.

You always liked watching new clients in the cart. There was something about the sheer joy it ignited for anyone and everyone behind the wheel.

And now you were loving seeing that unfold for Jannik. The way he moved in that kart, now low and lean the longer he went at it, and the way he laughed even after nearly spinning out on a turn when Antonio cut him off. The way he leaned over his wheel whenever he crossed the checkered line, or the way you could hear his good-natured jeers taunting his friends while on the straightaway. The boyish, careless laugh when he looked back at them mid-race. 

You didn’t expect to see Jannik Sinner like this—it was different than the curated version of him you’d sometimes watch in press conferences or on center court. Here, like this, with his friends on the track, he seemed carefree.

You watched from the track’s edge besides the marshal as the group briefly left their karts for water. Jannik’s helmet temporarily abandoned on his driver’s seat, curls brushed out and wind swept, cheeks flushed, he just looked like a happy, easygoing, twenty-something person.

And you decided you liked that version—that you got to see it.

Across the asphalt, the group bantered between catching their breath, dabbing away at the sweat on their faces. Jannik looked off and around for a moment, away from their conversation, and he seemed to be searching for something. It wasn’t exactly obvious—just a slight turn of the head, a scan around the garage doors and the mechanics—you were just watching him close enough to be able to tell.

But when his eyes landed on you, after a silent, subconscious search, you allowed him the grace of pretending that you hadn’t just caught him seeking you out. You turned back toward the timing screen, the slightest hint of a pleased smile playing at your lips—not that he could see it. 

---

By the time Jannik and Antonio and the others even showed signs of slowing down, the sun had already dipped low, casting golden streaks across the pavement—it seemed that even the entirety of their extensive, reserved session wasn’t long enough for the novelty to wear off. You raised a hand, gesturing to the track marshals to start winding things down.

"Alright, boys," you called out over the low rumble of engines after they slowed to a stop at your signal. "The track needs to start closing soon, so let the next handful of laps be your cooldown."

They all looked to each other with a shared expression, no doubt a mutual understanding to spend the final laps racing yet again—this group was especially competitive, almost to a fault.

Before they could organize a countdown to start, Antonio flicked up his visor to look over at you.

"Hey, hey—I can’t end today without seeing you in a kart again.” He said, outstretching an arm in your direction. "Come on—for old times’ sake."

"Nice try.” You laughed. “But I’ve got to help wind down the garage soon."

“Mah, no—they can wait for a little bit.” Antonio goaded.

You went to say there was no chance before the rest of the group caught on quickly, chiming in, cheering you on with exaggerated groans and mock pleads.

Antonio grinned when they joined in, shrugging at you “See, you’re not getting off that easy." 

You crossed your arms and rolled your eyes, extending your show of reluctance despite having already given in. Your eyes flicked to Jannik, who was quietly awaiting your decision as the rest still audibly baited you, and a smile started to grow on your face when you did. You nodded slowly in Antonio, though your eyes were still on Jannik who now wore his won smile, and the group whooped at your acceptance.

"Just give me like five." You called over your shoulder, turning toward the garage, and their cheers went up again.

When you reappeared minutes later in your own race suit—sleek and personal to you. The group’s hoots went up again, alongside some of the mechanic and engineers whistling low and you winked in their direction—you often raced with other staff during non-business hours, they knew what was coming.

One of the mechanics wheeled your kart to the track and you stepped out to take your place beside it. You tugged on your gloves, your helmet propped on your hip underneath your elbow, glancing up at the others briefly and then doing a double-take at Jannik, not missing the way his eyes skimmed you up and down with an appreciative glint.

"Show the rookie what a perfect lap looks like," Antonio said, nodding his chin at Jannik. y

"Oh, I will." You grinned as you sat in your kart. “I might even give you all a head-start… Just so things are even.”

You eased forward a little to line up just behind the checkered line, coming up right beside Jannik. You nodded to the marshall and held up the flag.

Everyone readied up, though you saw Jannik grab the wheel just a little delayed from everyone else, his head turned over to you for a moment. 

The marshal yelled out a countdown, and then dropped the flag. 

All the engines flanking you roared, but you stayed idle as the jerked into motion..

You didn’t move at first, committing to giving them that head start, setting at the line for a full few seconds ahead before your foot finally pressed the pedal.

Then you surged forward, the motor purring in your hands like something alive. You took the corners tighter than any of them, braking later, accelerating sooner. One by one, you closed the gap. Passing the first person by turn five. Two others by the back straight.

Jannik was second, with Antonio a few lengths in front, hugging the outside line. You clocked the opening before he did—not that he even had the experience to be able to take in that information at such a pac—his kart drifted slightly wide into the sweeping left, just enough space at the apex.

You slipped in with barely an inch to spare, tires humming, chassis low. He turned just in time to see you glide past, and even through the helmet, you could feel his expression of awe radiating out from under as he registered you’d come up around him—and then, unmistakably, you heard his laugh even through the growl of the engines. Genuine and unguarded, like he was truly thrilled to be bested so brilliantly.

The sound curled behind you soon, as you whipped past, but had your face lifting into a grin under the visor.

And then it was only Antonio was still ahead—until he wasn’t.

You overtook him with a clean inside move on the final hairpin, leaving him gaping as you crossed over to first just as the final straight came up

The pit and all your co-workers erupted when you were the first to cross the finish line. Shouts, whistles, hands slapping helmets. You pulled off to the side and lifted your visor, waving them off with a hint of a smile.

"Show-off," Antonio said, smiling and clapping despite himself. “At least brag a little, I beg you, it’s almost more humiliating if you don’t.”

You grinned at that, glancing around you as the others pulled up. Jannik unfolded from the low seat and, even as he climbed out of his kart, helmet tucked beneath his arm, his eyes fixed on you. He had on this stunned, quiet look, with the start of another smile.

---

Antonio and some of the others of his group began to filter out soon after you clinched the win in their final go around, trickling toward the parking lot with flushed faces and laughter echoing between the garage walls after exchanging. You, meanwhile, were elbow-deep in the usual end-of-day routine—logging lap times, checking fuel levels, locking up the spare helmets. A few stray karts needed re-parking, a couple gloves left behind in the wrong bins. Clipboard under one arm, fingers smeared faintly with grease, steps echoing in the now-emptier garage—you moved through it methodically, taking on others’ responsibilities for the night so they could partake in the makeshift meet and greet Jannik was holding for the track’s employees.

In the lobby, Jannik was still on-duty in his own way. Your boss had corralled him for a mini photo op with the staff—you hung back and opted out, knowing each one would be everywhere from the company’s social media to the staff fridge by the next day.

To his credit, Jannik leaned into the commotion with an admirable amount of patience and graciousness—handling it with humility and as an expression of his gratitude for the fun day. He signed gloves, caps, tires, and even the front panel of an old kart with a cracked fender that had been retired for years. He took photos with each employee individually, withstanding all of them fawning over him with impressive stamina. 

Every so often, between poses or while waiting for a pen to be passed, he would look out of the panoramic windows looking out into the garage—just casually, he’d sweep his eyes over to where you were working before bringing his attention back. Once or twice, he thought you’d caught on, but then you looked away as though you hadn’t actually noticed. Or at least, you didn’t let on that you had.

You locked up the garage just as the last few thank-yous wrapped up, your boss caught your eye and beckoned you over with an excited flick of his wrist. You crossed the lobby slowly, lips pressed in a neutral line, suppressing your amusement at your boss’s overzealous attempt to get you in a photo.

Jannik nodded as you approached, still holding a sharpie, expression slightly sheepish when your boss herded you two together. “She’s late, but—Take a photo, take a photo.” He exclaimed before, luckily, getting called away by one of your co-workers.

Jannik shrugged, sending you an easy smile. "What do you think? Want a photo?"

You tilted your head, considering him. "I’m okay," you said, smirking. "I don’t need one."

His brow lifted, amused at your tone. "No, okay."

"I mean," You tucked your hands into your back pockets and let your smile widen just a little. "I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again."

"Yes, for sure," he said, agreeing with a sincere nod. "I definitely want to come back, soon—I really enjoyed today… Thank you, by the way."

“Yeah, of course.” You cocked your head. "... But I was thinking the next time I saw you, it should be a date."

Jannik stilled, and just stared—trying to figure out if you were joking or not. Your delivery was smooth and easy, and it was always hard to detect any jest in your down. You waited half a second longer before allowing a small, coy smile, enjoying his disbelief for a moment before patting his arm. 

"I’m heading home for the night, but just ask the front desk for my number," you said, turning on your heel without looking back. "I’m free this Friday."

You didn’t need to see his face to know he was still watching you as you walked away. Your boss beckoned for him as you neared the exit door, and looked back in time the see Jannik visibly come to his senses.

“I’ll message you.” He called out, eager and rushed.

You just nodded, pushing the door open with a shoulder as sent him one more, cool smile before stepping out into the night. "Yeah, you do that."

---

Um, wrote this instead of editing In Sync Part 3. I just like that series too much, I'm placing way too high of stakes on it. I need to chill.

Hope you like this one in the meantime though. Was flipping through the photos from his karting excursion and he just looks like he's enjoying himself so much. Thought it was cute, and that he was cute, and that all that made for a cute meet-cute, so. Here we are.

It's 4am for me also, so yeah, I'm effed. Also, I didn't know what to name this one and I usually have good fun with that/it comes more easily. So thoughts on a better title to re-name it to??

Also, reader's a bit of the stoic one in this fic, trying to mix up personalities here if you can't tell... Hope you can, though, and hope you liked!! xx

One Love

Jannik Sinner x Tennis Player!Reader

Summary: You're WTA World No.1. He's ATP World No.1. Everyone assumes you'd hate each other; too competitive, too intense. And you did. At first. Until you were both stuck doing mixed-doubles promo for a sponsor in Rome. Until you got paired for a charity match. Until you accidentally won… and didn’t stop texting afterward.

a/n: i recently rewatched challengers today because i couldn't practice tennis today.. i got inspired. atleast i got something good out of a sprained ankle, i hope you guys like it! (im cooked i got a tournament next week)

You barely look at him as you step onto the court, eyes locked on the lines, the crowd murmuring qnd cheering in anticipation. It’s hard to ignore the tension in the air, everyone’s been waiting for this match. You and Jannik Sinner, the World No. 1 ATP, and the World No. 1 WTA, forced to team up for a mixed doubles charity event in Italy. How ironic is that?

The Nike kits cling to you both in a matching, almost absurdly coordinated way. You can feel his presence beside you. Sharp, composed, intense; but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of meeting his gaze. This is all for the sponsors, nothing more. You aren’t friends. Not now, not ever.

He’s the last person you’d choose to be paired with. You’ve fought on the court against him on practices, never yielding an inch. You know how competitive he is, how he thrives in the heat of rivalry. And yet, here you are, standing shoulder to shoulder, forced to play as a team against Aryna Sabalenka and Ben Shelton. The moment the ball is served, you’re both in motion, racing across the court with sharp precision, silently competing to outdo one another. Your hands brush as you both reach for the same shot. Your heart skips, your breath hitches, but you don’t acknowledge it. Not yet.

The crowd cheers as you win the first point, and you catch a glimpse of Jannik out of the corner of your eye. He smirks at you, just barely. You hate that smirk, that confidence. It’s too much like your own. You give him a half-hearted nod. "Nice shot," you mutter. He doesn’t respond, but his eyes linger on you a second too long, the unspoken challenge hanging in the air. There’s more between you now than just competition. A strange, undeniable chemistry. You try to shake it off, but the match is far from over, and neither of you is ready to stop playing.

You don’t expect it, that effortless rhythm. It’s like you’ve trained together for years, not met awkwardly thirty minutes before warm-up. Every crosscourt shot you angle, he’s already there, anticipating it like clockwork. You find yourself moving in sync with him, not because he tells you to, but because your body just knows. At one point, you catch his eye after a clean volley, and he gives you the smallest nod, that same unreadable expression he wears when he’s locked in during finals. It should be infuriating. Instead, it sparks something warm, something dangerous.

The crowd starts getting louder, caught up in the surprising electricity of your teamwork. You don’t even notice the scoreboard ticking upward, too focused on the way Jannik moves; fluid, precise, like a language your body suddenly understands. Aryna’s grin sharpens when she realizes you and Jannik are actually a threat, while Ben just shakes his head, laughing under his breath after another brutal rally. Still, no words pass between you and Jannik. Just glances. Just breathless seconds between points where you could swear he’s about to say something, but doesn’t. And maybe that’s safer. Because if either of you speaks, you’re not sure you’ll keep pretending this is just tennis.

A series of volleys, and backhands go by in a blur. You both won straight sets, now it's the final set. And the final point. And it's your turn to serve.

You bounce the ball, you toss it. And the ball leaves your racket with a clean, vicious snap. You know it’s good the moment it cuts through the air. Fast, flat, brutal. It kisses the service line, untouched. Ben doesn’t even move.

Silence, just for a beat. Then the umpire’s voice cuts through the tension:

“Game, Sinner and—”

Your name, sharp and clear.

The crowd erupts.

Jannik doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you, really looks at you. Hus chest rising with the effort of the match, sweat clinging to his hairline. Then, in that quiet, charged pause before your teammates approach, before the photos, before the sponsor reps swarm in with cameras and high-fives, he reaches out. Not for a hug, not for show. Just a brief touch to your back. Warm. Grounding. The kind of thing you’re not supposed to feel anything from.

But you do. And judging by the way his fingers hesitate before falling away, so does he.

And for a second, you swear you could see his boyish smile, barely there, just enough to catch the light before he wipes it off, turning it into a quick flick of his towel against his forehead. But you saw it. Just for a moment.

You smirk at the thought, the coolness of his touch still lingering on your skin, even as you pat his back lightly. Your hand lingers a second too long, just enough for the feeling to settle between you before you turn away. It’s not much. Nothing serious. But it’s something. And it means a lot more than either of you will admit. You head up to the net, shaking hands with Shelton first, exhanging thank you's and congratulations', then Aryna. She raises an eyebrow, clearly aware of the dynamic she just witnessed.

“Nice teamwork, you two,” she says, voice dripping with amusement.

You return her smirk. “Same to you, Sabby.” Her hand feels solid in yours, a rival’s handshake, but you’re too caught up in the lingering heat of your own victory to care.

The umpire’s call fades into the background as you all exchange pleasantries, preparing for the obligatory PR photos. The media teams and sponsor representatives rush in, pushing cameras and microphones into your face. You’re forced into the carefully choreographed smiles, standing side by side with Jannik as the photographers capture what feels like an entire lifetime of perfect moments: smiles too tight, poses too polished. You keep your eyes steady, even when you feel his presence next to you, too close for comfort. You wonder if he’s feeling it too, the strange tension that lingers in the space between you.

The session drags on, but finally, it's over. You escape to your hotel, the silence of your room welcoming you as you collapse onto the bed. You scroll through your phone, your feed already buzzing with highlights from the match, the photos, the reposts. You share your own, a subtle but confident caption. The whole world knows you’ve won. The whole world knows you’ve had this strange, unspoken moment with Jannik on court. Your phone buzzes again, this time a message from an unexpected source: Jannik.

You hesitate for a moment before opening it.

“Good match today.”

It’s simple. It’s cold. But something in the way it’s worded makes your heart skip. Maybe it’s the timing. Maybe it’s the fact he’s reached out at all. You type back slowly, keeping it casual.

“Yeah, not bad for a forced teammate.”

The dots appear, then disappear. Then a reply, as brief and sharp as the last one:

“Not bad at all.”

And just like that, the door to something else creaks open.

realeeeesttt. and i am saying this from experience.

tennis really is such a mental sport especially at the top 😭 it takes so much to build your confidence and so little to ruin to it, and clawing your way back up is just so daunting. and then ur also constantly perceived by everyone. ugh

so cute i put him in my pocket

the pout i am DYING

"we find ourselves in a great rela..friendship"

PLEASE I STILL HAVE HOPE this is fucking hell

I do, however, have a sinking feeling Carlos is gonna win this match 😿

JANNIK PLEASE

alexandra eala making herstory for the phillipines!

this is me coping

on the bright side, he’s still hot