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Jannik spots Carlos before the cameras do.
They’re walking out from the tunnel at the practice courts in Indian Wells, sunlight everywhere, desert wind doing that thing where it messes up everyone’s hair except Carlos’, which somehow looks like he styled it that way on purpose.
The crowd waiting around the small practice court starts clapping the second they appear. Not the loud, stadium kind of applause. The warm kind.
The ''we’re happy you’re here'' kind.
Carlos lifts a hand immediately, smiling.
Jannik waves too, a little awkward at first, then bigger when someone shouts his name. “Jannik!”
A kid near the front holds up a phone and yells, “WE LOVE YOU GUYS!”
Carlos grins. “We love you too!”
Next to the court, two commentators are already talking over the live practice broadcast.
“Alright, and there they are,” the first commentator says, voice bright with excitement.
“Carlos and Jannik arriving on court here at Indian Wells.”
“First time we’re seeing them together publicly since the announcement last week,” the second adds.
“And listen to this crowd.” More clapping as the two step onto the practice court.
Carlos and Jannik drop their bags by the bench.
Jannik pulls out a water bottle first, taking a long drink, eyes scanning the crowd like he’s trying to recognize faces.
Carlos stretches his shoulders and leans down to untie his shoelaces.
For a second neither of them says anything. Not tense. Just… quiet.
Then Jannik glances over.
Carlos glances back at the same time.
They both smile.
Small. Automatic. Like they’ve done this a thousand times.
“Historic moment here today,” one of the commentators continues. “The two best players in the world - longtime rivals - now officially a couple.”
“And they’ve decided to gift fans a live practice session.”
“We’re broadcasting it right here from the practice courts at Indian Wells.”
“Honestly,” the second commentator says, amused, “I’m not sure whether this is going to be intense training or ten minutes of trash talk.”
Jannik grabs a second bottle and tosses it to Carlos.
Carlos catches it without looking.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Jannik says, stretching. “Don’t choke today.”
Carlos turns slowly. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he says sweetly. “Did you want me to go easy on you in front of your fans?”
Jannik laughs. “Oh, they're my fans?”
Behind them someone in the crowd yells: “WE’RE BOTH YOUR FANS!”
Another voice shouts: “KISS FOR GOOD LUCK!”
Jannik nearly spits out his water.
Carlos coughs into his hand, trying not to laugh.
The commentators absolutely lose it.
“Well,” one says, “the crowd has opinions.”
Jannik wipes his mouth and points a warning finger at the stands. “Not happening,” he calls.
Carlos leans toward the microphone near the court.
“Maybe if he hits a good backhand.”
Jannik turns to him immediately. “CARLOS!”
Carlos grins.
“Relax. Pressure motivates you.”
Jannik shakes his head, but he’s smiling.
He picks up his racquet and spins it once in his hand.
Carlos grabs a handful of balls from the basket and steps toward the baseline.
The crowd settles, excited murmurs buzzing around the small court.
“Alright,” the commentator says. “Here we go.”
“The first practice between Carlos and Jannik since their announcement.”
“Live from Indian Wells.”
Carlos bounces a ball once.
Twice.
Then he glances across the net.
Jannik’s already watching him.
Waiting.
Carlos smirks.
“Ready, boyfriend?”
Jannik tilts his head. “Serve the ball, idiot.”
Carlos’s serve is fast.
Not match-speed fast, but fast enough that the pop of the ball against Jannik’s racquet echoes across the practice court.
Jannik returns it easily. One rally. Two. Three. It’s relaxed tennis — controlled, clean — but the crowd reacts to every shot like it’s a final.
“Oooh!” someone yells when Jannik sends a sharp cross-court. Carlos sprints, barely gets his racquet on it, and lobs it back high.
Jannik shades his eyes, tracking the ball.
The commentators are already narrating like it’s a championship point.
“And here we go, the first rally of the practice session—”
“Oh, that’s a lovely backhand from Carlos.”
“Jannik scrambling, sends up the lob—”
Jannik smashes it.
Hard. The ball lands a foot from Carlos’s shoes.
The crowd cheers. Carlos looks down at the mark on the court.
Then up at Jannik.
“…really?”
Jannik shrugs innocently.
“You said to serve.”
“I didn’t say attack me immediately.”
Jannik cups a hand around his ear. “I can’t hear you over my supporters.”
The commentators chuckle.
“Well, the rivalry clearly hasn’t gone anywhere.”
“No, but I’d say the energy is… lighter.”
Jannik bounces another ball.
“You ready?” he asks.
Carlos rolls his shoulders. “Always.”
Jannik serves again.
This rally goes longer. Backhand. Forehand. Cross-court exchange. The rhythm is smooth, familiar — the kind that only happens when two players know each other’s game too well.
“Oh, this is beautiful tennis,” the first commentator says.
“Even in practice.” “They’ve played each other so many times that the anticipation is unreal.”
Carlos suddenly goes for a drop shot. The crowd gasps.
Jannik sprints forward - but Carlos is already grinning.
Jannik reaches it, flicks it back over the net. Soft. Perfect.
Carlos stops moving. “…okay rude.”
Jannik raises an eyebrow. “You started it.” “Yeah but I expected you to miss.”
“Skill issue.”
The crowd laughs.
One commentator wheezes. “I love that you can hear them arguing.”
“It’s like a married couple but with professional tennis.”
Carlos tosses the ball up for his serve.
The crowd has quieted a little, but there’s still that buzz in the air — the kind where everyone feels like something funny might happen at any moment.
Jannik is leaning casually on his racquet across the net, waiting.
One of the commentators clears his throat.
“Alright, let’s see if Carlos can actually land a serve this time.”
“After that double fault earlier, the pressure is definitely on.”
Carlos glares toward the commentary box. “I can hear you.”
The crowd laughs.
He bounces the ball once.
Twice.
Right before he tosses it again, a voice from the stands suddenly shouts:
“IF YOU MISS, YOU HAVE TO KISS HIM!”
There’s a split second of silence.
Jannik freezes mid-bounce.
Carlos slowly lifts his head. “Oh my god.”
The commentators immediately jump in.
“Well—”
“That rule was not in the practice plan.”
Carlos looks at the crowd, then at Jannik. Jannik is already shaking his head.
“Don’t even think about it.”
Carlo presses his lips together like he’s trying not to smile.
“Relax.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I’m not.”
“You are absolutely smiling.”
Another fan yells, “DO IT!”
Carlos finally tosses the ball.
Serves.
And immediately hits the net.
The ball drops pathetically on his side of the court. The crowd erupts.
Jannik stares at him. “…Carlos.”
Carlos lowers his racquet slowly.
“Well...”
“You did that on purpose.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
Carlos shrugs, looking way too innocent.
“Pressure got to me.”
Jannik walks a few steps toward the net, squinting at him.
“You’re not being serious right now.”
Carlos goes closer to the net and leans on his racquet.
“Jannik, you heard the rule..”
The crowd starts cheering again. “KISS! KISS! KISS!”
The commentators are barely holding it together.
“Well… technically the crowd did set the terms.”
“And Carlos did miss...”
Carlos spreads his hands dramatically. “I thought that you were a man of honor..”
“We are not doing anything stupid in front of this many cameras.”
Carlos takes a step toward the net anyway.
Jannik immediately backs up. “Oh my god you are being serious.”
“You may not be a man of honor... but I am.”
The crowd is losing their minds.
Carlos stops at the net, grinning.
“Carlos,” Jannik says quietly, “don’t.”
Carlos tilts his head. “…you’re blushing.”
“I’m not blushing.” Jannik says.
“You’re definitely blushing.”
Jannik looks toward the stands.
“Can we go back to tennis?”
“NO!” half the crowd shouts.
“If you lean over this net I swear - ”
Carlos leans over the net.
“Oh my god.”
Carlos is laughing now.
“Relax.”
“I hate you.”
Jannik tries very hard to look annoyed. Fails.
The crowd keeps chanting.
He rubs his face.
“You’re impossible.”
“True.”
There’s a pause.
Jannik looks at the stands.
Then back at Carlos.
“You’re never letting this go if I say no, are you.”
Carlos grins. “Absolutely not.”
Jannik sighs dramatically. “Unbelievable.”
Then he steps forward to the net.
The crowd collectively loses its mind.
The commentators are laughing in disbelief. “I - well - this may be the first time we’ve ever broadcast something like this from a practice court.”
Carlos leans a little closer. Jannik shakes his head one last time.
And then Carlos grabs the front of Jannik’s shirt, pulls him forward over the net and kisses him.
Quick. Messy. Very real.
For a full second the entire place just screams. Phones everywhere. People jumping up and down in the stands.
Jannik’s face is bright red.
“There,” he says, pointing at the crowd.
“Happy?” The answer is a deafening cheer.
Carlos is still smiling like an idiot.
Jannik walks back toward the baseline, trying to look normal again.
“Can we play tennis now?”
Carlos picks up another ball. “ Yeah,” he says. Then he calls across the court: “Worth it.” Jannik rolls his eyes.
“Well I’ll say this… I think that’s the only time Carlos has ever actually enjoyed losing.”