iii. have we met before? ⚘ j.s.
— part one, two
warnings: me not knowing how to end my chapters as usual, slow burn, fluff, a bunch of just awkward dialogue omfg help, not proofread
pairing: jannik sinner x tennis player!reader
word count: 4k
summary: the grass season ends and you try to leave your disappointments behind. the one thing you bring with you, however, is his name in your phone and all the feelings that come with it.
author’s note: omg i’m sorry this took literally forever to upload it’s a culmination of things – writer’s block, procrastination, and the highs and lows of my last semester of my junior year in uni ;-; as always, i hope you guys like it and thank you so much for reading!
IT HAD BECOME something close to an obsession.
Checking your notifications for his name, waiting for your screen to light up. You never thought of yourself as someone who needed to be on your phone, but every day since then proved you wrong. A new message from Jannik Sinner somehow managed to make your days exponentially better.
Even the professional things, which was what started it all.
Despite your best efforts, you lost your fourth round match in one of your worst performances to date. You hadn’t expected getting this far into the tournament, but you also didn’t expect to give up so easily. Mentally, you had lost the match the minute you’d been pushed to the third set. You could blame the rain delay and the conditions but deep down, you knew it was just you. You returned to the locker room with your head in your hands and a bagel served to you on a silver platter.
By the time you made it back to your hotel, all you wanted to do was fly back to Monaco and never be seen again.
Then you received a message: You played great. Congrats on the tournament and hope to see you again soon
It was so serious and so formal that you almost didn’t believe it was him. How could the person who laughed with you in the medical bay and asked for your number sound like your fifty-year-old coach? But, of course, you didn’t know Jannik Sinner at all. You replied with a simple thank you and called it a night.
That didn’t stop you from watching his fourth round match, then his quarterfinal, and then his semifinal against none other than a twenty-three-time Slam winner. Each point Jannik played and every ball he hit absolutely mesmerized you. That, perhaps, was your obsession. His shots possessed such power, such incredible topspin, such intelligence… you couldn’t get enough of it. Inadvertently, you figured that your own performances shied in comparison – how he could say that you played great was beyond you. Had he taken a look at himself?
So, in the middle of a practice session in Monte-Carlo, you shot him a text.
Jannik! You wrote, your fingers sweating against your screen. You played an amazing tournament and it’s a shame about the semifinal… congratulations anyway :)
And, even after you convinced yourself that the smiley face was a bit too much, you sent it anyway. For good measure, you tossed your phone to the bottom of your racquet bag before heading back out on court. You only checked it again that night before bed.
Your heart skipped a beat when you finally read his reply.
Grazie (Y/N). I was wondering when I would hear from you again
You could see that he was online, and that even worse, he could probably see that you’ve just read his message. You had nowhere to hide this time. Hastily, you typed back, Sorry. I didn’t think it would be appropriate if I sent you congratulations for every match you won.
His response came quickly.
Hahahah. Maybe you’re right.
In a second, another message appeared: It is nice to hear from you though. How are you?
I’m okay, you wrote, despite it being a gross understatement of the excitement you felt speaking to him again. Back in monte carlo now before heading to the US in a few weeks.
After a thought, you added: I’ve been working on my Italian. Come stai?
This seemed to earn you an emoji in response, something like a verification that you’d done something right, and you found yourself feeling this strange, undue satisfaction.
Eventually, you discovered that he was based in Monaco, too. He had great interest in the fact that he’d never seen you around the Country Club before, and you self-effacingly assured him that it wasn’t his fault. Sweet nothings promised that you two would practice if you ever had the chance, and maybe even get a quick coffee if you two had the time. You went to sleep that evening, cheeks burning from smiling.
The next time you heard from Jannik Sinner was two days later.
You had just reached home from your morning gym session when your screen lit up in your hand.
Ciao (Y/N) how are you? :)
I just touched down in monaco
Would you want to get some dinner on saturday?
Only if you’re free of course
For the rest of the day, the sun seemed to shine a little bit brighter.
THE LOSS IN Wimbledon was a difficult one to swallow.
Jannik was never one to dwell on his losses – or rather that was the person he was trying to be. He was proud to have reached his first Slam semifinal, and he was especially proud of the tennis he produced to get there. Even if he hadn’t taken a set off his opponent, he felt as though he was closer than ever to reaching one of his childhood dreams. This was good. This was progress.
So why was he so hung up on those two weeks spent nine hundred miles away?
It bothered him, how he didn’t have an answer, when he tried to have an answer for everything. He just couldn’t place his finger on the unsettling feeling that he’d left something behind. From Heathrow to Nice-Côte d’Azur, Jannik grew tired from wondering.
One thing he did know, however, was that he was excited to see you.
He’d never really had too many friends on the WTA Tour. Most of his acquaintances were his compatriots on the men’s side, and if not, a handful of players he managed to feel comfortable with off-court. He could count all of them with his two hands if he wanted to.
But knowing you was new. It was interesting, and it was exciting, and it was something special. New in the sense that he had never intentionally searched for the women’s singles results since Serena Williams, and then that was how he preoccupied his time in SW19. It was new, how he counted the days in between your texts and hoped that they grew smaller and smaller. New in a way that made him curious about you
So when he found out you were based in Monaco, he couldn’t wait to get on the flight back home.
And now, Jannik was fussing around his apartment trying to keep everything tidy.
It was a leap of faith to ask you out to dinner, and it was incredible to him that you even agreed. He was sure that you would have turned him down, since he always seemed like the one to reach out. If Jannik had to guess, you seemed pretty detached at worst and disinterested in his company at best – after all, your first text to him was only two words long. The next time he even heard from you was days after.
He didn’t want to overthink, but it was hard. He chalked it up to him wanting to get to know you – wanting to make a friend. Jannik refused to think any deeper about it than he should.
Because if he did, he knew he’d be stuck. You weren’t a top player. You weren’t a big name in the sport. You weren’t a generational talent. Yet he couldn’t help but gravitate towards you every chance he took, in person and even in his thoughts. He would second-guess his fleeting greetings in the hallways at Wimbledon. He would find himself subconsciously searching the canteen on his practice days before realizing he was looking for you. He asked you to dinner. So what exactly was it about you that made him like this?
For a man who always seemed to have answers, you had him completely stumped.
The clock on his side table told him it was five thirty in the evening. It was almost time to pick you up.
Some minutes later, Jannik grew tired of obsessing over the trophies displayed on his living room console -was it too flashy? A desperate attempt to show off?- Eventually, he found himself in the driver’s seat of his car on the way to the address you texted him. His heart pounded with every meter he drove, every stoplight that turned green. He caught himself peeking at his reflection in his side mirrors, wondering if he’d been overdressed or if his hair was actually due for a haircut. His curls, now a deep rust in the early evening light, sat atop his head in its usual unruly way. It was far too late for him to do anything about it now, which seemed to add to all the messy, confused emotions running through his head all at once.
Just when he was about to turn the car around, Jannik pulled up to the lobby of your apartment building. Before he could send you a text, there you were. You hadn’t noticed him yet, of course, and he had to look hard through the glass of his window and past the lobby decorations. But it was you.
It struck Jannik that this was the first time he’s ever seen you outside of athletic wear, and it was a strangely intimate feeling seeing you so casually. A small, pink box sat in your lap as you tapped away on your phone. Your hair, not in its usual ponytail or bun, cast shadows over your features under the fluorescent lights. He thought that you were even wearing makeup -lipstick, at the very least- and it flustered him to think that he was worth this sort of effort. Then, realizing how self-absorbed that sounded, he pushed those thoughts away to the deep recesses of his mind.
Jannik didn’t want to think too much. So, instead, he sent you a text saying that he had arrived.
He watched your face light up as you read his message, and his heart seemed to skip a beat as he watched you walk over. Before he knew it, you had slipped into the passenger seat of his car. Your perfume filled his head with delicate hints of something fresh, a little bit floral, and Jannik had to remind himself to stay present.
“Ciao, (Y/N), come stai?”
“I’m good, hello… I brought cookies.” You motioned to the mysterious box in your lap. “How about you? Did you have to wait long?”
“No, I just came.”
To his left, Jannik heard the click of your seatbelt and suddenly you were still again. It had only just occurred to him that he was driving in silence the whole time. All at once, it was all too deafening.
Jannik cleared his throat. Awkwardly, conscious of your eyes on him, he started the car for the drive back. “Stai benissimo. That means-”
"Grazie. I know."
You two shared a look and Jannik pretended not to be surprised. Then, a bubble of laughter escaped your throats, filling the space separating the two of you. The young man relaxed just that little bit.
“Thank you," You repeated, biting at the scab on your lip. "So do you. I like your glasses.”
“Boh, you don’t have to lie.”
“I’m serious! I didn’t even know you wore glasses. You look… academic.”
“Academic,” Jannik barely hid his smile. “I must say, that’s a new one, for sure. Grazie.”
“So, during matches you wear contacts?”
“I have to, yeah. It gets itchy sometimes, ma, what can you do?”
You seemed to nod in agreement, the small movement disturbing the still air. The car paused at a stoplight and Jannik took the chance to finally steal a glance to his left. Up close, you were even more mesmerizing. Your gaze was cast out the window, the dark red glow from outside trapped in the curve of your collarbone. A single pearl rested against your décolletage, hanging from a delicate white gold chain. And if Jannik dared to let his gaze wander, he’d see a matching pair of earrings dangling from your lobes, which would lead him to the rest of your face. Rosy pink lips with a single spot scabbing over, relaxed into a gentle smile….
A car honked from behind. The light had turned green. Jannik forced himself to look away.
The drive home was short and ended in what felt like a blink of an eye. After parking the car, the young man led you up to his apartment. You were awfully quiet the whole way, which unsettled him more than he liked to admit. Jannik wasn’t sure what he expected, if he was being honest. If he had to think back to the last time the two of you were this close, it seemed like you were the one who brought him out of his shell. You had offered him some jokes, some comments that made him feel a bit more comfortable. In his memory, that’s what you were like.
But now, you trailed behind him silently. Jannik tried to tell himself that, like him, you found this all a little bit strange. Uncharted territory.
Finally, he unlocked the door to his apartment. “Make yourself at home.”
“Thank you.”
Jannik held the door open for you, watching as you stepped in. You took a glance around the place, curious. “How long have you lived in Monaco?”
“A few years now. It’s nice, no? So many players live here, it’s easy to find partners.”
“Right.” You stopped in front of his trophy display, leaning forward to read the engravings. This was enough for Jannik’s heart to leap to his throat in a moment of terrible self-consciousness.
He crossed over to the kitchen to give you some privacy. “Would you like some water?”
“Yes, please,” Your voice grew closer as your footsteps neared. “Is it alright if I put this here?”
“Of course. I’ll just get the dinner out of the stove. Give me a second.”
From the corner of the kitchenette, the dining chair scraped against the floor as you took a seat. The space suddenly felt all too small as Jannik moved around. All at once, the young man found himself fussing about a million things in the one second it took for him to assess the situation. Music… it’s too quiet. Water… in the cupboard but, oh, what if it has a water taste that I’m already used to? Food in the oven….
“Here. Sorry, my place isn’t too big.”
“Thank you,” You smiled. “It’s alright. Mine isn’t, either. I think I can only have two people over at a time, and even then we can’t all be in the same room at once.”
“Imagine here, I was living with three guys during lockdown. It was as big of a mess as you’d imagine.”
“Terrible. But what about now? You live alone? Any girlfriend I should worry about scaring off?”
The thought was enough to make Jannik laugh. He turned quickly to reach into the oven, extracting the roasted chicken he had prepared earlier that day. He hoped you hadn’t seen the blush across his cheeks. “No, no girlfriend.”
Then, in a desperate attempt to change the subject, Jannik cleared his throat. “And you? How long have you lived in Monaco?”
“Just a year now. I thought that it would be good to move somewhere where I don't have to pay taxes.”
After a moment, you added, “I’m joking. I mean, not really, but I didn’t mean to sound-”
“It’s okay,” Jannik laughed. “It was funny. Are you hungry?”
“Starved. Oh, let me help you….”
The small space, now filled with the savory hints of rosemary, garlic, and the recipe from his dad, seemed to shrink as he felt your presence draw nearer. Soon, Jannik couldn’t keep pretending to fumble with the carving knife and the fork — you were now standing by his side, watching his every move. Like a bouquet of flowers, your perfume reminded him of the first few days of Spring.
“That smells amazing. You cooked this by yourself?”
“Yeah,” The young man managed to let out, reminding himself to keep going with the knife. The handle felt limp in his hands. “My dad’s a chef. Just something he used to make for me and my team when he came for tournaments.”
“Compliments to him too, then. Does he come to watch you a lot?”
“Not as much as I’d like him to. But more than before, that’s for sure.”
You were silent for a moment, watching him transfer portions onto two clean plates. Then, you said, “I know. I think that’s the hardest part about being on tour. The loneliest part, maybe.”
Lonely. For all the years that he played on tour, that was never a word that came to his mind when describing the experience. Every week, it seemed like he was surrounded by people. If not his team, who he would live with when traveling or see during practice in Monaco, it was other players and tournament staff and fans and everyone in between. Lonely was never an option. Or was it?
“Do you travel with your family? Or just your team?”
“Just my team. I don’t want to trouble my family too much.”
That much, Jannik could agree with. The two of you continued preparing dinner, and Jannik ended up learning more about your family and what exactly it was they did. It was a story as old as time: anecdotes of great sacrifice, a childhood uprooted and replanted miles away, the hope that everything would pay off. The one thing that struck him, however, was how delicately you described everything. You told him about your first practice session with such care, such affection for the first time you picked up a racquet.
To him, this love and attention for the sport was something he could never put into words. Now, you were doing it so easily right in front of him.
Finally, the two of you were seated in his small dining area. Tucked into the corner of the kitchenette, Jannik grew even more aware of the fact that his height and long limbs seemed far too out of proportion for the furniture. But, strangely, the feeling passed as quickly as it came. How could he dwell on such things with you right in front of him?
“What about you? Your dad’s a chef, and your mom?”
“A waitress,” Jannik said in between bites. “At a ski lodge in my village. I actually started out skiing when I was really young. The mountains and everything were a big part of mine and my parents’ lives.”
“I can imagine. Do you think they minded that you wanted to do tennis instead? Move away?”
The answer came immediately. “Never. For sure, they were probably a bit sad. But they supported me no matter what. I think… they’re the best parents ever for that, no?”
This seemed to satisfy you to some degree as you sipped on your red wine in contemplation. You withdrew the glass from your lips, a mauve stain reminding him where they had touched it last. “Sometimes I can’t believe that this is our life. The fact that we left home so young. I don’t know what I would do if my daughter told me she wanted to move across the country to play tennis.”
“Ma, she won't have to. You can coach her yourself.”
“As if. I can’t even get into the second week of a Slam.”
It took Jannik a moment to remember what exactly it was you were talking about. Then, it occurred to him all at once; the reason why you were here with him was because you weren’t playing the women’s Final that afternoon. The young man watched as you cut another piece of chicken, careful to portion it on your fork. He wondered how you took your losses, your successes – were you still thinking about your last match like he was? Did you move on so quickly? Did you feel like you left something behind like he did?
“I was joking,” You half-smiled at him, eyes playful. “You can say something, you know?”
“I know,” Jannik blushed. “I just… well, how do you feel?”
“About?”
“Your match. You know – losing.”
You set your utensils down, contemplating. You seemed to always measure your words carefully, almost worried to say the wrong thing. Jannik wanted to tell you that you didn’t need to.
Finally, you spoke. “It was my fault that I lost. That’s what I was feeling -thinking- the whole time on my way back here. I lost because of me.”
“Come on….”
“No, really! Did you watch it?”
He nodded.
“Then, you’ll know it’s the second set. I had two match points and lost both, and then suddenly I’m being broken on my serve and forced to a decider,” You poked at the remaining portion -the last bite- which you had elaborately rationed. “I just checked out mentally. I was making stupid mistakes and I just didn’t do anything right from then on. How do you go from winning the first set to getting bageled in the third?”
Jannik was silent for a moment. That wasn’t at all how he remembered your match – there was a rain delay, your opponent taking medical timeouts… sure, you made mistakes. Didn’t they all?
“You’re too hard on yourself. Do you always think of your losses like this?”
You shrugged, which was enough of an answer already.
Jannik continued, “I watched most of your matches and you played amazing tennis. One match doesn’t have the whole story of everything you did to get there.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely.”
“I’ll think about it. Thank you.” You hesitated for a moment before asking, “What about you? After your semifinal, what did you do?”
“I’m having dinner with you.”
For the first time that evening, you were the one to avert your gaze first. And if Jannik looked close enough, through the warm yellow glow of his kitchenette, he swore he could have seen you blush. Something stirred in the pit of his stomach as he looked back down at his plate, barely hiding his smile.
The rest of the dinner seemed to happen all at once. Tentative exchanges inquiring of each of your personal lives, clumsy attempts at banter, and even more bumbling attempts at Italian. By the end of it all, Jannik had taught you how to count to ten. You had learned the steps to his father’s recipe.
He already couldn’t wait until he could see you again.
Like a gentleman, Jannik drove you home. He counted the traffic lights on the way and cursed at all his luck to have them all turn green so soon. You connected your phone to his stereo and played him one of your favorite songs. You hummed along, and Jannik wanted to learn every note by heart.
Finally, he pulled up to your apartment lobby. “Here we are.”
“Here we are,” You repeated. Your hand settled on the door handle, ready to go, before you paused. Almost shyly, you turned to him. “When can I see you again?”
The question took him aback. Tomorrow. Whenever you want, he wanted to say. Don’t go.
“Are you practicing tomorrow?”
“In the morning and afternoon.”
Jannik’s heart skipped a beat. “Me too.”
“Okay. I’ll see you.” You smiled. “Buona notte, Jannik.”
Before he could reply, you slipped out of the car and you were gone. Your perfume, floral and sweet and you, followed him home. There it remained when he woke up the next morning, feeling like the dream had lasted all the way until then.
author's note: yayy i'm actually pretty happy with this one :") hope you guys liked it!! i think i'm pretty set on the direction of this fic, but i still wanna know if there's some elements you guys wld wanna see, like angst or something?? i don't know omfg anyway pls send me inspiration or anything in my asks i would looove to hear what you guys think hehe. anyway that's all from me! thank you for reading and i hope you liked it <3