hi! your writing is fabulous ❤️❤️❤️ could you give us a small snippet for the wimbledon chap (only if you want!) ?
bet here's a snippet from like...right after the fourth round match:
"Jannik," Darren says with a quiet sigh. "I want to ask you something but if I ask you, will you panic?"
"I do not know what is you want to ask, so I cannot give you an answer, you see?"
Darren's mouth tightens like he's tasted something sour before he takes a deep breath and leans in, elbows perched on his knees. "Do you think you would have won today if Grigor didn't get injured?"
"Yes," Jannik says because he wouldn't play tennis if he didn't believe in himself. "You think no?"
Darren isn't hesitating over the question, exactly. He's trying to find the exact words that he means to say. Finally, Darren declares, "I don't know."
"Well, Darren, you should work harder to believe in me, I think," Jannik says with a smile that is not a smile, not truly. Darren doesn't shirk away from it, only squinting harder at him. Jannik holds strong for just a moment before he begins to squirm.
"I always believe in you, kid," Darren allows. "When you play your best."
"And you think I did not?" Jannik asks. "What does Simone think?"
"He thinks the same but he is willing to pretend that this is a momentary slip while I handle it," Darren says honestly. He sighs, tossing his arm over the chair next to him, and even though Simone is upstairs on the phone, Jannik very much feels his presence like a specter hovering above.
"What are you wanting to handle?" Jannik stumbles over his words ever so slightly.
Darren sighs and leans over the table, tucking his hands in his lap as he watches Jannik.
"Okay. Have you spoken to Carlos?" he finally asks.
Jannik shoves back in his seat so hard, it screeches against the linoleum. He doesn't get up, but he knows immediately that he's given himself away. Darren doesn't look surprised in the least.
"What does Carlos have to do with anything?" Jannik asks flatly.
"You will meet him in the finals," Darren says.
Jannik can be bull-headed when he wants to be. When he needs to be. For self-preservation's sake. "This is tennis. Things can change. Let's see what's coming."
Darren makes a sound in the back of his throat, a sharp bark of disbelief. "You are…Jannik, you cannot PR answer me. I know you," Darren says, slowly smiling even when he's fighting to look stern. It makes Jannik feel like a child, the way his coach's fondness surmounts all other goals. Softer now, Darren sighs, "I know you, kid."
"I'm not afraid of Carlos Alcaraz," Jannik says flatly.
"Never said you were. I asked if you spoke with him," Darren retorts.
"Because you want to. And I think it would be easier to do that than just looking when he's not watching, and then pretending otherwise when he turns his head," Darren says.
Jannik hadn't realized he's been turning his head. After their last disastrous conversation, Carlos has suddenly taken very well to avoiding Jannik. He's not subtle about it at all. Jannik has become well-acquainted with the back of Carlos' head. It's strange though. This time, he doesn't feel particularly cold.
He rubs his elbow. It still aches, even with the paracetamol and the ice.
"You are an adult, kid," Darren says, ignoring the oxymoron. "So, it's really none of our business…"
Jannik winces. "Darren," he says.
"You make your own decisions, good or bad, but I've lived a lot of life, you know. And these things," Darren says awkwardly and trails off like he's searching for the words.
Jannik gets up and stalks away from the dining room, towards the living room. "I am not talking about this. Simone says 'focus', this is not focus," Jannik tosses over his shoulder.
"Well, what you were doing on Centre Court wasn't exactly focus either so where does that leave us?" Darren retorts. He follows Jannik because of course he does, and it only serves to make Jannik feel more petulant. "If you think that Simone and I don't know about the spell that Carlos Alcaraz and his pretty eyes have cast on you—"
Jannik nearly twists an ankle, turning back towards Darren. Darren leans against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest, eyebrows high on his forehead, questioning.
Jannik grimaces. "Darren, no."
