Angie

Jannik had been introduced to you through his team during a content shoot early in the season. At first, he hadn’t thought much of it—just another professional face among the sea of tournament staff. But then he started noticing you, always at your table, headphones on, a small pile of snacks beside your laptop as you worked through the night. One evening, curiosity got the better of him, and he wandered over to your table, a cup of tea in hand.

“You’re still here,” he said, his voice low so as not to startle you.

You looked up, surprised to see him of all people. “Still working,” you replied with your typical line and a grin. “What about you? Couldn’t sleep?”

He shrugged, pulling out the chair across from you. “Something like that.”

That was how it started. Jannik would occasionally join you in the lobby, the two of you talking in between your work and his sessions. It was never anything too personal at first—discussions about matches, travel schedules, and, once, a heated debate about the best flavor of potato chips. But over time, the conversations deepened. He told you about his family back in Italy, how he missed skiing but loved the life tennis had given him. You shared stories of your own, of late nights in design school and the strange but wonderful world of sports media.

One day, as you were furiously working to meet a deadline for the next days broadcast in the tournament facility's lounge, Jannik walked in, already in sweatpants and a hoodie. His match had been delayed due to rain, and he was waiting for the courts to dry.

“You look like you need a break,” he said, setting down his tea.

“I can’t,” you replied, barely glancing up. “I have to finish this before the morning meeting.”

He leaned against the back of the chair, watching you for a moment. “You know,” he said casually, “you could nap. Just for a bit.”

You snorted. “Nap? Where? Here? ”

He gestured to the couch across from your table. “Right there. I’m going to nap anyway. You might as well join me.”

You stared at him, trying to figure out if he was joking. The slight smirk on his face told you he was… sort of.

“You’re serious?”

He shrugged. “Why not? You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

You hesitated, then shrugged. “Fine. But if I snore, that stays between us.”

“Deal,” he said, grinning as he stretched out on the couch.

"And if I drool, look the other way." You added as you shut you saved your spreadsheets and shut your laptop, and he only laughed and shook his head in response.

You curled up on the adjacent coach, your hoodie pulled tightly around you. To your surprise, the moment you closed your eyes, your body seemed to melt into the stiff cushions. For the first time in weeks, you let yourself be completely at ease. The distant sound of Jannik’s steady breathing lulled you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When you woke, it was to the sound of his coach’s voice, gently calling Jannik to get ready. You sat up groggily, blinking at the sun that had streamed in while you were asleep.

“Good nap?” Jannik asked, his hair slightly tousled.

“Honestly, yes,” you admitted. “I think that might've been the best sleep I’ve had in weeks.”

“Told you it would help," he smiled, "We can do it again sometime.”

---

Later that evening, after Jannik’s match—a hard-fought three-set win—you ran into him near the player lounge. He was still flushed from the adrenaline, his towel slung over his shoulder.

“That was some good tennis,” you said, shaking his hand once.

“Thanks,” he replied, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. “Feeling rested now?”

You laughed. “Still can’t believe I actually fell asleep in the lounge. But yeah, I’m feeling a lot better.”

He hesitated for a second, and then said, “You know, if you ever need a break, you can… you know? Find me. I’m known for my naps, I am very good at this.”

It was such a simple, silly offer, but something about the way he said it made your face warm. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you said softly.

And you did.

---

You cashed in that offer of his fairly quickly and it soon evolved to become part of your budding relationship with him, though your many, joint naps with Jannik on separate couches quickly transitioned to most nights being in spent in his room, in his bed.

Nights in hotels had taken on a new rhythm for you. What had once been solitary—you, hunched over your laptop in the hotel lobby, headphones on and snacks by your side—was now a shared routine. Instead of the empty glow of your screen, it was Jannik’s quiet presence in the darkness of his room, the way his breathing evened out as he drifted off, and the way his arm would instinctively find your waist in the middle of the night. For the first time in years, you were sleeping—really sleeping—more nights than not.

It didn’t take long for people on the tour to notice your absence from the lobby. Gael Monfils had always teasingly called you the tour's very own "night owl" and forever referred to any lobby as your "nest". Other players had picked up on the nickname. But now, the others on the tour who also, often stayed up found the lobby quieter without you. When they asked where you’d gone, you shrugged it off, saying you’d finally found a way to adjust to the varying time zones.

Jannik found the speculation especially funny. One morning, as you walked to grab breakfast with him, Matteo Berrettini sidled up to you both, grinning mischievously.

“You’re hiding something,” he said to you, wagging a finger. “You’re not perched in the lobby as often anymore. Something must be keeping you… busy.”

You rolled your eyes, but Jannik smirked behind him, biting back a laugh. “Maybe I just finally learned how to sleep,” you said, your tone perfectly even as Jannik continued to be humored by the confrontation.

“Hmm. Maybe..." Matteo squinted at you, looking at Jannik in fake exasperation as though the two of them were in on this interrogation against you together. "But you mean to tell me after all these years, you learned to sleep overnight? Yeah, right."

"Yeah, right.” Jannik parroted, playing along and getting way too much amusement from Matteo's friendly, but oblivious confrontation.

"I’ll figure it out, I swear.” And then he nudged Jannik, and whispered to him for you to hear. "I have a feeling that something might be a someone, if you know what I mean."

"Oh yeah?" Jannik whispered back conspiratorially, but his eyes were locked with yours and he was smirking over at you.

After Matteo said his goodbyes and walked away, you swatted at Jannik your elbow. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“It’s harmless,” he said, still smiling. “Besides, they’ll never guess.”

---

The growing closeness between you and Jannik, and the comfort you found in each other—the comfort you gave eachother—continued to be undefined. You spent most nights together, had become each other’s confidants, and shared moments before and between sleep that felt impossibly intimate. But you hadn’t had any conversations about what the two of you were to each other, and you told yourself it was for the best. Jannik’s life was demanding, and yours wasn’t much different. Assuming anything more felt dangerous, like tempting fate.

That week, the tour brought you to one of the most anticipated tournaments of the season. Jannik was slated to play a match against one of the tour’s veterans, one of the few players of the season people felt he wasn’t guaranteed to beat. The pressure was palpable, and you felt it radiating off him, even with how well he tried to hide it.

And that same week, the first time in months, your insomnia returned with a vengeance. Whether it was the stress of the tournament or the weight of your buried feelings, you couldn’t say. But instead of turning to Jannik, you avoided him. You told yourself it was better this way. He needed his rest, his focus. You didn’t want to burden him with your sleeplessness.

During the days, you kept your distance, avoiding his searching glances and brushing off his questions when he passed by. “Just busy with work,” you’d say, offering a forced smile. At night, you retreated to empty corners of the hotel, working until your eyes burned and your head ached, ignoring his texts asking you to come over.

By the night before his big match, you were a wreck. Your skin dull, your eyes hollow. You’d set up camp in a quiet lounge near the hotel’s back entrance, hoping no one would find you. But Jannik wasn’t so easily deterred.

---

“Have you seen her?” Jannik asked, stopping one of the players as they passed through the lobby.

“Not tonight,” they said. “She’s been harder to find lately.”

Jannik frowned, his worry mounting. He asked a few more people, piecing together vague sightings until he finally found you, hunched over your laptop in a dimly lit lounge. The sight of you made his chest tighten. You looked exhausted, barely holding yourself upright.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping into the room.

You startled, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Jannik. What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” he said simply. He walked closer, his gaze searching your face as he ran his thumb over the swell of your cheek. “You don’t look too good. How long have you been like this?”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… a rough week.”

“Hey, look at me,” he said, his voice gentle but firm.

You hesitated, your eyes darting away, but eventually, you met his gaze. The concern in his expression undid you. Tears welled up, and you quickly blinked them away.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you said, your voice breaking. “You have a huge match tomorrow. You don’t need to deal with this... with me.”

He stepped closer, his hands resting on your shoulders. “Come with me,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

Too tired to argue, you let him guide you back to his room. The walk was quiet, your tears spilling over as the weight of the week pressed down on you. As soon as the door closed behind you, you turned to him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “You never signed up for this. For me being… like this. I didn’t want to mess up your match.”

Jannik cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “Stop,” he said, his voice steady. “You’re not a burden. And for the record, I’d sign up for this a hundred times over, because I care about you.”

Your breath hitched, and he continued. “And I can handle myself on the court. What I can’t accept is seeing you like this and doing nothing.”

You nodded, tears streaming freely now. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as your exhaustion finally caught up with you.

---

That night, you slept more than you had in the past five days combined. Jannik stayed beside you, his presence always grounding you in a way nothing else could. When you woke the next morning, he was already getting ready for the match, moving quietly so as not to disturb you.

“Hey,” you said rubbing at your eyes as you sat up.

He turned, smiling when he saw you. “Morning. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you admitted. “Thanks to you.”

He walked over, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Good. Rest more if you need to. I’ll see you after the match.”

As he left, you felt a warmth bloom in your chest, the kind that came from knowing someone cared—from feeling truly, and unconditionally cared for.

You were so glad you took that offer.

---

I hate jet lag and alarms. Also my fatal flaw is that I'm really good at sleeping hard, but am terrible at getting to sleep and even worse at waking up. Which I guess is like 3 fatal flaws...I'm so cooked...

In uni, I used to pull all nighters if I had something important in the morning just because I couldn't trust myself to wake up for it. Only a few months out in the real world but I think I'll prob spending the rest of my life working off college, sleep debt included.