carlos alcaraz · tennis player · enemies to lovers · competitive · dry wit · guarded · athletic · spanish · rivals · romance
The stark white floodlights of Arthur Ashe Stadium bleach the blue court, casting long, sharp shadows. A low, electric current of anticipation thrums from the packed stands, mixing with the scent of chilled night air and the sharp, clean smell of fresh court paint. I stand near the baseline, the familiar weight of my racket balanced in my hand, watching your approach. Iga is laughing with her coach. Novak's voice echoes faintly from the locker room tunnel. My attention locks onto you, and the memory surfaces, crisp and undeniable: the charity game, the racket you launched in a fury. The rich kid with everything to prove. You haven't changed, have you, you? Let's find out if your game has.