– 2021 –

Julian is in the box, watching Fabio's second-round match in the Australian Open. He props his elbows on his knee, leaning forward to see better. Something is off. Fabio's forehand lands flat and shallow into the court, lacking topspin or bite. His first serves are precise but much too slow. At the beginning of the second set, he starts wincing whenever he strikes the ball. The shots are just not coming together. Julian recognises it for what it is.

Pain.

And soon enough, Fabio catches Julian's eyes and gestures to his right shoulder. It really hurts, he mouths. Julian draws a sharp hand across his neck, stop. Fabio withdraws from the match.

Julian waits for him in the corner of the physio room, arms crossed, while the medic examines Fabio's shoulder. Fabio hops off the treatment table and trudges up to him, holding an ice pack to his shoulder, face set in a frown.

"He says it's not serious," he says, his voice flat and dull. "Apparently I didn't stretch well enough."

"Did he give you any instructions?"

"Rest and rehab," Fabio shrugs with his remaining shoulder. Julian puts an arm around him, their fingers meeting over the ice pack. They pause for a moment, fingertips lingering against each other, then pull apart.

"I'm starving," Fabio says. "Let's get something to eat." Julian agrees, happy to return to normality. He's more shaken up than he would ever dare to show, but he knew they would check off this milestone sooner or later. Fabio's first injury.

In the cafeteria, however, Fabio barely touches his food. His appetite seems to have vanished with the adrenaline leaving his body. Disappointment hangs over him like a dark, damp cloud. Julian is about to open his mouth to say something, anything, when Jasper materialises at their table, out of nowhere like a ghost. He slides down into an empty chair, wearing an expression of concern on his face.

"I'm sorry, man," he says, his voice carrying the vaguely melodic Swedish lilt. "That really sucks. What happened?"

Fabio puts his fork down. "Just some inflammation." He relays the conversation with the medic almost word for word.

"Ah," Jasper agrees, "I went into my match all sore yesterday because I couldn't get a spot with the tournament physio. It's a nightmare, the waiting list."

Julian and Fabio exchange a glance, and Julian can tell they've both just had the same thought, as if reading each other's mind.

"Jasper," Julian suggests, softly. "Would you and your mum like to hire a proper physio with us? We could split the cost."

They jointly hire Adrian Morales as early as next week. In the Zoom interview, he lists off his credentials in a warm Murcian accent: he's just finished his Masters degree in sports therapy, he's a certified yoga instructor, and he likes watching football in his free time.

"I want this one," Jasper says immediately as the meeting clicks off.

On his first day, Adi methodically sets up a mat, his foam rollers, some resistance bands in the gym. He pushes the sleeve of his hoodie up as he steps closer to examine Fabio's shoulder, revealing full sleeves of lush vegetation on both arms.

"Cool tattoos," Fabio grins, but then he hisses out in pain as Adi pushes a thumb above his clavicle.

"Ow!"

"Too tight," Adi says breezily, and picks up a resistance band from the floor. "I'll show you what need to do."

Fabio watches with his brows furrowed as Adi demonstrates the exercises to him, pulling on the band as if it was feather light.

"Is this gonna hurt?" he asks warily, stepping on the inside of the band and looping it over his right shoulder. "I hope you're not a sadist like Julian."

Adi looks back at Julian with an eyebrow raised, and Julian snorts a laugh.

"It shouldn't hurt, no," Adi replies with a grin, endless patience in his voice. Julian is impressed. Patience will be sorely needed on this team. "If it does, just tell me and we'll adjust your form."

While Fabio gets started on his reps, Adi guides Jasper into a gentle stretch on the floor.

"There you go," he coos. "I thought your left hip might be tighter. I saw how you're overcompensating on your serve."

Jasper sighs with pleasure as Adi gently pushes him into pigeon pose with a hand on his shoulder and one on his hip. "Good boy," he praises. Fabio protests.

"How come you're so nice to him and you're putting me to work? I'm the one injured."

Adi performs a devastating eye roll before he glances at Julian.

"Is he always like that?"

"Afraid so."

Jasper raises his head from the floor, grinning.

"Yeah, shut up, Fabio, or I'm not sharing him anymore."

○

Once Adi patches up Fabio's shoulder, the five of them start moving together like a traveling circus. The dynamics shift. Julian shares a hotel room with Adi now instead of Fabio, and he can't quite put his finger on why that makes him feel relieved. At hotel breakfasts, sipping their gritty espresso, Julian and Ingrid reminisce about the early 2000s tennis scene, Ivanov's unintentionally hilarious quips, the ugly clay-court kits everyone was wearing at the time.

Fabio struggles with the first few tournaments post-injury, but then something clicks. He wins in Costa Rica and makes a deep run in a 500 right after. The world seems to have sped up. They're always on the move, boarding planes, checking in hotels, waiting in line at tournament registrations, queuing at cafeteria salad bars. Julian and Fabio barely have a moment alone, which is only enough for coaching and less about making each other laugh and even talking about their day.

One morning, having skipped a breakfast he didn't feel like eating, Julian finds Fabio in the gym, hovering in downward dog with his phone in front of him. Fabio senses his presence, lifts his head up and laughs, his face flushed from being upside down. He hops to his feet at the top of the yoga mat.

"What are you up to?" Julian asks.

"Adi gave me homework. I'm working through this lady's YouTube channel," Fabio gestures at his phone. "Do you want to join me?"

"It's not for me, I don't think," Julian laughs lightly.

"I think it would do you good. You look all tense lately."

Julian sure feels tense. The emails are relentless, the scheduling, booking trips, booking hotels, booking practice courts. Sponsorships offers have started trickling into his inbox, and he's in over his head, he doesn't know which ones are legit and where to even start. He hasn't told Fabio any of this yet, but here he is, knowing.

"Alright."

Fabio rewinds the video to the beginning. Julian rolls out a mat and they start again.

Half an hour later, feeling like someone wrung him out like a cloth, Julian is lying on the floor. He never liked Shavasana, the Corpse pose. It has always made him tense, too exposed, ready to get up and run. He decides to cheat.

He turns his head to the side and opens his eyes, just to take a glance at the digital clock on the wall. Instead, his gaze lands on Fabio.

Fabio, with his head turned to the side, eyes open, looking straight at Julian. Their eyes meet. Neither of them speaks, and neither of them looks away, until Fabio's eyes flicker downwards. Julian follows his gaze. 

Their hands rest loosely on the floor, barely two inches of space between them. Fabio flexes his fingers in a silent question, and Julian's hand answers. The backs of their fingers brush together first, and then Julian feels the ghost of Fabio's fingertips across the side of his index finger, his thumb. The touch, feather-light, trails across his palm, and Julian's hand curls around it on reflex, as if to prevent it from slipping away. They stay like that long after the video ends.

The yoga offers him a rare moment of clarity. He's finally starting to see the edges of the problem he's been avoiding. In the afternoon, he sits down and calls Luca.

"Julian, mate, what's up?" Luca's voice is warm across the line, languid in the Sicilian sun, although it crackles softly with the poor reception.

Julian gets straight to the point. "Luca, I need your help."

Luca's tone shifts to serious. "Anything for you."

"Long story short," Julian says, "We need a manager. Do you know anyone?" He rubs his eyes, then runs a hand through his hair. "I can't keep up with this shit anymore."

Luca doesn't hesitate, not even for a second. "Don't worry about it," he says with the inflection of a mob boss. "I'll send you my best man."

His best man turns out to be a woman. Her name is Carmen Ferri, and her headshot on her CV gives the impression that she has never taken shit from anyone in her life. She speaks four languages. She's worked with athletes who have ended up on the cover of Time. Before they even meet, Julian forwards her a hundred and twenty emails with a sigh of relief.

They first meet her in Rome, in an expensive café that smells like strong coffee and oranges. Julian holds the door open for Fabio, letting him step in first. They see her sitting at a corner table, legs crossed, typing away on her laptop, a neat stack of documents in front of her. Her straight black hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and her long acrylic nails are clacking away at the keyboard in an almost athletic manner. When she sees them, she folds her screen down a little and stands up, smooths down her already impeccable skirt.

"Julian," she greets, her voice steady, no particular warmth in it but no coolness either. Her handshake is firm. 

"A pleasure to finally meet you, Carmen," Julian replies, then gestures to Fabio, hovering half a step behind him. "This is Fabio Costa."

Carmen extends her hand to him, and Fabio steps forward to take it, wary. They exchange a piacere, and Carmen gestures for them to sit.

She pushes a neatly bound document towards them.

"Here's the contract. You can review with a lawyer if you want to. I assume you have one." She looks Julian over.

Julian nods, suddenly feeling like he's back in school again. "We do."

"Otherwise, your proposal is solid, except your budget has some gaps in it, which the sponsorships should fix. And your scheduling... well, it looks a bit like a house of cards, but nothing I can't help you with." She shuffles a few loose leaves into the stack of papers. Julian sneaks a glance at Fabio, who nods halfheartedly, looking lost.

Carmen continues, tapping her nails against her phone.

"Who's managing your Instagram account?"

Fabio perks up slightly. Finally, this is his territory. "A girl called Ella. She works for Luca."

"I'll get in touch with her. She needs to post more consistently, and you need to stop uploading those selfies that look like my nonna took them with her iPad."

Fabio looks aghast at the sudden betrayal, and Julian sputters a laugh, but Carmen freezes him with a look.

"She will need to start managing your account too."

"I don't do Instagram," Julian holds up his hands. Carmen narrows her eyes.

"You're missing out. Rising star with a Wimbledon champion coach, there's a story in there that the sponsors would love. In any case, Fabio needs PR training. I'll schedule some meetings for your downtime."

As they step out of the café, leaving Carmen behind to work, Fabio lets out a sharp exhale.

"She's so scary." He rubs at his shoulders as if he's just been in a boxing match where he narrowly avoided knockout.

Julian cracks a smile. "She's efficient. She'll be good for us, you'll see."

"She makes me feel like I'm thirteen," Fabio glowers, and Julian silently agrees. "Why do we have to hire her?"

"To get our shit together. I promise she'll make our lives easier," Julian says. "Eventually."

Fabio groans and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. Julian laughs under his breath and throws an arm around his shoulder, pulling him into a loose half-hug, ready to press a kiss into his hair. But something stops him. 

He turns his head, and through the glass of the window, he sees Carmen with her phone pressed to her ear, watching them. He instinctively drops his hand from Fabio's shoulder.

A week later, the contract with New Balance is signed.