“I need to kill him with my own hands.” How many times and in how many situations have you said that? Impossible to count, you've lost track of how many times you wished you weren't a respectful person who would never break a racket in someone.

Initially, you sought each other out to be partners in doubles, which was expected of two of the best tennis players in the world, and anyone could see that you were good at it; your work together was effective and yielded great results, beautiful trophies too... The problem was everything else. Carlos was annoying, conceited, sarcastic, and the kind of guy with all sorts of tricks up his sleeve that you hated with every fiber of your being. Whenever you were trying to focus, he'd find a way to ruin it, and damn it, that little shit always succeeded.

After a good break time where you believed you would return to the courts refreshed, everything went wrong on the very first day — not only did it go wrong, but everything had gone from bad to worse in ways you couldn't describe.

Your team and his had completely messed up the dates and planning; they were supposed to take “care” of both of you, but they simply managed to make you wish you'd stayed home. The hotel rooms where you'd be staying separately had not been previously booked, which made it impossible to get two rooms in the same hotel during peak season — they only managed to get one at the last minute and that became your punishment. Sharing a room with Carlos Alcaraz... When could you possibly wake up from this nightmare?

At least, you wouldn't be forced to share a bed, and if you were, you'd be sleeping in the lobby of your own free will. It was already unsettling enough dealing with him on the other side of the room; sharing the same bed would be enough to make you give up tennis and try living on a farm isolated from the rest of the world.

“We need to have rules here.” You didn't ask, you ordered when you put your bags on your bed. He didn't say anything, he seemed more interested in looking around than looking at you. “You know I can pretend you're not here too, right? And we'll both end up killing each other.” Not that you wanted to interact with him, but you chose to be partners in doubles, to have your image linked to each other, and now you had to deal with that.

Carlos sighed, running a hand over his face before sitting on the bed to look you up and down in that assessing way that annoyed you bitterly. “I'm listening.” His good will almost seemed fake, but you didn't have the patience to argue with him after you'd spent hours crammed into a plane — you simply accepted what the universe was giving you.

“First rule: No noise at night; no laughing, no calls, no snoring, no farting, no coughing... Got it?” You started talking, and judging by the expression on his face, you were talking and he was forgetting at the same time. “Second rule: I know you like walking around shirtless, but I don't care, so wear a damn shirt here. Third rule: No clothes lying around everywhere or I swear I'll throw your things out the window. Any complaints?”

If he was annoying to you, to him you were doubly annoying and incredibly bossy to the point that he wanted to rip his ears off while you were acting like a pain in his ass. He teased you about it all the time, so you could experience firsthand what it was like to have someone annoying you. “Fine.” Carlos agreed... Without fully agreeing.

Obviously, because he didn't make any noise during the night, but the next morning he made even worse. As soon as you returned to the room after breakfast, his clothes were on the floor, on the bed, scattered around his suitcase, and you had to restrain yourself, waiting for him.

Carlos left the shower... And when he left, your mouth went dry, your mind wandered, and you almost forgot why you were angry. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, drops of water fell from his hair onto his chest. Jesus Christ. “Is something wrong?” He asked, but when he noticed your not-so-discreet gaze upon his body, a smirk formed on his lips.