Teclajoan
"May I have a picture?" I asked. "That's if you don't mind."
He cocked his head as if amused by the logic of someone asking to memorialise a present rather than a celebrity.
"You want a picture, and you seem not to know me?" he teased.
"Well, you look familiar," I said, and the sentence came out like the truth: simple and clumsy and small. "Maybe you're famous. Maybe you're the kind of famous I can bring home to make my family jealous. They'll either be impressed or actively suspicious, and both options are good stories."
He seemed to like the honesty. He stepped a fraction closer; snow kissed his eyelashes.
"I'm Jannik," he said quietly. "Jannik Sinner."