Chapter Text
The first thing Shane had noticed when he’d walked into the swimming pool after summer break, was that someone had rewritten the Vancouver results board. Not the full events sheet, just one event. One race. Fresh black marker stood out against the whiteboard next to Coach Brown’s office, thick and deliberate and definitely not Coach’s handwriting. Somehow, Shane knew exactly whose it was. Coach’s handwriting was messy and cramped after years of writing sets too fast. This was neat. Sharp, almost like it was rubbing into Shane’s face.
MENS 100M FREESTYLE - INTL UNIVERSITY INVITATIONAL
- ROZANOV : 48.93 SECONDS
Shane didn’t need to read the rest, didn’t need to see the university logo besides Ilya’s name, or the stupid photo of him that they had printed and put next to it. Shane’s stomach twisted anyway. That should’ve been him.
For almost a year, everyone including Shane, had thought it would be. He’d been Mcgill’s fastest sprinter. He had the best starts, best consistency and the best discipline. Coach Brown had spent months talking about the invitational like Shane’s place on the roster was already guaranteed. Until Ilya showed up halfway through the semester, transferring from The University of Moscow. Everything got worse after that.
At first, it was just annoying. Immediately, Ilya was arrogant, loud and incredibly fast. He had beaten Shane in practice during his second week and acted like it was light work. Shane started hating him before winter break. Then came spring training, and suddenly, Shane stopped being the obvious choice. Ilya started catching up to him in every sprint set, then beating him. Then beating him so consistently that Coach Brown had stopped separating their times on the board and started outright comparing them.
The week before roster decisions, Coach had timed them six different times in the 100M freestyle. By the 6th time, Shane had won 2, and Ilya had won 3, until Ilya narrowly out swam him by half a second in the final swim. Bringing it to 4 wins overall and ultimately making Ilya the top choice for the men’s 100M freestyle heat at the International University Invitational.
Half a fucking second.
Shane remembered standing in Coach Brown’s office afterward while he explained in careful, measured sentences why Ilya was the overall pick.
“It’s about current performance Shane, I’m not punishing you.”
“You’re still swimming the relay.”
“Rozanov’s times are just stronger right now.”
Right now.
Like Shane had somehow expired. Like Shane’s hard work was just not enough and here came perfect Ilya waltzing into McGill taking the one thing Shane had worked all his life for. Shane knew it wasn’t fair to think this way, Ilya deserved it. Ilya worked as hard as Shane did, yet, he just couldn’t help it.
Then Ilya went to Vancouver and won. Ilya’s face was plastered across every board, all everyone could talk about for months was Ilya. Shane had hated him properly ever since.
“You look upset.”
Shane shut his eyes briefly. Of course. He could recognize that voice anywhere. Here came Ilya rubbing his win into Shane’s face, even after 4 months.
Shane turned.
Ilya stood a few feet away with a cup of coffee in his hand, and a swim bag slung over one shoulder, looking unfairly awake despite it being six in the morning. His dark blonde hair was damp around the edges from the rain outside, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
“You put this back up on purpose.”
Ilya glanced at the whiteboard, a smug smile forming. “Coach told me to.”
“You underlined your own name like it isn’t the boldest thing on the board right now.”
“I felt it deserved emphasis, I am the best after all.”
Shane scoffed, “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet,” Ilya said lightly, “still faster than you.” Before winking at Shane and walking away a few feet, placing his bag down.
Half the team had already arrived, Shane could feel several people immediately eavesdropping.
Rose looked up from wrapping tape around her wrist. Rose Landry is one of Shane’s best friends on the McGill swim team and their best long distance swimmer. Holding McGill's fastest record of 8:01.30 at Women’s 800M freestyle. She’s the kind of athlete who’s able to hold her pace through the pain without even showing it, steadily outlasting everyone else in the pool while making it look effortless. Outside of swimming, she’s incredibly smart, studying biology at a high level while balancing an elite sport. She carries herself with a calm and observant presence, which makes her one of the few people capable of cutting through Shane and Ilya’s constant arguing.
“Oh good,” she sighed. “We’re starting the season with attempted murder again.”
“You act like they never stopped.” Svetlana said quietly.
Svetlana Vetrova is Ilya’s best friend on the McGill swim team, she transferred with him when he came from Russia. Quickly, Svetlana established herself as McGill’s best female sprinter. Like Rose, she holds a university record of 55.21 seconds for the women’s 100M butterfly. She and Rose became close after ending up in the same Biology course. First through shared lectures and lab sessions, then gradually through studying together, and then eventually spending time with each other between training sessions and classes.
Shane and Ilya fought constantly. Never screaming matches or physical altercations, something worse. The kind of fighting that affected everything. They argued over; lane assignments, training methods, dry land circuits, recovery times, which dining hall sucked less, who was more attractive, whether energy drinks should legally count as battery acid. They had quite literally argued and bickered about absolutely anything and everything. Nobody really remembered how it started exactly. At some point during their first year winter semester, it had simply become normal for them to be snapping at each other from across the pool deck while everyone else pretended not to stare.
“Seriously,” Hayden whispered to Rose, not quietly enough though, “You think they’ll ever stop?”
“Nope I don’t think so, unless one of them dies honestly.” She whispered immediately.
“I can fucking hear you guys,” Shane said flatly.
“Good,” Rose replied.
Ilya looked amused listening to this conversation.
“You know,” he said, taking another sip of coffee, “I think Shane’s just waiting for the chance to drown me.”
“Do you ever just shut the fuck up.”
“You’d miss me too much Shaney.”
Shane dropped his bag onto the bleachers hard enough to make Hayden and Rose jump.
“How are you so annoying at six am?”
“You’re just bitter.”
“About what exactly, Ilya?”
Ilya smiled. A tiny smug smile Shane had spent an entire year wanting to punch off his face.
“Oh my God,” Shane muttered. “You are genuinely unbearable.”
“Yet you’re still obsessed with me.”
“I’m obsessed with the fact that Coach Brown rewarded the most insufferable man alive for ruining my season.”
The words came out sharper than Shane intended. Noticeably, everyone around them went quiet. For just a second, Ilya’s expression stilled, then it disappeared.
“I ruined your season?” He repeated.
“You took my fucking spot.”
“You lost your spot Shane.”
Shane stared at him.
Ilya shrugged one shoulder, “Coach picked the faster swimmer.”
The worst part of all this was, Shane couldn’t even argue. Brown had made the right choice, it didn’t stop it from hurting any less though. Coach Brown emerged from his office before Shane could say something he’d know he’d regret. One look at Shane and Ilya told him everything he needed to know.
“Both of you are so exhausting.” He said immediately.
“We literally just got here.” Ilya replied.
Coach Brown didn't look up from his clipboard.
Shane exhaled sharply through his nose. “We haven’t done anything.”
Coach finally glanced at him.
“Even breathing in the same direction as each other causes escalation between you two.”
Coach pointed at the water with his pen. “Warm up, 800M free. And if either of you start anything before I finish my coffee, I’m assigning you as spotting partners for the rest of the month.”
“Mmm that’s more of a punishment for me than it is for Shane. He’s already obsessed with me.” Ilya said.
“Oh just shut the fuck up—”
“Both of you, in the water. Now.” Coach Brown immediately interrupted.
The water was colder than Shane remembered. Or maybe it was just the season starting again, everything sharper now. His body slides into a familiar rhythm. Kick, pull, breathe. The kind of movement he doesn’t have to think about anymore. The one where his mind can just go on autopilot. Yet, he does this time. Because Ilya is in the lane beside him. Shane pushes off the wall harder than necessary just to prove a point no one asked him to make. Ilya matches it instantly.
“You’re gonna dislocate something if you keep swimming like that.” Ilya says casually as he passes Shane mid-pool.
“Didn’t ask.”
“You’re welcome anyways.”
Shane kicks harder, water splashes up between them. From the deck, Svetlana groans loudly.
“I swear to God, if you two splash me again before 9 AM, I’m transferring schools and killing both of you.” Svetlana groans out.
“You say that every week,” Cliff replies.
“And somehow, yet I stay.” She says. “Apparently everyone loves pissing me off before the sun even rises.”
Shane ignores them, well, tries to. It’s hard when Ilya is right beside him completely unbothered. Acting like this is just another Tuesday and not the beginning of a season which Shane has been thinking about since the second Vancouver ended.
After warm up, Shane surfaces at the wall and finds Ilya already there, leaning his forearms on the tiles like he owns the place.
“You’re drifting.” Ilya says.
“I’m not drifting.”
“You’re quite literally in my lane.”
Shane sighs. “I’m going to drown you.”
“Wow! Finally!” Ilya says. "At least you’ll finally be able to win something.”
Eventually, Coach Brown calls out everyone for drills. The entire team already looking spent. Brown claps his hands once.
“Alright. Sprint sets. Fifty’s. Partnered.”
A collective groan spreads immediately. Shane doesn’t even have to wait before realizing what was going to happen.
“Absolutely not.”
Coach doesn’t look at him. “Yep.”
“I am not swimming with him.”
“You definitely are. Quit arguing with me. I am not going to be amusing your emotional issues.”
“I do not have emotional issues.” Shane says.
From behind him, Ilya says smugly. “Debatable.”
Shane turns instantly. “Say that again.”
Ilya smiles and slowly repeats himself. “Debatable.”
Coach steps between them, stopping whatever petty argument could happen.
“You,” Coach says to Shane, then Ilya, “on the blocks now.”
They move reluctantly. Shane climbs onto the block and immediately regrets it because Ilya is already beside him at starting position. Shane quickly glances at Ilya and catches him winking at him before placing his goggles onto his eyes, which only fuels the fire.
“Take your mark.” Coach calls.
Everything tightens. The noise fades into something Shane is very familiar with now.
The whistle blows.
They launch.
The water hits hard, Shane is fast off the start, but so is Ilya. They’re even at fifteen meters. Even at twenty-five. The turn comes fast, Shane pushes off harder than he means to, Ilya does this same. They surface into the final fifteen practically leveled. Shane kicks harder, lungs burning. The wall rushes closer, hands slap the tile almost together. Brown looks down at his stop watch.
“22.31,” Coach says, “Both of you.”
Shane groans, “unbelievable.”
Ilya wipes the water off his face. “Boring.”
Coach points at them, “Again.”
A few teammates groan louder this time.
“This is literally their entire personality.” Rose mutters.
“It gets worse,” Svetlana says, “Wait until they start arguing about who touched the wall first.”
“I did,” Shane says immediately.
“I did,” Ilya says at the exact same time.
“Shane and Ilya get your asses onto the block before I kick both of you off the swim team.” Coach Brown says already fed up with the both of them.
It doesn’t get better. By the third set, Shane’s arms are heavy and his frustration is worse than his fatigue. By the fifth, the team had started ignoring them and started existing around Ilya and Shane like background noise. By the seventh, Coach Brown had looked like he’d regretted his career choices.
“Last set.” Brown calls. “If you tie again, I’m benching both of you out of spite.”
Shane and Ilya climb onto the block without speaking.
“Take your mark.”
Whistle.
They leap off the block, cleaner and sharper. Sheer determination with the refusal of losing. Shane hits the turn slightly ahead, he feels it before he sees it. He pushes off hard and kicks harder, the wall approaches fast. Hands hit the tile. Then silence. Brown checks the stop watch then sighs.
“Still tied.”
Shane closes his eyes for a second.
“Of course.”
From beside him, Ilya exhales sharply.
“I hate this sport.”
“Wow something me and you can finally agree on.” Shane replied.
After cool down, the team move toward the locker rooms in exhausted waves of wet hair and the smell of chlorine. Shane stays by the pool a little longer, staring into the water.
“You’re doing it again.” Ilya says behind him.
Shane doesn’t turn. “Doing what exactly.”
Ilya steps beside him, towel over his shoulders, water dripping onto his shoulders.
“It doesn’t matter if I swam in Vancouver.”
“It does to me.”
“Why?”
Shane finally looks at him.
“Because you’re annoying.”
Ilya smiles, “that’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
For a moment, neither of them move. The pool is louder now, team dispersing, lockers slamming, Brown muttering something about needing stronger coffee and less “Stupid competition between teammates.”
Finally, Coach calls out from his office door.
“When you two are done flirting with each other through athletic aggression, get to class before I assign you guys as partners for the rest of the season.”
“We are not flirting.” Shane says immediately.
Ilya says, “He started it, he wants me bad Coach Brown.”
Brown slams the door hard. Shane grabs his bag and starts heading to the exit. He stops only once, and Ilya is still by the pool. Looking at the pool like it’s the only thing that doesn’t argue with him. Shane should leave, but for some reason, he can’t bring himself to.
“Next set,” Ilya says without looking at Shane, “you’re losing.”
Shane snorts. “In your dreams man.”
Ilya finally glances over and smiles. “Didn’t have to dream for it to happen.”